Meeting in the Crowd Ends in Parting

At the wedding, for the second time, I picked the wrong man in the blindfolded groom game.

Leopold took off his suit jacket in front of everyone, left me standing there again, and said coldly:

Ivy, the day you can finally recognize me is the day we get married.

He always stood there in the crowd, letting Bradley put on his clothes and spray on the same cologne, and watched me throw myself at him like a fool.

That day, it was Bradley who took the hand of the girl who'd been left behind:

"Ivy, don't cry. Be with me. I'll never leave you."

I believed him.

But after we married, Bradley was anxious and clinging, testing me over and over, forcing me to prove my love in every way he could think of.

I'd be sitting in a conference room signing a contract worth millions, and he'd call and pressure me to come to him, or else it meant I didn't love him.

When I had a fever of 102, he shook me awake in the middle of the night to ask whether I loved him or Leopold.

Every time, I would cup his face in my hands, look into his eyes, and tell him with complete sincerity:

"Bradley, I only love you."

I thought that as long as I loved him well, his insecurity would ease a little more with each passing day.

Then, on our third anniversary, I got another call from my assistant:

"Ms. Baxter, Mr. Weiss went to see that junior secretary of his again to make you jealous. You'd better go bring him home."

I looked out the window and suddenly felt utterly exhausted.

So it turned out that the love I had struggled so hard to prove was, to him, nothing but one spiteful game after another.

Section 1

The phone screen was still lit, and my assistant was still talking:

"Ms. Baxter, Mr. Weiss says you need to get there within ten minutes, or else"

He didn't finish, but I knew.

Or else Bradley would refuse to eat, give me the silent treatment, lock himself in his room and ignore everyone, until I dropped everything and rushed back to coax him, groveling.

I stood in the dining room, looking at the pot of pork ribs that had been reheated three times and the six-week pregnancy test result on the table, and rubbed my eyes.

I'd left the house at six that morning, sat through seven meetings, signed three contracts, hadn't had a single bite of lunchall so I could hurry home to tell him the good news that I was pregnant, and to spend our third anniversary together.

But he didn't care.

My phone buzzed again. My assistant had sent a photo.

The bar was dimly lit, and Bradley and his junior secretary, Freya, were drinking a cross-arm toast.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, grabbed my car keys, and walked out.

On the way, my assistant sent another message:

"Ms. Baxter, the client isn't satisfied with the contract terms and would like a video call tonight to discuss it further."

Steering with one hand, I replied with a single word:

"Fine."

When I got to the bar, I spotted Bradley in the corner at a glance.

Freya was still sitting on his lap. When he saw me coming, Bradley looked up at me and pulled Freya closer.

In the past, I would have smashed a glass, lost my composure, made a scene that turned every head in the barmade him feel that I was jealous to the point of madness.

But now, looking at this, I couldn't say a single word.

Bradley must have sensed something was off with me, because he started to get up.

Just then, Freya leaned close to his ear and whispered something. He paused, then slowly settled back into the couch, a faint half-smile curving his lips.

I stood where I was and took a deep breath:

"Bradley, are you coming home or not?"

He tipped his face up, as if he'd finally been waiting for this moment:

"I can come back..."

"But you have to bow to Freya in front of everyone and say, 'Will you give my husband back to me?'"

Freya sat on his lap, laughing so hard her shoulders shook.

A few onlookers around them couldn't resist chiming in:

"I bet Ivy does it. Last time, Bradley made her delete every man in her phone's contacts in front of a whole table of people. She did it without a word, going through the list one by one. When she got to her brother, the look on her face was priceless."

"There was an even better one. Bradley got drunk and swore she still had Leopold in her heart, and threw their wedding rings into the moat, saying, 'If you don't find the ring, you don't love me.' And she actually wentin the dead of wintersearching that river for two days and two nights. She nearly died."

Listening to them, I suddenly felt like laughing.

The water really had been so cold back then; my body went so numb I couldn't feel a thing. And yet I'd still been thinking, if I just find it, he'll stop making a fuss.

How stupid.

I looked at him and asked once more:

"Bradley, I'll ask you one last timeare you coming back or not?"

He leaned back into the couch, the same expression on his face, and drawled lazily:

"Didn't I just say it? You"

Before he could finish, I had already turned around and walked straight out.

The night wind rushed into my collar. I pulled open the car door, got in, and started the engine.

In the rearview mirror, I saw Bradley chase out after me, standing at the bar entrance, shouting something.

But this time, I didn't stop.

When I got home, the video conference had already started.

I tossed my bag aside in the entryway and sat down in front of the computer.

Since my father passed away, several of the company's long-time shareholders have been quietly jockeying for power. I had to lock down this contract and secure my position as chairwoman. I couldn't let my father's life's work fall into someone else's hands.

When Bradley came in, I was revising the contract.

