CHAPTER 10
I spread the sketches across the table with careful movements, ensuring each had its place. Some had worn corners, silent witnesses of the years they spent forgotten, while others, with firm and recent lines, bore the weight of lonely nights and the desire to reconnect with something truly mine.
My small workshop reflected every part of me that had been hidden. The walls, adorned with little fabric scraps for color testing, were a collage of paused dreams. In a corner, a mannequin wore the new prototype awaiting completion. The sewing machine, my faithful companion, rested quietly, its presence a constant reminder of the times when I felt most alive.
I ran my fingers over the fabric of the dress on the mannequin, letting my hands follow the seams with the same delicacy I had put into each stitch. It was not just a dress; in it, I had left pieces of myself. It had been my voice in life that often left me speechless. I looked at the organized chaos of sketches and fabrics on the table and felt something different: something within me was beginning to awaken.
A drawing caught my attention. It was an old design, from my days as a student, when I dreamed of conquering the fashion world. I carefully picked it up, seeing the lines that, though somewhat faded, still displayed the talent I once had. "When did I stop dreaming about this?" I wondered, as a pang of nostalgia and determination formed in my chest.
My phone vibrated on the table, interrupting my thoughts. Multiple notifications piled up on the screen, but I ignored them. At that moment, the only thing that mattered was gathering every piece of myself I had left behind. Professor Meng was right: organizing the sketches was more than a simple exercise. Each stroke on those papers was a reminder of who I was before I became Mrs. Chen.
Time seemed to stop as I worked. I sorted the sketches by themes, separating the ones I felt more relevant. When I finished, I placed them in a new folder, one I had specially bought for this. On the cover, my name shone in golden letters: Xu Ai. I stared at those two words, as if they needed to remind me of who I was. It was not just a folder; it was a declaration of intent, a reminder that there was still something in me worth rescuing.
I took a deep breath and picked up the phone. I searched for my contacts and dialed Professor Meng's number. As the dial tone rang, my stomach churned with a mix of nerves and anticipation.
"Xu Ai!" exclaimed Meng's warm voice on the other line. "Are the sketches ready?" "Yes, professor. I've organized them as you asked," I replied, striving to keep my voice steady.
"Perfect. Why don't you bring them to my office this afternoon? Does four o'clock work for you? We can review them together slowly." The warmth in her words dispelled some of my doubts. I took a breath, letting the confidence in her voice fill the void I felt.
"Agreed. I'll be there." I hung up, releasing a long sigh as if that brief conversation had lifted some of the tension I carried. I looked at the clock; I still had time to get ready. This time, I wouldn't wear a dress. I chose a simple yet elegant outfit: wide linen trousers and a white blouse with delicate embroidery at the collar. In front of the mirror, as I adjusted the details of my clothing, something in my reflection caught my attention.
It was not just my appearance. There was something in my posture, in the way my shoulders were raised and in the firmness of my gaze, that I hadn't seen in a long time. For the first time, my reflection seemed to return me to myself.
Before leaving, I took the folder and held it against my chest. It was not just a compilation of work; it stood for my identity, that part of me that had been buried under sacrifices and resignation. I closed the door of the workshop and, in doing so, felt that I was also closing a chapter. With the folder in my arms, I took a step towards something I truly desired. Although the path remained uncertain, the one thing I knew for sure was that there was no turning back.
*****
When the car reached the entrance, I took a moment to breathe deeply before getting in. I clearly directed the driver to Mrs. Meng's office, located in a quiet downtown neighborhood, surrounded by small cafes and art galleries I used to visit during my student days.
During the drive, my thoughts fluctuated between nervousness and excitement. I looked out the window, watching modern buildings pass by, though my mind was far from that reality. "What will Mrs. Meng think when she sees my designs? Will she still believe I have talent?" I wondered, tapping my fingers on the folder. It was impossible to ignore the mix of hope and fear I carried with me. Paris. The mere name evoked images of runways, bustling workshops, and nights illuminated by the Eiffel Tower. I had once dreamed of that world, but those dreams seemed as distant as if they belonged to another life.
The car stopped in front of a discreet building with large windows. Through the glass, I could see rolls of fabric piled up and colors that seemed to dance under the natural light. I got out carefully, thanking the driver before crossing the entrance.
"Ai!" Mrs. Meng's voice broke through the hum of the place, loaded with the warmth she always radiated.
