Chapter 2

Ingrid stopped buttoning her coat for a second.

"John, don't make me think less of you."

The door swung open. By the time the first low rumble of thunder rolled through, Ingrid was already stepping into the elevator. She didn't even notice the corner of my medical report peeking out from under the tablecloth the whole time.

It clearly stated, "Severe gastric ulcer with signs of impending bleeding. Immediate hospitalization required. Strictly no exertion."

I picked up my phone to call my lawyer. The moment the call connected, hurried footsteps came down the hallway.

Ingrid was back. She opened the door and immediately asked, "Where's the spare key to Charlie's place?"

I grabbed it from the drawer and placed it in her palm. "Don't bother returning it. He needs you more often than I do, so you should just keep it with you."

"I told you—he's just scared of thunder."

"Yeah, I know."

My calmness only made her expression darker. She caught my wrist, her thumb pressing against the red welt the glass jar had left.

"John, if you have something to say, say it. Don't be passive-aggressive with me."

"Was I not clear enough when I said I wanted a divorce?"

Her grip around my wrist suddenly tightened.

The lawyer's voice came through the phone on the coffee table. "Mr. Rutherford? Are you still there?"

Ingrid glanced at the screen before disconnecting the call for me. "When you're done with this tantrum, get some rest. The Evergreen Theater proposal meeting is tomorrow."

"That's my project."

"All the more reason not to let your personal feelings bleed into work."

She released my wrist as she pocketed the key.

"Don't eat the cake," she said. "A nut allergy is no joke. I'll bring you something else when I come back."

The door closed again. Soon, morning came, and Ingrid still hadn't come back.

By the time I got to the company the next day, the meeting had already started.

The restoration plans I'd spent two years working on were projected on the screen, yet Charlie was the one standing at the podium.

When he spotted me, his voice faltered for a beat. Ingrid, who was at the head of the table, said, "Continue."

Charlie gave a small, tight-lipped smile. "The core of the Evergreen Theater project isn't to tear it down and rebuild it, but to restore it to its original state while preserving the old structure. That's been my vision since I returned to the country."

Applause broke out in the meeting room. Standing in the doorway, I asked, "Your vision?"

Charlie hurried off the podium. "John, don't get the wrong idea. Ms. Walton said you hadn't been feeling well and asked me to present in your place."

"Then why is your name on the proposal itself?"

His face went pale, and he turned toward Ingrid. Ingrid clicked her pen shut.

"The investors care more about international credentials," she replied. "So if we have Charlie's name on it, the project will have a better shot at getting approved."

"The drawings are mine."

"The project belongs to the company."

"The original restoration data my father left behind is in those drawings. That doesn't belong to the company."

Ingrid glanced at her watch. "You're my husband. What difference does it make whether Charlie gets the project or you do?"

Charlie quietly tried to placate me. "John, we're only putting my name on it temporarily. Once the project gets off the ground, I'll set the record straight with everyone."

"And when are you going to do that? After you win an award, or after you get your share of the profits?"

He lowered his head.

Ingrid set her pen down on the table with a deliberate click. "That's enough. Charlie reached out to an overseas team for the project. It's not like he's just taking your work without contributing anything."

"So I'm supposed to thank him, then?" I retorted.

"At the very least, you shouldn't humiliate him in front of a room full of people."

Nobody in the room said a word. I suddenly found myself thinking back to three years ago, when I first proposed the restoration of the Evergreen Theater.

Ingrid had said the risks were too high and refused to approve the project. Charlie had only been back in the country for three months, yet it had already become his signature project.

So it wasn't that the project wasn't worth the risk. I just wasn't worth taking that risk for.

My stomach suddenly churned, and I clapped a hand over my mouth as I rushed into the bathroom. Ingrid quickly followed me in and handed me a glass of warm water. "You skipped breakfast?"

I didn't take it. She reached into her suit pocket and pulled out a sour candy, unwrapped it, and set it beside me. "Try this. It should help with the nausea. Don't let it get any worse."

I stared at the candy, and despite myself, my heart went soft for a brief moment.

Charlie appeared at the doorway and said with a chuckle, "Ingrid, you still do that? I used to throw up on every car ride, and you always had sour candy in your pocket. Does John get carsick too?"

That tiny bit of warmth I felt vanished instantly. I threw the candy into the trash.

Ingrid frowned. "If you won't eat it, just leave it. There's no need to dump it."

"You're right." I wiped my hands with a tissue. "From now on, I won't touch anything that doesn't belong to me."

Back in the meeting room, I pulled the projector cable out in front of everyone. "This proposal is no longer authorized for use. The copyright to the original data belongs to my father's studio. Without my authorization, anyone who uses it is infringing on our rights."

Charlie's face paled. "But Ingrid already promised to put me in charge."

I looked at him. "Then have her draw it for you."

Ingrid stood up, her voice turning colder. "John, restore the authorization by this afternoon."

"Not going to happen."

"Your father's old studio sits inside the project's demolition zone." She buttoned her jacket, her tone flat. "Every day the proposal stalls, the site clearing moves up a day. If you want to save what's in there, then stop being stubborn."

With that, she slid a notice to vacate across the table toward me. In the signature section was Ingrid's name.