He didn't say anything, he just stood in the study doorway, staring at me like that.

I said nothing and kept typing.

The client was giving their seventh round of revisions on the other end of the screen. I took notes and nodded, but my stomach kept sinking, probably because I still hadn't eaten that meal today.

After I don't know how long, Bradley finally spoke:

"Ivy, in your heart, is it Leopold you love more?"

My fingers paused over the keyboard.

On the screen, the client seemed to sense something and spoke up tentatively:

"Ms. Baxter, if something's come up, we can talk another day."

There was a buzzing in my head. If I didn't sign this contract today, those shareholders would seize the chance to snatch the project away.

"No, no! I'm free right now!" I shook my head instinctively, then looked at Bradley and begged him in a pleading tone, "You know how important this contract is to me. Whatever it is, can it wait until I'm done? Just ten minu"

Before I could finish, he swept the laptop off onto the floor with a loud crash, and the screen went black in an instant.

I stared at the computer on the floor, my mind blank for a moment.

Bradley stood there, an almost twisted satisfaction on his face. He opened his mouth and spoke in that snide tone:

"If Leopold asked you a question like this, you definitely wouldn't make him wait ten minutes, would you? You'd drop everything, look him in the eyes, and tell him you love him more, wouldn't you?"

I crouched down and picked the computer up off the floor. The screen was cracked. I pressed the power button, but it wouldn't turn on.

Half a month of begging for that partnership, the trump card I was going to use to shut those old shareholders up at tomorrow's board meeting, all of it gone.

My fingers trembled as I held the broken computer.

It took me a long while before I looked at him and spoke, word by word:

"Bradley, I do love Leopold more. Are you satisfied now?"

He froze for a moment, then finally broke into that smile of a man whose suspicions had been confirmed.

"I knew it. I was never anything but your second-best choice."

I looked at him and felt nothing but exhaustion.

Anything that didn't go the way he wanted, he would drag Leopold into it.

I sign a contract, he throws a fit. I work overtime, he throws a fit. I come home ten minutes late, he throws a fit.

And every time, it always circled back to Leopold.

But Leopold and I hadn't been in contact once since he jilted me at the altar.

I deleted his number, walked away from that circle, and never so much as mentioned his name again.

I used to think time would show him how I truly felt.

That if I loved him enough, one day he would believe I chose him not as a second-best option, but because I really wanted to be with him.

But now, all of a sudden, I couldn't find a single reason to keep holding on.

I looked at him and said, word by word:

"Bradley, let's get a divorce."

He rushed over and grabbed my wrist, his eyes bloodshot.

"You want a divorce now? So you can go find Leopold Dickerson? Do you love him that much?"

I tried twice to pull free and couldn't, so all I could do was look up at him.

"Bradley, do you even understand? The problem between us has nothing to do with Leopold Dickerson!"

But he wouldn't listen. He just kept talking over me.

"When Leopold Dickerson walked out on you, I was the one who married you. I was the one who kept you from losing face in front of everyone."

Looking at him, I suddenly felt I didn't even have the strength to fight anymore.

"Whatever you say, Bradley. I'm really tired."

I pulled my hand back, turned, and went into the bedroom.

That night, I barely slept.

Early the next morning, I went to the board meeting.

I had just sat down when Director Finch spoke up, his tone snide.

"Ms. Baxter, that deal you couldn't close last night? I closed it. You can forget about the chairman's seat."

I looked down at my phone. I had messaged the client last night, and they had only just replied.

"Ms. Baxter, we need a partner who can tell what's urgent from what's not, not someone who lacks even the most basic professionalism because of some personal drama. I'm sorry. The deal is off."

The light from the screen made my eyes sting.

Director Finch stood up, smiling like he already had it in the bag.

"In that case, the chairman's seat..."

The door was kicked open.

"Who said you could sit in the chairman's seat?"

Bradley stood in the doorway, in a sharp suit.

He walked in, looked around the room, and finally fixed his eyes on me.

"The Weiss family put a $500 million investment into the Baxters. Whoever I say gets the chairman's seat gets it."

I looked at him, and suddenly my nose stung.

He had come after all. He still knew this company was what my father had left me.

But the next second, he turned to the side and pulled Freya James out from behind him.

"I want her in that seat."

Freya James stood there in a business suit, a smug little smile in her eyes.

I stared at him, my mind gone blank.

Just then my phone buzzed. A message from Bradley.

"Beg me. In front of everyone, beg me. Say you'll never make trouble again, say you don't love anyone but me. Say it, and the chairman's seat is yours."

I gripped the phone, my knuckles white.

There were more than twenty people in that conference roomold-timers who had worked with my father for decades, and shareholders just waiting to watch me make a fool of myself.

Bradley stood across from me, a faint, unreadable smile at the corner of his mouth.

The phone buzzed again.

"Timer starts now. If you haven't done what I said within ten minutes, Freya James gets the seat today."

