Asset Management

In Kieran Chase's eyes, I was not his wife. I was a non-performing asset waiting to be liquidated.

When I got sick and asked for help, he became impatient. He said, "This is a minor problem. You can handle it on your own. No need to tell anyone."

When I broke down in tears, he reprimanded me. "Losing emotional control shows weakness. It exposes the fragility of our alliance. I'll have the PR team teach you emotional management."

Even when I called for help after a car accident, he hung up. "Nothing about you is important enough to interrupt a transaction worth hundreds of millions."

I spent seven days in the ICU fighting for my life.

On my first day home, I found Kieran leaning over another woman, his voice suddenly soft and coaxing as he convinced her to take her medicine.

He opened his mouth to explain. I smiled bitterly and handed him the papers I'd prepared long ago. My tone mirrored his perfectly.

"Mr. Chase, regarding our marriage project, the return on investment is unacceptably low after comprehensive evaluation. I'm formally proposing we terminate our cooperation.

"Here's the divorce agreement. Sign it."

Kieran Chase stood up and glanced at the agreement without taking it.

"Where have you been for the past two months?

"Scott said he couldn't reach you by phone or text. Next time you disappear, remember to report it to me."

Not a word of concern. Just another one of Kieran's random scoldings.

Honestly, after all these years, this was the first time looking at Kieran's face made me feel disgusted.

Since he would not take it, I did not force him. I casually set the papers on the coffee table.

"Mr. Chase, if there are no objections, then just sign it."

I lowered my eyes and glanced at the girl sitting in the wheelchair beside him.

My body felt too weak to even summon the energy for angry questions. I walked around her, planning to go upstairs and rest.

Perhaps my calm reaction was too abnormal. For once in his life, Kieran actually offered me an explanation.

"This is my friend's younger sister. He asked me to look after her. For convenience, I brought her home to stay. I explained it in a text message before. You probably didn't see it…

"What happened to your hand?"

Kieran suddenly changed topics. Only then did I follow his gaze downward.

Without the divorce agreement covering it, my right hand was exposed under the lights.

My hand was thin and pale, the wrist wrapped in gauze and the back mottled with bruises from the IV catheter they had left in during resuscitation.

"Are you sick?"

He seemed to have found the root of my abnormal behavior. He called me by my full name.

It did not sound like concern. It sounded more like a supervisor reprimanding a subordinate.

"Joanna Candor, don't make emotional decisions when you're ill. Take the agreement back."

I was already used to this. I