I saw her across the workshop, by a large table surrounded by rolls of fabric and mannequins. Her hair was pulled up into a bun, her glasses slightly low, and that mix of authority and tenderness she always inspired. I approached with firm steps, though inside I felt each step brought me closer to confronting my own reflection.
"Mrs. Meng, here are the sketches," I said, placing the folder on the table. My fingers clung briefly to the cover, as if letting go mean exposing a part of me I had kept hiding for too long.
She opened the folder with the care of someone unwrapping a treasure. Her eyes moved slowly from one design to another, and though she said nothing, the smile beginning to form on her face spoke more than a thousand words. When she stopped her gaze at one of the more intricate sketches, she turned to me.
"This is... wonderful," her voice had a tone of genuine admiration. She lifted one of the drawings. "You have an eye for detail and an ability to capture emotions I haven't seen in years." She paused, as if reflecting before adding, "Did you really do all this in your spare time?"
I nodded, feeling a mix of pride and vulnerability at the same time.
"Most of them I did at home... after leaving my studies."
Meng put the sketch back on the table and looked at me with those eyes that seemed capable of reading every unspoken thought.
"You have nothing to be ashamed of, dear. These designs prove that your talent remains intact. In fact," she pointed to the sketch she had praised earlier, "this could be part of a high couture collection without any problem."
Her praise disarmed me. I had expected approval, maybe some constructive criticism, but not words so grand, so full of possibilities. For a moment, I felt a pang of fear. What if I wasn't up to those expectations?
"Thank you. It really means a lot to me that you think that" I responded, my voice barely a whisper.
Meng leaned slightly towards me, placing a firm but affectionate hand on my arm.
"I want to be honest with you, Ai. I've spoken with some contacts in Paris about you. I showed them photos of the dress you wore to the gala, and they were fascinating. There's an opportunity for you to join a young talents program there, but I need to know if you're ready to take that step."
Her words resonated like an echo that shook everything inside me. Paris. The dream I had left behind, buried under responsibilities and fears, now stood before me, tangible and terrifying.
"I don't know what to say..." I murmured, feeling my heartbeat strongly.
Meng looked at me with the patience she always characterized.
"You don't have to decide right now. But time is limited, and these kinds of opportunities don't come twice." She paused and, softening her tone, added, "You have a bright future ahead, Ai. All you need is to take the first step."
I looked at the sketches on the table, my hands trembling slightly at the thought of everything that decision implied. It wasn't just a geographical change; it was facing what I had left behind and, perhaps, who I had ceased to be.
"Thank you for believing in me, Mrs. Meng. I'll think about it and give you an answer soon."
She nodded; her gaze loaded with confidence.
"I know you'll make the right decision. I'm here to help you with whatever you need."
I spent the rest of the afternoon in the workshop, discussing each design and listening to Meng's advice. The vibrant atmosphere of the place, the spread-out fabrics, and the sounds of the sewing machines were bringing back a part of me that had been dormant. As we talked, I could imagine myself working in a place like this, living a life where my hands and my heart defined my future.
When it was time to leave, Meng walked me to the door.
"Remember, Ai, fear is normal, but never let it stop you. Life has curious ways of giving us second chances."
I smiled, holding the folder against my chest.
"Thank you for everything, Mrs. Meng. I won't forget it."
The afternoon air greeted me again, and as I walked towards the car, I felt that the weight inside me was beginning to shift. It wasn't any less heavy, but now it was accompanied by a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I was closer to finding my way back to myself.
CHAPTER 11
I got out of the car with firm steps, hugging the folder of sketches against my chest as if it were a shield. The night breeze caressed my face as I climbed the steps to the entrance of the mansion. That house, always imposing and silent, seemed even colder that night. Despite the spark of hope I carried with me after my meeting with Mrs. Meng, the loneliness that greeted me as I crossed the door felt like an old enemy, familiar and cruel.
I opened the door carefully, avoiding breaking the sepulchral silence that reigned in the hall. The lights were off, and each step echoed, making the emptiness clearer. I went straight to my workshop, my only refuge in that vast mansion. There, I placed the folder on the table delicately, as if its contents were as fragile as my own emotions.
I looked around the room. Everything was in its place: the mannequin with the unfinished dress, the sewing tools, the fabrics neatly arranged. Each object reminded me of the lonely nights when sewing had been my only way to stay sane. "Maybe this is my way out," I thought, recalling Mrs. Meng's words. But, although the future she offered seemed promising, uncertainty still weighed on me like a persistent shadow.
