In the prestigious Goldstone District of River City, real estate was as valuable as gold. On the wide, serene streets stood two rows of Uropean-style villas, enclosed by a black wrought-iron gate. In front of the gate, a sleek, new Maybach sat parked, adding to the estate's aura of grandeur.
This was the Quinn Manor, the residence of the city's legendary business mogul, Anderson Quinn. Rumor had it that Anderson deeply adored his wife, Wendy Lewis, and had bought this historical estate as their wedding home. Outsiders spoke of Wendy as someone blessed with luck, the envy of all.
But Wendy knew better—what utter nonsense!
"Deep affection?" She scoffed internally. Anderson had long since grown tired of her. If it weren't for the Quinn family's reputation, she would've been kicked out ages ago. Despite this, she still tried her best to make things work.
That afternoon, Wendy sat before a luxurious white carved vanity, carefully applying her makeup. Tonight, she was to accompany Anderson to a charity gala—a rare opportunity to salvage their crumbling relationship.
Arriving early at Shining Enterprises, she walked through the grand entrance of the building, ignoring the astonished stares of employees. Led by a young receptionist, she took the executive elevator to Anderson's floor. Wendy couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of hope—though Anderson's heart was far from her, at least in public, he always made sure to give her the respect and status of Mrs. Quinn.
As the elevator dinged, Wendy took a deep breath, her heels clicking against the plush grey carpet. But the moment she stepped out, an unwelcome sight greeted her.
Whitney Young, a famous jewelry designer and Anderson's long-time friend, stood there. With her sleek ponytail, sharp suit, and polished demeanor, she radiated confidence.
"Ms. Lewis, what brings you to the office today?" Whitney greeted, her surprise carefully masked.
Wendy frowned, trying to maintain her composure. "Ms. Young, I believe you've made a mistake. Anderson and I will be attending the charity gala together. Such events are usually for family members."
Her voice was firm, but inside, Wendy was full of doubt. She knew Whitney and Anderson were childhood close friends, and while many women had come and gone in Anderson's life, Whitney remained a constant, never pushed away.
Whitney's smile barely touched her eyes. "Anderson's in a meeting. Why don't you wait in the lounge for a bit?" Without waiting for a response, she turned and confidently strode into Anderson's office.
Anger flared up inside Wendy. Unable to hold back, she marched toward Anderson's office—only to be stopped by his secretary.
"Mrs. Quinn, please wait in the lounge. The chairman's office is off-limits," the secretary said politely but firmly.
Wendy's frustration grew. "Why can Whitney go in but not me?"
Before the secretary could respond, the door to a nearby meeting room opened, and a stream of corporate elites emerged. At the end of the line was Anderson himself.
It had been a month since Wendy had last seen him, but he still carried that magnetic aura that had drawn her to him all those years ago. His well-tailored suit highlighted his broad chest and athletic frame. At 30-something, he exuded the confidence and success that came with his talents and achievements. But when his eyes met hers, they held no warmth, no affection—only disdain.
What a shame.
Anderson's gaze raked over her, and he frowned. "What are you doing here, dressed like this?"
Wendy flushed, embarrassed. Though Anderson was cold to her behind closed doors, there were others present—his secretary, and of course, Whitney. She didn't want to lose face.
"You told your assistant, Mr. Bake to inform me that I'd be attending the charity event with you tonight," she replied hesitantly.
Anderson's frown deepened. He glared at Wendy for a moment before ordering his secretary, "Prepare the car."
Mr. Bake, understanding the real message, quickly left the room. It was clear Anderson didn't need him to arrange anything. He just wanted him out of the way. Having a wife like Wendy—whom he saw as clueless and unrefined—wasn't something he wanted to showcase.
After Mr. Bake left, Whitney smiled lightly and said to Anderson, "I'll wait on the sofa until you're ready." Then, she walked off with elegance, leaving Wendy standing awkwardly.
Anderson grabbed Wendy's wrist and dragged her into his office. As she glanced around the room, curiosity got the better of her.
Anderson's sudden anger erupted. "Can you stop acting like you've never seen the world before?" He hissed, his voice low, as though worried someone might overhear.
Stunned, Wendy didn't know what to say. She bit her lip, feeling humiliated.
Seeing Anderson's cold silence made her anxious. She hated when he stared at her like this—judging, dismissing.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her voice small. "I just, I've rarely been in your office…"
She wasn't even sure why she was apologizing. All she did was look around. Was that so wrong?
Anderson sighed in frustration. "Just go home."
Wendy's hands trembled, her frustration boiling inside. "Are you really going to take Whitney to the gala? What about me?" She blurted out.
Sitting down, Anderson pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaustion clear in his eyes. He didn't have the energy to deal with her.
"Take you? For what? What can you do?" His voice dripped with impatience. "You're my wife, not some trophy girlfriend. Dressing up like this for a charity gala. What were you thinking?"
Wendy's face turned crimson. It was only then that she realized the difference between her glamorous evening gown and Whitney's sharp, understated suit. Whitney's elegance came from her background, her poise—things Wendy could never match.
"I-I understand," Wendy stammered, quickly turning to leave, desperate to escape the suffocating tension.
But Anderson wasn't finished. His voice, filled with mockery, came from behind. "Oh, and your brother-in-law? The one working in the subsidiary in Crystal City? I've had him removed. The project was a disaster. Don't bother calling my secretary about it. I won't waste my time on your family's problems."
Wendy froze, wanting to defend for her brother-in-law, but the look on Anderson's face silenced her. She left without another word.
Outside, Whitney shot her a smug smile before confidently walking into Anderson's office.
Wendy felt utterly ridiculous. She was nothing more than a small-town girl, out of her depth in this high-society world. Her family still expected her to bring benefits from her marriage, but they had no idea how overwhelming it was just to survive in this elite world.
As she took the elevator down, her face still wore a smile, though inside, she was close to tears.
At the company's entrance, Wendy, dressed in her lavish gown, awkwardly stood on the sidewalk, calling her driver. But before she could leave, disaster struck.
A security van, out of control, collided with a nearby car, sending it careening toward the curb—where Wendy stood.
Her final thought, amid the overwhelming pain, was simple, "I'm probably going to die looking awful."
How pathetic—he wouldn't even come to see her one last time.
