Chapter 7

On Monday morning, the moment Ellie arrived at QuantumX Biotech, her phone rang. It was her lawyer.

"Miss Winbury, Mr. Housten has confirmed Wednesday morning for the divorce proceedings. Please be sure to arrive on time."

"Understood. Thank you."

Ending the call, Ellie took a slow, deep breath.

Wednesday. In just two days, this suffocating marriage would finally be over.

"Miss Winbury?"

The HR representative spotted her and greeted her warmly.

"Your workstation is right here. You'll be assisting the drug research team with lab operations and documentation. Our current focus is on developing targeted anti-cancer drugs. Here are the project files to get you started."

As a newly hired research assistant, Ellie accepted the hefty stack of documents.

Drug development was a long and intricate process. If she wanted to find her footing quickly, she needed to understand the project inside and out.

She sat at her desk, absorbed in the material, highlighting key points and jotting down her own notes and observations.

Time slipped by unnoticed.

When she finally looked up, everyone else had gone home—it was past nine. A quarter of the files still remained unread, so she stayed late to finish.

By the time she was done, the building was empty and silent, the sky outside ink-dark.

She stood to stretch her stiff muscles and headed for the restroom.

When she returned, a tall, broad-shouldered man was standing by her desk, intently reading her annotated notes.

"Mr. Quinn." Her tone was polite, professionally detached.

Thomas looked up, his expression one of genuine admiration. "You got through all of this in one day? Most new hires need at least three."

"I was just skimming to get the big picture," she demurred. "I'll need to cross-reference a lot of it with the clinical research."

Thomas closed the folder, clearly impressed. "You haven't eaten, have you? Let me buy you dinner."

"That's really not necessary, Mr. Quinn."

He offered a charming, disarming smile. "If it gets out that I worked my new star employee to the point of starvation on her first day, my reputation as a decent human being is finished. Help me preserve the illusion?"

He'd made it impossible to refuse gracefully. After a brief hesitation, Ellie nodded. "Alright. Thank you."

She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked ahead. Thomas followed a few steps behind, a slight, unconscious smile touching his lips as he watched her.

Earlier that evening, he'd been giving an interview for Entrepreneurs Weekly. Passing by the office afterward, he'd noticed a light still on upstairs and decided to check. He hadn't expected it to be her.

He'd already eaten, but the prospect of a second dinner suddenly seemed perfectly reasonable.

He drove her to a quiet, upscale restaurant known for its refined local cuisine.

When the server came, he ordered smoothly, "No chili, and hold the ginger."

Ellie looked up, surprised.

He had just listed her exact dietary preferences.

They had never shared a meal. How could he possibly know?

Catching her look, Thomas quickly added, "I've been having some acid reflux. Doctor's orders—no spice or ginger. But please, feel free to order whatever you like."

Ellie offered a small, polite smile. "No, that's perfect. Thank you."

It must have been a coincidence. There was no other explanation.

After dinner, Thomas insisted on driving her home. "You're my responsibility now," he said, his tone light but firm. "Letting you find your own way home this late would make me a terrible boss."

Once again, under the guise of gentlemanly duty, Ellie found herself acquiescing.

…

Meanwhile, Jonathan was out on a date with a young model when he happened to spot them.

He quickly snapped a photo and sent it to the private group chat he shared with Derek and Drew.

Jonathan: [Derek, something's up with your wife?]

[Jonathan]: That's a Maybach. Who's the new sugar daddy? Guess your allowance wasn't enough for her.

Derek had just finalized a multi-billion-dollar acquisition. The celebratory mood evaporated the moment he opened the message. The photo showed Ellie gracefully sliding into the passenger seat of a luxury sedan.

So this was why she was so eager for the divorce? She'd already lined up her next patron.

The audacity, to flaunt it while they were still legally married. Did she think he was a joke?

He wanted to call her, to demand an explanation. But as he scrolled through his contacts, a wave of irritation washed over him—he didn't even have her number saved.

Four years of marriage, and he'd never bothered. She was always the one calling him, her voice timid, asking if he'd be home for dinner. Whenever he needed to reach her, he'd just find her number in his call history.

But now… the log was empty. She hadn't called him in nearly a month.

He finally found her contact from an old chat thread with his grandmother.

Anger simmering beneath his skin, he pressed "call."

…

Inside Thomas's car, the ringtone sliced through the quiet.

Ellie froze, staring at the screen. It was Derek's number.

Once, she had assigned him a unique ringtone, a hopeful, yearning melody, just so she would never miss a call.

For years, she had ached to hear it. Its silence had been a constant, dull pain.

He had never called her directly—always through an assistant or the housekeeper.

Now, when the long-awaited sound finally echoed in the quiet car, she… didn't quite know how to react.

Seeing her hesitate, Thomas asked softly, "Aren't you going to get that?"

Ellie pressed the red "decline" button. Her voice was flat. "Wrong number. I don't know who it is."

Thomas saw the fleeting tension in her eyes—the lie—but said nothing.

…

At his hotel, Derek listened to the call disconnect.

His face darkened.

She had hung up on him.

Was it a guilty conscience? Or outright defiance?

He forwarded the photo of the car to his assistant.

Derek: [Find out who owns this car. I want every detail. You have 3 days.]

He was going to find out who had the nerve to lay a hand on what was still, legally, his.

He may not have wanted her, but until the ink was dry on those divorce papers, Ellie Winbury was still Mrs. Housten.

And the thought of anyone else touching her, of becoming a laughingstock in Lyeaton's elite circles, was utterly unacceptable.

…

The Maybach pulled up in front of a modest apartment complex.

Ellie unbuckled her seatbelt. "Thank you for the ride, Mr. Quinn."

"Think nothing of it," he said warmly. "It was on my way."

She smiled, nodded, and walked into the compound.

Thomas sat in the idling car, watching her slender figure disappear into the lobby.

This was a mid-range neighborhood—comfortable, but far from luxurious.

He remembered hearing that her husband was a businessman, one of the wealthiest in the city.

There was no way a woman married into that kind of wealth would be living here.

There was only one explanation.

They were living apart.