I sighed and decided that a shower would help clear my mind. I slipped out of the linen trousers and embroidered my blouse with automatic movements before entering the bathroom. The steam quickly filled the space, and the hot water began to fall on my skin. I closed my eyes, letting the sound of the water drown out everything else. For a moment, I tried to free my mind of Chen Hao, Paris, and the decisions I still had to make. But even under the tranquility of the water, the questions continued to whisper in my ear: What am I doing? Can I really leave all this behind?
When I stepped out of the bathroom, my body trembled strangely, as if expecting a moment of fear. I wrapped myself in a towel and walked to the nightstand. There, my phone was vibrating insistently. I frowned. I had been ignoring it since I arrived, convinced it was irrelevant notifications, but the persistence piqued my curiosity.
I swiped the screen to unlock it. There were several notifications from an unknown number. My heart began to beat faster as I opened the first message. It was a blurry photograph, but unmistakable. Chen Hao was in it, standing next to a tall, elegant woman who laughed as they exited what appeared to be a hotel entrance.
The air seemed to vanish from my lungs. I swiped down and more photos appeared: Chen Hao with different women, at private dinners, entering and exiting hotels, even in nightclubs. Each image was like a dagger plunging deep into my chest.
I dropped the phone on the bed as if it was burning, bringing both hands to my face. Tears began to well up, first silently, then in a torrent of sobs that shook my body. I collapsed on the edge of the bed, unable to stop the flood of emotions that overwhelmed me.
Everything I had endured, every humiliation, every lonely night, crumbled under the weight of those images. I had lived a lie, holding up a marriage that I now saw as a cruel farce.
The images remained etched in my mind, each one more painful than the last. I remembered the nights I prepared his favorite dishes, waiting for him to show up for dinner. He didn't come. He didn't call. When he finally returned, he simply gave me a vacant look and went up to his bedroom. That indifference was now a chain that had bound me for years.
I had loved Chen Hao, even when his indifference had been an insurmountable wall between us. I had naively believed that over time things would improve. But those photos shattered any hope I might have had. "How could I have been so naive?" I asked myself through sobs. The weight of each sacrifice, of each attempt to earn his love, hit me hard. The pain mixed with a silent fury growing in my chest like a storm.
I got up from the bed and left the room, leaving the phone on the bed. My steps led me to my small workshop, and when I entered, my eyes landed on the folder of sketches. I approached it, running my fingers over the cover where my name shone in golden letters. This was mine, the only thing that truly belonged to me at that moment.
Mrs. Meng's words echoed in my mind: "You have talent, Xu Ai. It's never too late to return." For a moment, I closed my eyes and imagined a different future. I went to the mirror and saw my reflection. My face was red from crying; my eyes showed the fatigue of years of futile sacrifices. But behind all that, there was something more. A spark, a strength that was beginning to awaken. The spark of someone who had endured so much but still had something to fight for.
"I can't keep living like this," I murmured, letting the words fill the silence of the bedroom. It was more than a statement; it was a promise. The time had come to change. I didn't know how or when, but something inside me knew I couldn't go back.
CHAPTER 12
Shortly after, I returned to my bedroom and picked up my phone with trembling hands, still unable to tear my eyes away from the images I had received. Each photo was etched in my mind, one after another, like a sequence of blows that left me breathless. Without thinking too much, I dialed Mrs. Meng's number. I needed her voice, her wisdom, something to anchor me amid the chaos I felt.
It only rang twice when her warm voice broke the silence. "Xu Ai, dear, what's happening?" she asked, and the tone of concern in her words almost made me collapse again.
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, a slight sob escaped my lips. I brought a hand to my chest, taking a deep breath, trying to find some control before speaking. "Mrs. Meng..." I finally murmured; my voice cracked. "I need to leave. I can't stay here any longer."
There was a brief pause on the other line, not out of confusion, but of understanding. Her response came with firm and comforting determination. "I understand," she said gently. "What do you need, Ai? Tell me how I can help."
I closed my eyes, letting her warmth envelop me. It was the first time in a long while that someone seemed to truly be on my side, willing to support me without question. "Could I... could I stay at your place until I can leave?" I asked, my voice trembling again, but filled with vulnerability I couldn't hide. "Of course, you can. You don't have to ask twice. Come right now. Here you'll be safe, and we can work together on everything you need. Paris will be ready for you whenever you decide it's time," she assured, and her tone was so firm that my tears started to flow again.
"Thank you..." I whispered, my voice choked with emotion.