Looking at the face in front of me, I suddenly felt like I hardly knew him.

He knew what the company meant to me, so he wanted me to admit out loud that everything I had was something he'd handed to me.

But right now, I had no other choice but to beg him.

I turned toward those twenty-some faces, then slowly looked at Bradley.

"Bradley, please give me the chairman's seat. I won't make trouble anymore."

The words were barely out when laughter broke out behind me.

"Ha, climbing to the top on a man really is differentshe'll even throw away her dignity."

"Bottom line, she just lives off a man, doesn't she? Why bother playing the strong career woman?"

"Forget it, forget it, she's got someone backing her. I won't fight her for the seat."

Every word landed like a slap across my face, until my vision went black.

I don't know how long it was before the people in the room finally drifted out, one by one.

I slowly stood up, took out my phone, opened my contacts, found the lawyer's chat, and sent one line.

"Attorney Lambert, draft a divorce agreement for me. I don't want a single cent of the Weiss family's assets. As soon as possible, please."

After I sent it, I closed the chat, typed the hospital app into the search bar, and booked a miscarriage procedure for that afternoon.

As I lay on the operating table, the doctor was going over some instructions, but I didn't hear a single word.

All I could think about was the first time I saw two lines on the pregnancy test.

Back then, I'd even planned how to decorate the nursery, and imagined what kind of father Bradley would be once he found out.

But now, lying on this cold operating table, I could only think of one thing: getting rid of this baby as fast as possible.

It was already nine at night when I got home.

I pushed the door open and saw Freya.

She was sitting on our sofa, wearing my slippers, hugging my cushion.

Bradley was sitting beside her, and turned his head when he heard the door.

Seeing me stay silent, he frowned and explained,

"I've handed you the chairman's seat, and I owe Freya something in return. I thought it over, and I've decided to just let her live here with us."

I nodded, too drained to argue, and walked straight toward the bedroom.

He gave a furious laugh.

"Then give her your bedroom."

I said, "Fine."

He probably hadn't expected me to agree so easily. He froze for a second, then got even angrier, gritting his teeth.

"Forget it. Give Freya the room where your dad's things are kept."

"Fine. I'll go clear it out now."

Before he could say anything else, I turned and walked toward that room.

After my father passed, I'd moved all his belongings in there.

Whenever I missed him, I would come sit in that room for a while, as if he were still by my side.

But this time, when I pushed the door open, I froze completely.

The room had been emptied out. Everything inside was gone, leaving only four white walls and an empty window.

I stood in the doorway, and all the blood rushed to my head.

"Bradley," I turned around, my voice shaking, "where are the things from that room?"

He stood in the living room, his face dark.

"Freya said keeping a dead man's things is bad luck, so I had someone throw them in the trash cans outside."

Hearing that, I ignored the sharp pain in my lower belly and bolted outside.

The downpour came out of nowhere, fat raindrops slamming into my face, until I couldn't tell rain from tears.

I knelt beside the trash cans and dug through them with both hands. I was sure I could find it. I was sure I could find it.

The rain soaked me through, my hair plastered to my face, my vision so blurred I couldn't see a thing, but I wouldn't give up, digging through one trash can after another.

A sheet of metal cut my hand open, blood running down mixed with the rain. I shook it off and kept digging, but I couldn't find anything.

I sank helplessly to the ground, my vision blacking out in waves.

Just then, the phone in my bag rang.

With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone, wiped the rain off it with my sleeve, and my assistant's messages popped up one after another:

Ms. Baxter, Mr. Weiss said he wasn't satisfied with how you reacted after he brought Freya James home.

So he's pulled his investment...

The shareholders are all up in arms now, saying you're not capable of holding the chairman's seat and demanding you step down immediately...

A sweet, metallic taste suddenly rose in my throat, and my vision started to blur...

Back at the villa, Freya sat on the sofa, a probing note in her voice.

"Mr. Weiss, if it had been Leopold Dickerson bringing a secretary home today, Ms. Baxter definitely wouldn't have reacted like this..."

Bradley paused a moment, then said coldly,

"Freya, does it take an outsider like you to judge whether Ivy loves me or not?"

"I just enjoy seeing her love me to the point of madness."

Freya's face went white in an instant.

Just then, Bradley's phone rang.

His assistant's voice came from the other end.

"Mr. Weiss, Ms. Baxter collapsed at the door and coughed up blood. A kind stranger took her to the city hospital."

The glass in Bradley's hand hit the floor with a crack, wine splashing everywhere.

He rushed out the door, driving at breakneck speed, running two red lights before he reached the hospital.

When I woke up, I opened my eyes and saw a man sitting at the edge of the bed.

Seeing that I was awake, he spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Ivy, let's stop fighting..."

I looked at him, paused for a moment, and asked softly,

"Who are you?"