Third Person's POV
In the photo, a formally dressed man was standing in front of Chelsea. Aiken recognized him right away—Hadwin Curtis, her personal assistant.
Aiken had asked about him before. But Chelsea had just brushed it off, saying he was simply a junior from her high school who’d come to her for help after college. She’d also said she only felt obligated to take care of him.
But no “ordinary junior” would send a photo like the one Aiken had just seen.
In the picture, Chelsea wore a soft smile, her lips barely pursed as she handed Hadwin a watch. Her gaze was warm—overflowing with an affection Aiken hadn’t seen in a long time.
Aiken’s hands tightened around his phone as he blocked the sender. Only then did he also realize that the watch Chelsea handed over was identical to the one she had given him.
'So much for a “new release,”' Aiken thought bitterly. It stung him to realize that Chelsea had taken the time to give Hadwin the watch herself, while she couldn’t even stay long enough to put it on Aiken’s wrist.
Churning with anger, Aiken tossed the watch and the overseas assignment papers into their bedroom drawer. Inside were also their marriage certificate and an unsigned divorce agreement.
The days dragged on, and Chelsea didn’t come home. Each time Aiken tried to contact her, it was Hadwin who answered the phone.
“Ms. Chelsea’s busy and doesn’t have time right now,” Hadwin said smoothly, his young voice brimming with confidence.
Aiken thought back over the seven years he and Chelsea had shared. It felt like everything fresh and exciting had turned cold and stale.
"Have her check her phone. I’ve sent her messages," Aiken said, his throat dry.
But Hadwin’s answer hit like a slap. “I’ve already deleted those. As Ms. Chelsea’s husband, isn’t it inappropriate for you to distract her from her work?”
Hadwin’s audacious words revealed his true colors. Aiken found it laughable yet infuriating. “Did Chelsea tell you to butt into our personal lives?”
With one hand gripping his phone and the other braced against his desk, Aiken’s voice was harsh. Only he knew how much insecurity lay beneath the surface—just cold disappointment and pain.
Even so, Hadwin remained unperturbed. He even managed to reply with composed confidence, "Mr. Gray, do you really think I’m just her personal assistant?"
That single sentence left Aiken humiliated, forcing him to end the call.
Of course. What kind of personal assistant would act so intimately?
Aiken stared down at other photos Hadwin had sent. In it, Chelsea was buried in work, reviewing documents and jotting down notes. Every now and then, she glanced up before refocusing on her work.
But that glance—it unintentionally carried tenderness. Aiken couldn’t help but think, 'So Chelsea can look at someone else that way too.'
While Chelsea stayed away, Aiken packed a few things and decided to visit her parents. He didn’t know how long he’d be gone for his overseas assignment, and it felt like the right thing to do.
Years ago, Chelsea’s father had been beaten and left disabled over unpaid debts, and her mother suffered from mental health struggles brought on by the trauma. But during this time, Chelsea had wanted to start her business, so Aiken had stepped in to help care for them.
After Chelsea found success, she moved her parents into a nursing home, though Aiken still visited them from time to time.
"Aiken, why didn’t Chelsea come with you?" Chelsea’s mother was delighted to see Aiken, holding his hand and chatting endlessly. "I know she’s busy, but you need to remind her to take care of herself. She listens to you more than anyone.”
Aiken forced a smile. It had been years since Chelsea really listened to him.
A year ago, Chelsea had started attending frequent social events, often drinking heavily and staying overnight at hotels. Back then, Aiken had frowned and urged her to drink less.
However, Chelsea, drunk and clinging to him, had reassured him. "It’s fine."
"It’s bad for your health. I don’t want you to get hurt," Aiken had said helplessly, massaging the crease in her brow. Chelsea had taken the opportunity to grasp his hand, pulling him closer for a wine-flavored kiss.
“You worry too much. It’s good for building my tolerance," she had said, brushing it off.
Worried, Aiken had tried to offer a solution. “Next time, I’ll come with you. I’ll make sure no one pressures you to drink.”
But Chelsea had quickly waved it off. “No need. Why would you come? I wouldn’t want anyone forcing you to drink.”
Wrapping her arms around his waist, Chelsea’s cold, worn-down demeanor had softened into warmth. "Your job is to stay at home and wait for me."