"And listen, Ai," she continued with a clever but kind tone. "Take a taxi. I don't want anyone to know where you're going. It's better if you're discreet, alright?" I instinctively nodded, even though she couldn't see me. Her words ignited a small spark of hope in my chest, one that was slowly growing. "Yes, I will. Thank you so much, Mrs. Meng. Really, I don't know how to thank you for this."
"You don't have to thank anything, dear. Just come carefully. You'll be fine here." When I hung up, I stayed holding the phone against my chest, as if that simple object could hold all the strength I needed to take the next step. Mrs. Meng's words echoed in my mind: "You'll be fine here." That certainly was all I needed to hear at that moment, but I knew there was still much to do before I could leave that house forever.
I got up, wiping my tears with the palms of my hands. The decision was made. There was no turning back.
I opened the closet with precise movements, although my heart thumped as if it were about to burst. I saw the rows of hanging clothes, my gaze only stopping on the garments I had made with my own hands. Elegant dresses, delicate blouses, and pants designed on nights where sewing was my only way to stay sane.
I folded each garment carefully, feeling my fingers tremble as they passed over the fabric. Each seam, each detail, brought back memories of lonely hours in my workshop. It was work I had never shown to anyone, but at that moment, I realized they stood for something more: my struggle not to lose myself.
When I was done with the clothes, I moved to the vanity. The cosmetics, perfumes, the little luxuries I had bought with my own inheritance, were all carefully organized. I took only what was necessary, leaving behind everything that didn't truly represent me. As I packed each item into a small bag, I remembered the times I had looked in the mirror, trying to fit into a life that was never mine.
Finally, I entered my workshop. I looked at the fabrics neatly arranged on the shelves and the tools scattered on the table. I couldn't take it all, but each object seemed to whisper a silent farewell. I picked up only the essentials, leaving behind the remnants of my constant struggle to keep a spark of creativity alive.
With both suitcases finally ready, I took a deep breath. My steps echoed in the hallway as I returned to my bedroom. I knew there was one more thing I needed to do before leaving.
I opened the safe with trembling hands. Inside, along with some important documents, was the divorce agreement that Chen Hao had signed on our wedding night. I took it out and placed it on the nightstand. I looked at the paper for a few seconds, letting the bitterness of that memory settle.
With a pen in hand, I signed my name at the bottom of the document. Each stroke of the pen felt like a release, an act of affirmation. When I finished, I put the pen aside and took off my wedding ring. I looked at it for a moment, remembering what it symbolized for me and what it had never meant to him. Then I placed it next to the signed agreement, a definitive gesture marking the end of a chapter in my life.
I stood there, looking at the ring and the document, while tears ran down my cheeks again. But this time, I didn't try to stop them. I knew each tear was part of the process of leaving behind what had been and accepting what was to come.
I walked down the stairs with both suitcases in hand, my steps resonating in the cavernous silence of the house. As I reached the last step, I paused, taking a moment to look at the space that had been my prison for a year. The living room, lit by the dim light of a lamp, seemed emptier than usual. It was as if the house reflected the coldness and disdain that had marked my life here.
I left the suitcases by the sofa and turned around. My gaze stopped at the dining table, where I had prepared countless dinners that were never shared. The kitchen, witness to hours of effort to please someone who didn't even bother to taste what I cooked. Each corner seemed a silent mockery of the sacrifices I had made, waiting for something that never came.
As I approached the shelf, a framed photograph captured my attention. It was an image from our wedding, taken just after the ceremony. We both looked impeccable, smiling at the camera as if everything was fine. But now, looking at that photo, all I saw was the truth behind those smiles. Mine was full of hope; he was empty and calculated.
I reached out towards the frame but stopped before touching it. "This isn't mine," I thought, pulling my hand back firmly. "None of these is." I walked away, leaving the photograph in its place as a testimony to the lie that had been our marriage.
I turned my attention to the large window overlooking the garden. For many nights, I sat on the sofa, staring at that same landscape, waiting for Chen Hao. Hoping he would return, that he would realize I was there for him. But now I knew where he really had been, and with whom. The images on my phone had not only shattered my heart; they had illuminated the reality I had avoided facing.
I took a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs, and closed my eyes for a moment. "This ends here," I told myself, opening them again with renewed determination. I walked over to the phone on the entry table and dialed the taxi company. As the operator confirmed that a car would arrive in five minutes, it felt as if each word I spoke sealed my decision.
