Don’t Wait, Chase the Wind

All those years we were married, Ethan never once agreed to endorse a jewelry brand.

Because I had no interest in jewelry, he invested all his time and energy into my business clients instead.

Whenever he saw me running around like a spinning top, exhausted from endless work,

he’d pull me into his arms from behind and whisper,

“Sophia, you don’t have to work this hard. With me here, even if you stayed home and did nothing, you’d still live comfortably.”

I would smile, shake my head, and push him away.

“Ethan, you don’t understand.”

Why should power and wealth only belong to men?

They savor the thrill of holding money and authority,

yet tell women from their high horses that chasing it isn’t necessary.

That day, I cupped Ethan’s chin and said with a teasing smile,

“How about this—why don’t you quit your job and be a full-time househusband? I’ll support you.”

His smile froze instantly.

“A man living off a woman? I’d be laughed out of the industry.”

He never brought it up again.

Maybe we were mismatched from the start.

Our values were worlds apart, and choosing marriage had been a mistake from the very beginning.

And now, just because Chloe mentioned she liked a certain jewelry brand,

Ethan swallowed his pride and broke his long-held principles to appear in public with her.

This time, he must really be in love.

I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the mess in my mind.

My secretary had already sent over today’s schedule: I was to attend a dinner party,

where I would have the chance to meet Mrs. Johnson.

Winning her favor was the only way to secure Mr. Johnson’s cooperation.

But the moment I approached her, Mrs. Johnson doused me in wine, her face full of contempt.

“A woman as unscrupulous as you will never earn the Johnsons’ partnership.”

I chased after her.

“Mrs. Johnson, what do you mean by that?”

The wealthy lady, draped in crimson jewels, gave me a sharp laugh.

She flung a photo in my face.

“This girl, Chloe Adams, works under you, doesn’t she?”

“I thought you looked capable, respectable even. But to send a young intern to seduce my husband? Pathetic!”

“You’ll never get Mr. Johnson’s contract. I made him kneel all night on the hardwood floor for this.

As for the Miller Group, consider yourselves permanently blacklisted.”

By the time Mrs. Johnson swept away, I finally pieced it together.

Chloe had already approached him in private.

But Mrs. Johnson misunderstood, thinking it was my doing.

My dress clung cold and heavy against my skin, soaked with wine.

As I struggled to rise, my gown caught under my heel and I nearly toppled.

A man stepped forward, steadying me with a firm hand.

“Ms. Carter, are you alright?”

It was Daniel Hart, the client I had fought so hard to bring on board,

a man who truly appreciated my capabilities.

“I’m fine. Thank you, Mr. Hart.”

He smiled politely.

“Your clothes are wet. My secretary has a spare set on hand—why don’t you change into something dry?”

I accepted gratefully.

Daniel stayed to chat for a while, even invited me to dinner, and offered to introduce me to more clients.

“I’ll be sure to visit and thank you properly in a few days,” I said.

But when I caught the look in his eyes, I chose to draw the line, keeping a professional distance.

With the Johnsons no longer an option,

I had no choice but to throw all my energy back into the Silver Creek Project,

which I’d been managing for over two months.

When I went to the site for an inspection,

I ran into Chloe—

and the host was bowing and scraping, eagerly showing her around.