Chapter 3

The girl's name was Nadia Rivera. She was a student who lived in the college district.

Nadia was still studying, but her family wasn't well-off. Because of this, she worked part-time at the coffee shop near her college every day.

Three months ago, Ray started frequenting the coffee shop for his coffee. Sometimes, he would even sit there the whole day and not go to the office.

"Do you like her that much? So much so that you're willing to choke me to death over her?" I murmured to myself.

I recalled how Ray had once done the same for me but to someone else. He had threatened, "She's my wife now, so stay away from her."

Ray and I had met in college. At the time, he was still a broke college student who had to work three jobs a day just to get by. He used to be a campus errand boy and had spilled the coffee I ordered all over me.

I didn't make a fuss back then. It was just a piece of clothing, after all. I could have someone buy a new one for me within 10 minutes.

Ray had flushed red from embarrassment as he apologized to me. The next day, he returned the dress I had been wearing. It had smelled strongly of laundry detergent.

He carefully avoided my fingers when handing it back to me, and his clumsiness was adorable. I found Ray interesting and asked him to buy me coffee once he got his salary.

Back then, I had pretended to have mature tastes and ordered an iced long black coffee. The drink was so bitter that it made me scrunch up my face. Later, Ray secretly added double shots of milk and sugar.

"Ugh, too sweet," he had commented after. We were young and bashful back then and would blush just from whispering to each other. But now…

I examined myself in the mirror. My hair was disheveled, and the red handprint mark on my neck looked horrifying.

Afterward, I spent hours rummaging around the house for the first aid kit. However, I couldn't find it.

In the past, Ray would frantically carry me to the bed if I had accidentally bumped into the table. Then, he would quickly fetch band-aids and anti-inflammatory cream.

I was curled up on the bathroom floor when my phone vibrated—it was a text from Ray. It read, "Let's get a divorce."

The message included a divorce agreement stating that the house and car would be mine—he was leaving everything behind for Nadia.

Putting on a turtleneck sweater, I hailed a cab to his office. It was the first time I had visited him there.

The receptionist asked if I had an appointment.

"No, just tell Ray Prunier that his wife is downstairs," I stated.

The receptionist sneered at this.

"That's not how you climb the ladder, miss. We've all seen Mr. Prunier's wife. You'd better run along before I call security," she said derisively.

My hands balled into fists as the image of Nadia's bright, smiling face flashed in my mind.