The clock on the wall marked the seconds with relentless precision. Although I knew Chen Hao wouldn't arrive before ten, each minute seemed an eternity. Every little sound, every shadow moving outside the house, put me on alert. But there was no room for fear. Not this time.
When I saw the taxi lights reflecting on the window, a sense of urgency took over me. I grabbed the handles of the suitcases tightly and headed towards the door. The night air hit my face as I opened it, cold and invigorating, like a reminder that I was about to take an irreversible step.
The taxi waited at the entrance, its lights illuminating the path I was about to take. The driver, a middle-aged man with a kind face, got out of the vehicle and hurried to help me with the luggage.
I stood in front of the mansion for one more moment, looking at its imposing walls and dark windows. I had spent a year within those walls, waiting, trying, enduring. I had wanted to fill the emptiness with love, with hope, with every small act of devotion I could muster. But that house, cold and monumental, had given nothing back.
The taxi lights flashed, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned towards the car, feeling the weight of my decisions beginning to lighten slightly. I got into the vehicle, closing the door behind me with a sound that seemed to mark the end of a chapter in my life.
"Where to, ma'am?"
"To this address," I replied, handing him the phone where Mrs. Meng had noted the address. My voice was steady, though I felt my heart pounding. Each word I said was a farewell to the life I was leaving behind.
The driver started smoothly, and as we moved away, I allowed myself one last look back at the house I was leaving behind. I felt no sadness, no regrets. Just a silent resolution. That place had seen my suffering, but it had also housed my resilience.
I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, letting the hum of the engine and the city lights envelop me. Mrs. Meng was waiting for me. Paris was a real possibility. And although the future was uncertain, one thing was clear: I would not allow anyone else to define my life.
As the taxi slid through the illuminated streets of Shanghai, a sense of relief began to settle in my chest. I took the first step. It was far from the end of my struggle, but it was the beginning of something new. Something that would finally be mine.
I opened my eyes and watched the city lights through the window. For the first time in a long time, I felt no fear. Only determination.
I didn't know exactly what awaited me on the other side of this journey, but I was ready to find out.
CHAPTER 13
I pushed open the main door of the mansion and let out a sigh while loosening the knot of my tie. It had been an exhausting day, filled with endless meetings and critical decisions. Though the outcomes were positive, the weight of the day made me yearn for just one thing: silence.
My footsteps echoed in the spacious foyer as I closed the door behind me. It was a familiar routine, but that night, something felt different. I stopped dead in my tracks, furrowing my brow as I scanned the space.
I set my briefcase next to the living room sofa and hung my jacket over the back of a chair. I headed to the kitchen, looking for any sign of life, but everything was in its place. The appliances shone under the dim ceiling light, and the air was so still I could hear my own breathing.
I opened the refrigerator out of habit. The absence of the prepared meals I usually found made me close it more forcefully than necessary. A pang of unease pierced me. Since the anniversary, Xu Ai had stopped leaving anything to eat.
I ran a hand through my hair, staring at the emptiness in the kitchen. Though everything was motionless, the atmosphere was filled with something I couldn't quite identify.
I climbed the stairs slowly, dreading what I might discover. The door to Xu Ai's bedroom was slightly ajar, as if inviting me to enter. Part of me wanted to push it open and confirm that everything was still in order, but something held me back.
To my left, a door that had always been closed was now open. A chill ran down my spine as I fixed my gaze on this unexpected opening. Without a second thought, I changed direction and headed towards the room.
I stood in the threshold, as if crossing that line would be an act of intrusion. My eyes swept over the space, trying to make sense of what I saw. An empty mannequin, covered with remnants of pins, stood in one corner. The sewing machine, on a sturdy table, carried a barely perceptible layer of dust, as if Xu Ai had used it until recently. On the floor, scraps of fabric in various colors were scattered alongside small spools of thread.
I stepped slowly towards the center of the room, hands in pockets, trying to hold the growing tension in my body. Everything in that place spoke of her: the meticulous order, the carefully selected colors, the silent energy that permeated every corner.
I ran my fingers over the surface of the sewing machine, and a shiver traveled down my spine. How long had Xu Ai been working in complete secrecy? A fleeting memory struck me: Xu Ai in her maroon dress, radiant and confident, standing out in the crowd. At that moment, I only felt pride to have someone like her by my side, but I never bothered to ask about the details. Now I understood that each of those garments had come from this place, from her hands.
The weight of that realization forced me to lean on the table. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the pressure building in my chest. I looked at the walls, where the remnants of paper and staples remained. Sketches. They had been there, but now it was empty.
