Chapter 2

The air froze, thick with tension.

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, eyes wide and locked on Wendy, waiting for her to break down, burst into tears, confront Charles, or maybe even storm the stage and cause a scene.

Wendy's fingers gripped her wine glass so tightly that her knuckles turned white, the cold rim pressing hard into her palm.

It was like an invisible hand had grabbed her heart, squeezed it cruelly, and then tossed it into an icy pit. It was frozen and then thrown into boiling oil to burn.

The pain was sharp and suffocating.

For six years, Wendy had stood by Charles through every hardship—when Starlight Tech was teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, when they couldn't pay salaries, and when difficult investors came knocking.

She had shielded Charles from countless direct and hidden attacks.

Whenever his stomach problems flared up and he spent sleepless nights in pain, Wendy would stay in the kitchen all night, cooking soup for him.

When he nearly collapsed from working overtime for a week straight to secure their first big order, it was Wendy, eyes swollen and red, who organized all the documents and forced herself to stay awake, helping him finish the final proposal.

She thought they were comrades-in-arms, lovers who supported each other through thick and thin.

But to Charles, she was just "the sensible one"—a background prop he could dismiss with a casual "compensation" whenever he pleased. The fruit of his love belonged to another woman.

The sheer absurdity and cold fury surged through Wendy like a tsunami, sweeping away the pain that was barely keeping her together.

A soft, bitter laugh escaped Wendy's lips.

It was quiet, yet the sound cut through the silence with chilling clarity, carrying a strange, frosty undertone.

With everyone staring in shock, confusion, and even a hint of "is she crazy?" in their eyes, Wendy slowly raised her hand.

She didn't spare a glance at the picture-perfect couple on stage, nor did she bother with the scorching stares all around her.

With a calm, almost relieved detachment, she reached into her elegant clutch and took out her phone.

Her slender fingers tapped the screen a few times, and then hit speed dial.

"Hello?" A deep, authoritative male voice answered, with a quiet background.

Wendy spoke clearly, her tone calm and detached. It was just loud enough for those nearby to catch. "Dad, it's me. About the matter you brought up three years ago, I've decided to go along with it."

There was a brief pause, and then her dad's voice softened, tinged with relief and quiet satisfaction. "Good, Wendy. I'm glad you've come around. I'll take care of things with the Sinclair family. When will you be coming home?"

"Now," Wendy said, not even bothering to look at anyone—not even Charles, whose face turned sullen at once.

She ended the call without hesitation, and then casually placed her half-finished glass of champagne on the tray of a passing waiter.

The amber liquid gave a final swirl in the crystal glass before settling into perfect stillness.

Then, she turned, the high heels Charles had once praised now unbearably painful beneath her feet. Her posture was unwavering, her steps measured and composed.

With countless eyes—shocked, confused, incredulous—watching her, Wendy made her way through the crowd toward the heavy, crystal-studded doors of the ballroom.

The crisp, steady clicks of her heels on the marble floor echoed through the hall, each sound landing on everyone's taut nerves.

"Wendy!" Charles's voice finally rang out behind her, sharp with anger and distorted through the microphone. "Where are you going? Stop messing around."

Wendy didn't even pause or look back.

Her hand was already on the cold, heavy doorknob.

"Wendy!" Charles's voice shot up, sharp with the frustration of being defied in front of everyone. "Stop right there. Have you lost your mind? Can't we talk about this in private?"

'In private?' Wendy's lips twisted into a faint, frosty smirk.

'He chose to spring this so-called "surprise" on me in front of everyone. Did he ever care about keeping things private? Now he wants to talk in private? Too late for that.'

She gripped the handle and pulled. The heavy door opened with a soft click, just enough to create a narrow gap.

The bright, cold light from the hallway spilled in, a stark contrast to the warm, golden glow of the ballroom.

"Wendy, don't you dare leave like that!" Charles's voice was nearly a shout, tinged with panic. "If you leave, don't bother coming back. Starlight Tech doesn't have a spot for you anymore."

That last threat snapped the final bit of attachment Wendy had left for him.

She didn't even bother to reply and directly walked out.

The door slowly closed behind her, shutting out all the noise, the stares, and Charles's rage-filled shouts. The hallway was empty and quiet, with only the sound of her footsteps echoing through the silence.