My Wife vs. a Mango… Guess Who Won?

We had known each other for a decade, and Irene had always known my limits.

She had spent years in the business world and always knew how to handle herself around other men. But now, she crossed the line again and again.

If that was how things were, then our relationship was over. The latest project I had been handling was no longer needed either. It was a billion-dollar deal in Eurentia, one that could decide the company's fate.

…

When I woke up the next morning, Irene hadn't sent a single message, nor had she called.

I wasn't angry either. After the checkup came back fine, I went straight home. It was a five-thousand-square-foot luxury villa that Irene and I had fully paid for last year.

Seven years ago, when we graduated, we squeezed into a basement and shared a single bowl of instant oatmeal.

Five years ago, when we got our marriage certificate, we grabbed some cheap street food from a small vendor and then went home with a tiny four-inch cake.

And now, I could only tend to my wounds by myself in the empty villa.

I assumed I would get used to it eventually.

Just as I was going over the divorce agreement the lawyer had sent me, Irene came home. A strong whiff of men's cologne followed her through the door. The scent made me pause for a moment.

Irene's skin was delicate and sensitive, and she was allergic to many cosmetics. What she hated most of all was perfume.

Because of that, I never used anything scented during all the years we were together. Even my shampoo was carefully chosen. Now, it seemed that she was only being strict with me.

Irene saw me lying on the couch with a tablet in my hands and hesitated slightly. "Steve was too happy at the celebration dinner last night. He got drunk and fell, so I took him home first.

"Later, it got too late, and the drive was long, so I just found a nearby hotel to stay at. That's why I didn't come to the hospital to pick you up," she said.

I nodded and canceled another partnership deal on my tablet. "Alright, got it," I replied casually.

Irene opened her mouth but seemed momentarily at a loss. It was as if my reaction wasn't what she had expected.

She hesitated for a while, took two steps closer, and lowered her gaze as she said, "Today's Saturday, so don't worry about work anymore. I'm planning to take Steve to Parille for a trip. Do you want to come along?"

On my birthday seven years ago, Irene and I took a five-dollar photo together at a night market. Looking at the flimsy backdrop of the Parille Tower, she swore that once we had money, she would take me to Parille and recreate the exact same photo under the real Parille Tower.

As the years went by, our house got bigger, and the business became increasingly successful. Yet she grew busier, often trying to soothe me with excuses.

She would say, "Jay, this is a critical period for the company's growth. As the leader of the company, how can I just take leave and go abroad whenever I want? You've always been the sensible one. You can understand me, can't you?"

I understood, so I stopped bringing up Parille and threw myself wholeheartedly into the company's work, contributing to her career. But it turned out that if it was Steven, she suddenly had time.

I opened the next client's email and said in the same tone, "A group of three feels too crowded. I'm not interested."

After hearing my words, Irene somehow seemed to let out a sigh of relief before continuing, "Fine. I'll just grab something and head out. Have lunch on your own, and we'll eat dinner together tonight.

"This partnership is crucial for the company's expansion into overseas markets. I've invited the media for a press conference next Monday. Haven't you always wanted to stand by my side openly? Next Monday is your chance, so get ready—"