Chapter 2

Bryce strolled into the house, humming a little tune. He wore sweatpants and a Dior shirt—the shirt had a lipstick stain near the collar.

He glanced toward the kitchen. Before I could say a word, he said loudly, "I'm staying home tonight! A colleague made extra soup, so I brought some home to share with you."

Marching into the kitchen, he grabbed a bowl and ladled out some chicken soup. He snapped a photo of it with his phone, grinning broadly, then began typing on the screen.

A sudden thought crossed his mind, and he added, "Oh yeah, you have a competition coming up. This soup's way too greasy for you, so I'll drink it for you instead."

Bryce had always paid special attention to maintaining his figure. He used to say, "My wife is a national treasure-level ballroom dance coach. Her husband's image has to be top tier too!"

Because of this, there wasn't a flame in our kitchen for years.

However, his eating habits changed after his company hired an older woman.

He stopped eating the low-fat meals I prepared for breakfast and started driving around 18 miles to Claudia's place just for her homemade fresh bagels. He even ate dinner at her place before coming home. Lately, he hadn't bothered to come home at night.

I sat on the sofa, staring at him emotionlessly.

Under my pointed gaze, Bryce shifted uncomfortably. When he glanced down at his sweatpants, he panicked for a second.

"It rained," he said quickly. "I got soaked and showered at Claudia's place. She gave me some of her ex-husband's clothes to change into. You don't mind, right?"

I almost burst out laughing. What rain would soak only his pants, but leave his shirt perfectly dry?

As far as I knew, Claudia's ex-husband had left the country more than a decade ago and had never returned. And, Bryce's sweatpants were the latest Adidas release from this season.

Facing my silence, Bryce's eyes darted to the divorce papers on the coffee table.

"Jasmine, are you seriously divorcing me because of Claudia? She's ten years older than you! How insecure can you get?" he snapped, impatient.

I had answered this question a thousand times.

"Yes," Bryce went on, "I didn't come home last night. But didn't you spend yesterday in a hotel with a toy boy? I didn't complain about that, so we're even."

Just as I had predicted, he knew that yesterday was a misunderstanding and had conveniently used the opportunity to spend the night with Claudia without any guilt.

"Fine, fine. I'll reduce her salary and force her to resign on her own. Happy now? She hasn't done anything serious enough for me to fire her outright."

Having come to this conclusion, he seemed to think he had resolved the situation brilliantly. He turned back to his soup and began texting on his phone with a satisfied grin.

At that moment, my phone buzzed—it was a message from my lawyer, informing me the court had approved a property adjustment order.

I opened Bryce's transaction history for the past six months. In that time, he had transferred more than a million to Claudia.

When I still didn't react, Bryce shoved the bowl aside in frustration.

"Since you don't believe me, why don't you come to my office tomorrow and see for yourself?" he snarled.

He sent the chair flying with a furious kick and stormed out immediately. Not long after, Claudia updated her profile with a new post.

"I'm at the age where I'm fond of gold."

The attached photo showed more than 10 pounds of gold jewelry.

A small chuckle escaped my lips. If I didn't show up, would their little show go on?