Chapter2

Dante’s POV

The boardroom was quiet as we discussed the chairman’s succession of LLC Group. Then my phone chimed.

It was an email from Calliope.

She never emailed me. Ever.

This could be urgent. Frowning, I tapped on it.

"I don’t even know why I’m doing this. Maybe because it’s the only way you’ll listen to me."

I never thought it would be a video.

She seemed to have just cried, with red eyes and a trembling voice filling the entire room, appearing very sad and helpless. She wiped her face, but the tears kept coming.

"You never behaved like my husband, Dante. You treated me like an employee—no, worse. With your employees, you're different—respectful, decent. But with me? I'm just a maid to you, someone who exists only to serve you."

"I’ve always cleaned up your messes—your home, your life, your ego—while you barely even looked at me. And when you did? It was only to scold me, to remind me how I was never enough."

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.

For all these years, I never knew my wife could look at me like this. She never even said these things to me.

What was this now?

Did she want to use tears to gain my sympathy?

I tried to turn off the video, but it kept playing.

Everyone was now looking at me.

My secretary rushed to turn off the projector, but it was too late.

Everyone in the conference room was giving me strange looks, while sitting in their seats whispering to each other.

It felt like time froze.

"Dante, I've had enough. Let's get a divorce."

A cold weight settled in my chest.

The video ended.

My secretary silently placed the phone on the table.

I could feel the tension thickening in the room, every glance heavy with unspoken judgment. William, the senior shareholder, leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

"What is the meaning of this, Dante?" one of the board members asked, his tone measured but edged with suspicion.

I drew in a slow breath, keeping my expression composed.

"It's a personal matter," I said, voice steady. "I apologize for the interruption. Let’s not derail the meeting."

A murmur rippled through the boardroom.

William exhaled, tapping his fingers against the table. His gaze was sharp, assessing.

"Dante, perception is everything in leadership. If your personal affairs are becoming this public, it raises concerns about stability. We need confidence in the executives leading this company."

Calliope’s video had sent my carefully laid plans into a tailspin. If I couldn’t succeed my father as the Chairman of the Board, it would risk my uncles seizing full control of the company.

"With all due respect, my personal life does not affect my ability to lead. This situation is unfortunate, but it will be handled. Professionally."

William held my gaze for a long moment before pushing back his chair.

"I suggest postponing the company's succession ceremony."

At his words, the board members stood and filed out. I sat alone in the conference room, burning with rage. I yanked off the tight tie strangling my neck and threw it on the table.

"Dante, we have another meeting ... " My secretary, York, hesitated beside me.

“Cancel it—I'm going home and see what the hell she's up to.”

***

The storm outside mirrored my fury.

I suddenly remembered our wedding day three years ago.

The Laurents had planned everything—grand, extravagant, flawless. But what I remembered most was Calliope’s face beneath her veil.

We both attended Hopkins Illyria University.

That day, an accident led me to break into that chemistry classroom.

There seems to be someone conducting an experiment in the classroom, and the smell permeating the air is very pungent.

My sense of smell is naturally more sensitive than others, and the indoor odor quickly made me dizzy.

I leaned against the table and gasped for breath, as if a pair of hands were gripping my throat, making it difficult for me to breathe.

Just then, I saw her.

Bright. Anxious. Vibrant.

She had saved me that night.

That wasn’t even the first time.

My mother hopes that I can find a wife from a decent family which is similar to mine as soon as possible.

When Calliope confessed her feelings to me, I had a crazy thought at that moment.  If I were to find a wife, I don’t have to care about what family she came from. She is the only person I would marry.

But as time passed, as we spent more and more days together, I began to doubt whether I had made the right choice.

Because deep down, I realized—I might not be able to love her.

***

Outside the car window, rain poured down in heavy sheets, drenching the delicate flower buds along the street.

In the stillness of the car, fragments of memories danced in my mind.

I sped home, dialing Calliope’s number on my way. My hands were shaking—whether from rage or something else, I wasn’t sure.

The phone rang, once, twice, thrice.

“Pick up the Goddamn phone, Calliope!” I gritted my teeth and tried again.

This time, she answered.

“Dante, I was only telling the truth," was the first line that came out of her mouth.

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Throwing another tantrum, are you? Do you even realize what you've done, Calliope? You just sabotaged my career, everything I worked so hard for! That stupid video turned me into a joke in front of everyone! And now this?"

Silence stretched on the other end. After a long pause, Calliope’s voice came through.

“I’m tired. Dante. I’m not joking. The divorce papers are on your bedside table. After you sign them, just send them to me.”

Something about the finality in her tone sent a sharp pang of unease through me. She wasn’t crying anymore.

She sounded…

The cold realization ran down my spine.

"You can’t be serious—"

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone, breathing hard.

This wasn’t real. She wouldn’t leave me. She couldn’t.

Without thinking, I slammed on the gas, racing back to the house that never really felt like home.

Arriving at the house, I realized she had already left with her belongings. I couldn’t find her clothes, accessories or shoes anywhere.

But I saw a paper neatly folded on the dressing table. My heart hammered against my chest realizing what it could be. When I opened it, my world came crashing down.

It was a divorce paper, with Calliope’s signature on it.

My phone tinged right at that moment. It was a text from an unknown number.

“Come if you want answers.”

An address followed.

Against my better judgment, I knew I had to go.

***

I parked across the street, watching through the rain-splattered windshield.

And there she was.

Calliope.

The woman who had just ruined all my hard work, was sitting here by a full length window in an upscale restaurant. Her golden dress hugged her shapely figure, the extravagant fabric shimmering under the soft lighting, with a slit too high to my liking. A diamond bracelet gleamed as she reached for her wine glass, every movement poised, deliberate.

She wasn’t looking like she cried rivers a couple of hours ago.

She looked like she had taken all the time in the world prettying up—something she had rarely done in our years of marriage.

A fresh surge of anger through me.

I gripped the car door, swung it open, and stepped into the downpour.