An inexplicable fear began to settle inside me. Why were the sketches gone? What did that mean? The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together, but the picture they formed terrified me.
I turned on my heels and left the workshop, leaving the door open. My steps led me towards Xu Ai's bedroom. I pushed the door with more force than necessary, as if confronting the truth could give me answers. The air inside the room was different, colder, as if her absence had permeated every corner.
I walked to the wardrobe with tense movements, almost fearing what I would find. Upon opening the doors, reality paralyzed me: the garments she herself had crafted, the ones she always wore at every event, were no longer there. The empty hangers hung as a cruel reminder.
I slammed the wardrobe shut and turned towards the vanity. The place where she kept her cosmetics and small personal items was empty. When I turned to leave the room, a glint on the nightstand caught my attention. My heart skipped a beat as my eyes fixed on something that shouldn't be there: a document perfectly aligned with a wedding ring placed on top.
The divorce agreement.
My legs faltered as I approached the nightstand, as if my body was trying to resist the inevitable. But I couldn't ignore it. Each step brought me closer to a truth I didn't want to face. I leaned down to pick up the document, my hands trembling as I opened it. There, next to my signature, was Xu Ai's, firm and clear, like a final verdict.
The ring gleamed with an ironic glow under the light of the dim lamp. I picked it up, remembering the day I slipped it onto Ai's finger, a symbol that now felt hollow.
My lips tightened as I left the document and the ring in their place. I stepped back, my gaze lost. "What have I done?" I thought, unable to articulate my emotions.
It was not the time to surrender to despair. I clumsily pulled out my phone from my pocket and dialed Xu Ai's number. It had been so long since I had done so that I couldn't even remember the last time I called her.
The dial tone rang once, twice, three times, before a mechanical voice gave me the answer I feared: "The number you have dialed is not available."
My hand trembled as I hung up and dialed again, but the result was the same. Each failed attempt increased my distress. Finally, I dropped the mobile on the bed, clenching my fists in frustration.
Despite my mind screaming that she had left, my heart refused to accept it. With determined steps, I left the bedroom and returned to the workshop. I looked around desperately, searching for something, anything that could give me a clue about where Xu Ai was.
But the place was empty of answers. The sewing machine, the empty mannequin, the walls with remnants of staples... Everything spoke of Xu Ai's effort and dedication, but not her whereabouts.
Frustrated, I left and began to explore the house like a man possessed. I descended to the first floor, a space I rarely visited, and stopped in front of the windows that faced the backyard.
For the first time in a year, I noticed the state of the garden. The flowers were perfectly cared for, the bushes precisely trimmed, and the grass impeccably green. It was clear that Xu Ai had invested time and effort in maintaining it, something I had never appreciated, or even remembered existed.
The air became heavy, and I felt my chest tighten. I yanked off the tie with abrupt movements, trying to relieve the pressure. But the truth was I couldn't escape the feeling that overwhelmed me: I had completely underestimated Xu Ai, her dedication, her work, and now her absence was a void consuming me.
I walked back to the living room with erratic steps. Everything seemed different now, each corner of the house was a reminder of my indifference towards the woman who had tried so much for me.
I collapsed onto the sofa, my hands trembling as I pulled out my phone again. I knew I couldn't just sit idly by. With steady fingers, I dialed the number of my personal secretary.
"Mr. Chen?" Jiang answered, clearly surprised by the hour.
"I want the information I requested about my wife on my desk first thing tomorrow morning," I ordered, trying to sound firm, though my tone carried an undertone of urgency I couldn't hide.
"Yes, sir. Anything else?"
I closed my eyes, resting my head against the back of the sofa while keeping the phone next to my ear.
"I need all the drivers who have had contact with her to be in my office before ten."
"Understood, sir."
"That's all," I responded, ending the call with a sharp movement.
I got up from the sofa and ascended to the second floor. The house was silent, but my mind was a whirlwind of emotions: confusion, guilt, and a growing fear that I had never experienced before.
I entered my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I sat on the edge of the bed, burying my hands in my face. The echo of my own breathing filled the room. I had lost something I had never truly valued as I should, and that realization was tearing me apart from the inside.
Finally, I lay down on the bed without even changing my clothes. I closed my eyes, but sleep did not come. In its place, I felt only emptiness, the same that now dominated my home.
CHAPTER 14
I lifted my head and looked at the documents on the desk, but I saw nothing. My mind was trapped in the image of Xu Ai. The images unfolded like a cruel film: the lonely nights I offered her while I hid behind work; the dinners she prepared carefully, left untouched on the table because I couldn't bear her questioning gaze.
