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The Quiet Exit Novel Cover

The Quiet Exit

After Will secures twenty million dollars during a major sales event, his wife Chelsea Abbott credits the achievement to her childhood friend, Donald Dixon. Despite the betrayal, Will remains silent until Donald publicly insults him at a corporate conference, labeling him a parasite. When Chelsea officially strips Will of his duties to favor Donald, Will refuses to beg. Having already received a prestigious offer from a top industry competitor, he chooses to walk away from his marriage and the company forever.
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Chapter 3

Without thinking, I rushed straight into the middle of the fight, trying to pull Tommy and Roger apart.

I couldn't let my friends take the fall because of me.

But in the chaos, Roger's eyes went wild. He grabbed a heavy-duty stapler off the desk and swung it at Tommy's head with everything he had.

"Watch out!"

My vision narrowed. Instinct kicked in, and I threw myself forward, raising my arm to shield Tommy. The metal prongs of the stapler drove straight into my forearm.

Roger yanked it back. Blood immediately soaked through my sleeve.

The pain was blinding. Cold sweat broke out all over me. My arm went numb, as if it wasn't even part of my body anymore.

The fight stopped instantly. Everyone stared at my arm in horror.

Chelsea froze as well. She looked at the wound, panic flickering across her face.

For a second, I thought she would say something. Anything.

But she didn't.

"Will, do you really have to take it this far?"

Her cold, disappointed gaze cut deeper than the metal ever did.

"It's Donald's first day as sales director, and you lead your people into a group fight just to send him a message? Are you trying to turn the company upside down?"

My guys only snapped because they were furious that I was being shortchanged. But to her, I was the one deliberately stirring things up and starting a brawl.

"Donald provoked us first," I said. "Chelsea, you only see who threw the first punch. Didn't you see Roger grabbing office equipment and trying to hurt someone with it?"

I stared at her, disbelief setting in.

But Donald leaned against her shoulder, his face full of grievance.

"Chels, this is on me," he said softly. "I just stepped into the sales director role and wanted to tighten things up a little. I didn't expect everyone to be so used to listening to your husband that they'd resent me this much. I guess that's why things got out of hand…"

His voice trailed off, but my mind snagged on one word.

Chels.

She once told me that once her debt was finally paid off, she would give herself to me.

I respected her boundaries and never pushed. We treated each other with careful restraint.

Even at the office, we addressed each other formally. Even when we ate together in the cafeteria, we kept our distance.

And now Donald was calling her Chels, leaning against her shoulder.

Meanwhile, I stood there bleeding, a complete wreck.

"Will, you're being too impulsive," Chelsea said, frowning at me. "Donald has a stronger educational background and overseas experience. He understands the market better than you. Out of jealousy, you caused all this trouble and slowed down my ability to make money. The handover's delayed again. Go get your arm treated. When you're back, send him all the materials he asked for."

Blood dripped from my fingertips onto the floor. Yet, it still didn't come close to the pain in my chest.

Seven years.

To pay off her debt, I hadn't had a meal that cost more than ten dollars in years.

My newest clothes were five years old, worn again and again, just to make do.

And in the end, all she cared about was whether Donald's work was running smoothly. For his sake, she even wanted me out of the way.

Watching how firmly she protected him, I suddenly laughed.

So the Cratesisle sunshine and the wedding plans were nothing but a fantasy.

Now, that fantasy was over.

It was time for me to leave.

"Alright," I said hoarsely. "I'll do everything exactly the way you want."

-

By the time my arm was treated at the hospital, it was already late at night.

On impulse, I didn't go home. I drove back to the office instead.

On my desk sat the photo of myself and Chelsea, crying with happiness, the day she accepted my proposal. I wanted to take it with me, to bury these ridiculous seven years for good.

The office was pitch-dark, except for the light still on in the CEO's office.

Wanting to say a final goodbye to Chelsea, I walked up to the door and reached for the handle.

That was when I heard her voice, trembling with tears and something indistinct underneath.

"Donald, don't. We can't do this…"

My hand froze in midair.

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