When Nathaniel walked into the boardroom, his expression was dark. He sat across from me, his eyes cold and fixed on mine.
Unsurprisingly, after the majority vote, I was officially elected as the new chairwoman of the company.
I immediately began announcing a series of personnel changes.
Through it all, Nathaniel said nothing.
Until I called in Veronica.
The moment she saw me sitting at the head of the board table, her face turned pale with disbelief.
I looked at her calmly and gave my first official order as chairwoman.
“You’re fired.”
She immediately turned to Nathaniel, seeking help.
He stood up.
Even when he was removed as chairman, he didn’t protest—but now, he spoke.
“I object. Veronica is talented. The company should keep her.”
If this had been in the past—seeing him defend another woman—I might’ve felt jealous.
But now, I was calmer than I’d ever been.
“If there’s an objection, we’ll put it to a vote.”
And just like that, his objection became meaningless.
I held equal shares to his. And this time, the major shareholders were all on my side.
He stood alone. His protests held no weight.
Faced with the outcome, Nathaniel showed no surprise. He said nothing and left the boardroom with Veronica.
I watched them leave, unmoved, then turned back to resume the meeting.
When it ended, several of the older shareholders came over to speak with me.
“Mrs. Sena, no matter what happens, we support you. But the tension between you and your husband, please handle it wisely. Don’t let outsiders take advantage and ruin everything.”
“Yes, Mrs. Sena,” another nodded. “I still remember when you knelt at my door begging for investment. Be careful.”
Their concern was sincere—but not just for me. It was for their own interests too.
I shook their hands and thanked them one by one.
That evening, when I returned home, the aroma of a home-cooked meal greeted me.
In the kitchen, Nathaniel was busy stir-frying.
I’d expected him to disappear for a while. I never thought he’d be here, cooking.
I couldn’t even remember the last time he made a meal at home.
Maybe two years ago. Maybe three. Maybe longer.
“You’re back?” he said casually.
“Wash your hands, dinner’s ready.”
He brought a dish to the table. The gentleness in his voice felt both familiar and unfamiliar.
I looked at him coldly. “So, what are your thoughts on the divorce?”
He visibly tensed. The plate in his hand almost slipped.
He set it down carefully and forced a smile. “Food first. Man is iron, rice is steel—you need strength to talk about things.”
“Fine.”
I washed up and sat at the table, watching him move in and out of the kitchen.
For some reason, my eyes stung.
Maybe it was the tears from last night, still lingering.
Or maybe… it was something else.
Something warm.
A feeling I hadn’t felt in years.
After dinner, he poured me a cup of tea.
“Next Wednesday’s your birthday,” he said. “Feels like it’s been forever since I last celebrated it with you.”
“How about we go on a short vacation—just the two of us?”
I looked at him silently for a long time.
Then, in a calm voice, I said again, “About the divorce…”
He took my hand and said softly, “Don’t divorce me. Please.”