I remembered the times I ignored her when she tried to talk to me, the smiles she faked in front of others while I treated her like a decorative object. Her patience, her dedication, enduring silent humiliations just to stay by my side. Each of those scenes was like a blow piercing through my chest.
I had built a wall between us to protect myself from the love I believed would destroy me. But that wall not only kept me safe; it also separated us. It condemned her to a loneliness she didn't deserve, and it left me locked in a prison of indifference.
It wasn't just what I had lost; it was what I had destroyed. While she tried to build a home, I took care of demolishing it with every cold gesture, every word laden with disdain. And yet, Xu Ai kept trying. The small signs of her dedication were everywhere, from the meticulously cared-for garden to the rooms she filled with life.
"All of this is my fault," I thought, feeling the remorse tear through me. I hadn't valued anything. I had been too proud, too cowardly to admit that she was the only thing I really needed.
I straightened up abruptly, leaving behind the thought of loss. Xu Ai had left, but that didn't mean everything was over. If there was anything I could do, I would do it. I took a deep breath and forced myself to regain control, not for me, but for her. Finding her and repairing the damage wasn't an option; it was the only goal that mattered.
*****
I sat in my black leather armchair, clasping my hands in front of me. It might have appeared as a serene, almost contemplative posture, but my fingers tapped almost imperceptibly, betraying my anxiety. Although my rigid posture projected authority, the tension in my jaw spoke of something else: frustration, anxiety, and a loss that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
In front of me, the two chauffeurs waited in silence, like soldiers on the brink of punishment. Lin, the older one, interlaced his fingers so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. The younger one kept his hands rigid at his sides, as if he feared any movement might betray him. Both avoided my gaze, their eyes fixed on the floor, but their agitated breathing betrayed their nervousness.
I watched them in silence for a few seconds, letting the discomfort settle. Meanwhile, my mind was a whirlwind of emotions. How had I been so blind? Xu Ai had moved freely under my own roof, and I, too focused on my pride, had noticed nothing. Now, every second without answers was torture.
"Where have you taken my wife in the last few days?" I finally asked, my voice low but laden with authority.
Lin stepped forward, clasping his hands in front of him. He seemed to weigh each word before speaking, as if his response could define his fate.
"Mr. Chen, I took Mrs. Chen to a café in the central district a few days ago. She was there for about two hours," he said, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor.
"Who did she meet with?" I pressed, leaning slightly towards him. My tone did not change, but the intensity of my gaze made him hesitate for a moment.
"With an older woman, sir. I don't know the details, but it seemed like a friendly meeting. Mrs. Chen left the café very happy and asked me to bring her back home."
Happy. That word struck something inside me. The image of Xu Ai smiling, with happiness that I had never managed to give her, was like a slap. What kind of conversation did she have to feel like that? Why had I never cared to find out what made her happy?
"What else?" I asked, not to take my eyes off him.
The driver swallowed hard and took a step forward. His hands trembled slightly, but his voice, though hesitant, remained firm.
"Sir, I took Mrs. Chen to the workshop of a designer three days ago. She stayed there for several hours. At the end, she asked me to take her back, but upon arriving at the mansion, she told me she would no longer need my services. Since it was late, I didn't imagine that..."
"You didn't imagine what?" I pressed, letting my tone harden.
"That... she was planning to leave, sir," the driver admitted, lowering his gaze as if the confession were a verdict.
The silence that followed was oppressive. I reclined in the armchair, crossing my legs deliberately, while processing what I had just heard. Something inside me suggested that these pieces of the puzzle were more important than they seemed, but I still couldn't see the complete picture.
"Anything else to add?" I finally asked, letting the question hang in the air.
Both drivers shook their heads. I made a brief gesture, showing that they could leave. They bowed slightly before leaving the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
When the door closed behind them, I stayed motionless for a few minutes. My gaze was fixed on an indefinite point, while the words of the employees echoed in my mind. I turned to my computer with a determined movement and looked up the address of the workshop mentioned. In a few seconds, an image of the place appeared on the screen: a small venue with a modest sign that matched the description.
My eyes scanned every detail of the photograph. It was not just a workshop. It was the last link in a chain I had failed to see, the space where Xu Ai had invested hours that I had never dedicated to her.
"You didn't intend to leave... Why did you decide otherwise?" I murmured, bringing my hands to my face. The weight of my own words left me paralyzed for a moment.
