Chapter 2

Not long after William left, Eleanor received a FaceTime request from Noah. He was wearing a simple grey hoodie, chopping onions in his open kitchen, a few stray locks of hair falling across his forehead. His eyes were slightly red, making him look both domestic and somewhat pitiful.

He asked, "Ellie, did he sign?"

Eleanor was older than him, a decisive iron lady in the workplace, yet looking at that young, handsome face on the screen, her heart still skipped a beat. She couldn't blame the young girls at the firm for making eyes at him—with a face like that, who wouldn't be moved?

She cleared her throat. "He signed. In one month, legally, we won't have any relationship."

Hearing this, the corners of Noah's mouth lifted into a brilliant smile. "Since the process has started, remember not to let him touch you this week. I'll be checking."

She hadn't expected him to say something like that, and her cheeks burned slightly. Immediately, she put on a stern face. "Don't talk nonsense! How old are you!"

He stopped what he was doing and leaned closer to the screen, a flash of undisguised possessiveness in his eyes. Immediately after, his expression turned somewhat aggrieved. "Ellie, I'm only younger than you in age. In terms of... the degree to which I love you, and certain abilities, I'm not small."

Eleanor hurriedly changed the subject to praise his knife skills, terrified that if they continued chatting, the topic would become unsuitable for children. Finally, she managed to get him to hang up and focus on making his Italian risotto.

Aside from being too clingy, he was perfect in every way.

After hanging up, Eleanor went out and bought a minimalist desk calendar. For the next month, she would count down the days to freedom. With each passing day, she crossed out a box.

From October 1st to the 10th, William didn't return to the Manhattan apartment once. However, she still knew where he was and who he was with through various channels.

His current flame, Sasha Bennett, was the interior designer he had newly recruited. Every day, she updated her Instagram stories, subtly showing off their whereabouts.

They had afternoon tea at the Plaza Hotel, sunbathed on private beaches in the Hamptons, overlooked the night view from the top floor restaurant at Rockefeller Center, and selected art in Soho galleries.

Strangely, William, who usually loved the new and loathed the old, was spending so much effort on one woman. In the past, his "muses of inspiration" never lasted more than a month before he grew bored.

But Sasha seemed to have some tricks up her sleeve. She and William had been together for three months, and he was still enjoying it tirelessly.

Perhaps it was this unusual "shelf life" that fueled her ambition. She wasn't as well-behaved as William's past lovers—she got hold of Eleanor's private number and sent iMessages to provoke her.

Eleanor didn't take these childish tricks to heart. She was already preparing for divorce—why should she care about the provocations of someone who was about to be out of the picture?

With nothing better to do, she began to purge the apartment. The handmade suits customized in Italy, the antique cufflinks she won at auctions, the limited-edition Patek Philippe watch she had queued half a year to buy...

Whether the items were cheap or expensive, as long as she had given them to William, she packed them into donation boxes or threw them directly down the trash chute.

At the same time, she threw away the neglect she had suffered in this marriage and the expectations she once held for him. She had made up her mind to clear the memory and reboot the system.

It took another two days for William to return. Looking at the seemingly empty walk-in closet and living room, he frowned. "Where did you put all my things, Ellie?"

Eleanor held a cup of black coffee in her hand, reading the latest architectural magazine. "Threw them away. I bought those things, so I have the right to dispose of them. Do you have an objection? You don't use them anyway. You're never home."

He thought she was doing this deliberately to get his attention because she was still jealous over the Sasha situation. He sat on the sofa opposite her, coaxing her perfunctorily, "Didn't we agree not to interfere with each other? Why are you throwing a tantrum over this kind of thing again?"

It was the same old rhetoric. No matter what he did, he could always use "artistic freedom" or "non-interference" to excuse his selfishness. And she, as his wife, was forced to accept this twisted relationship.

But now, she didn't want to waste her breath arguing with him about these meaningless questions of principle. She closed the magazine, stood up, and walked straight toward the study, her tone cold. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm just decluttering."

Hearing this, William thought she was putting on a brave front. He stood up to block her way, then pulled a gold-stamped invitation from his pocket and placed it in her hand. "Alright, stop making a fuss. Tomorrow I'll take you to the Architects Association's annual gala. I heard they're auctioning off models from several masters. Cheer up, okay?"

Eleanor intended to refuse, but seeing that the gala was hosted by the Pritzker Foundation, which she had always admired, she changed her mind. She agreed to go.

Since they were about to divorce, bidding on a few models she liked using his money wouldn't be a bad parting gift.