A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I closed my eyes for a moment, hardening my expression before facing the world again.
"Come in," I said, straightening up in the armchair as my emotions hid behind a mask of coldness.
******
My secretary entered with firm but calculated steps, closing the door softly behind him. His expression was neutral, but the way he held the documents betrayed the importance of the information he was carrying. Perhaps it is too important.
"Mr. Chen, here is the complete report you requested on your wife," he said as he approached the desk and placed the folder in front of me.
I stared at it for a few seconds before picking up the documents. The weight in my hands was not just physical; each page held fragments of a life I had never bothered to know. And now, with Xu Ai gone, each word seemed like a silent accusation, as if time itself was demanding an account of everything I had ignored.
I opened the folder with meticulous movements. My gaze shifted through the initial data: date of birth, academic background, finances. Everything seemed normal, almost predictable, until I reached a section titled "Family Context."
I frowned as I read the first lines. "Mrs. Xu signed a severance agreement with her family one day before her marriage." The words seemed to dance before my eyes, challenging me to understand them.
"What is this?" I murmured, more to myself than to Jiang, but he stayed silent, waiting.
I looked up at him, the tension palpable in my expression. Jiang cleared his throat before speaking.
"Sir, according to the investigator, Mrs. Chen officially severed financial and legal ties with her family the day before her wedding. That agreement included renouncing any inheritance or financial support she might receive from them."
I blinked, surprised. I had heard my father-in-law talk countless times about "family unity" as the foundation of our marriage. He had even insisted that our relationship would strengthen both clans. But now I discovered that Ai had broken those ties before marrying me.
"And my father-in-law?" I asked, my tone was low but full of intensity. "He always presents himself as the protective father."
Jiang slightly lowered his gaze, expecting my reaction to what he was about to reveal.
"According to the investigator, Mrs. Chen was raised by her maternal grandmother, not her father. After her mother's death, when she was ten years old, Mr. Xu remarried. The stepmother did not treat her well, and it was the grandmother who took over her upbringing."
The words hit me like a hammer. I tried to process them, but each new piece of information seemed to dismantle the version I had built in my mind. Xu Ai, the woman I had silently loved for years, was not the cold and calculating figure I had imagined. She was someone completely different, someone who had faced hardships I never imagined.
"Why didn't I know this?" I asked softly, more as a reproach to myself.
Jiang, however, responded cautiously.
"Mrs. Chen did not share this information, sir. And according to the investigator, she never tried to take advantage of her position as your wife. Everything she has done since your marriage has been with the resources she inherited from her grandmother."
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the words sink deep. The image Jiang painted was not that of an opportunist. It was an independent woman, who had carried a tremendous burden alone. But then, why did she agree to the marriage?
"Why did she agree to marry?" I finally asked, opening my eyes and looking at Jiang intensely.
The secretary seemed to hesitate for a moment before responding.
"Mr. Xu blackmailed her, sir. The grandmother's inheritance was in his hands, and he refused to give it to her unless she agreed to marry you."
My fists clenched tightly on the desk, but my face remained expressionless. Inside, however, a storm was brewing. All this time, I had believed that Xu Ai had married out of interest, for convenience. But now I found out she was forced that she had sacrificed everything to protect the little she had left.
Jiang, aware of the tension filling the room, continued cautiously.
"Additionally, sir, we found a diary that belonged to Mrs. Chen. It's a child's notebook, filled with notes and drawings from when she was a girl."
I immediately lifted my head, my gaze sharp.
"A diary? Where was it?"
"In her grandmother's house, sir. It seems your wife left it there before moving in with you."
Jiang took out a small notebook from his portfolio and placed it on my desk. The cover was worn, but in the lower right corner, the initials "X.A." were still readable.
I looked at the notebook for a few seconds before reaching out to take it. When I opened it, I saw simple but detailed drawings: flowers, houses, dresses. There were notes written in small, delicate handwriting, the thoughts of a girl who dreamed of a much kinder world than the one she had known.
"Do you need anything else, sir?" Jiang asked, breaking the silence.
I closed the diary and left it on the table. My voice, though low, came out firm.
"No, Jiang. That will be all for now. Thank you."
Jiang nodded and withdrew, closing the door behind him. I leaned back in my chair, the weight of everything I had just discovered pressing on my chest. My eyes returned to the diary, to the pages filled with dreams and childhood thoughts, and for the first time in years, I felt a pang of something I barely recognized: remorse.