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Wifey's Infatuation With the Intern Novel Cover

Wifey's Infatuation With the Intern

On their third anniversary, a husband is ditched by his programmer wife, who claims work deadlines are keeping her at the office. However, a social media video reveals her fixing an intern’s vintage phone instead. When his public comment causes a stir at her company, she reacts with cold fury, accusing him of being spoiled and demanding he delete it. Realizing her promises of future trips are empty, he decides he has had enough. He chooses to spend his leave finalizing their divorce.
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Chapter 3

I shot Shawn a withering look and snapped, "Are you stupid? You saw my resignation announcement on the company feed yesterday. Forgotten already?"

Shawn froze, his expression stiff, as though swallowing down his anger.

"Even if you've resigned, you'll still have to pay for the damages if this project isn't delivered."

I let out a sharp laugh, meeting his eyes with cool disdain.

"If I remember correctly, the contract lists you as the responsible party, doesn't it?"

Clicking my tongue twice, I brushed past him with a shoulder bump.

But with just that light nudge, he flew back as though hit by a car, stumbling several steps before collapsing onto the ground.

"Ah!"

"Shawn! Are you alright?"

Lisa came rushing over at the commotion. She helped him up, and when she saw he wasn't hurt, she tenderly dusted off his clothes. Then she turned, eyes like blades cutting straight through me.

"Why did you shove him? Apologize!"

Shawn glanced at me timidly, then looked back at her with pitiful eyes.

"Lisa, don't blame Grayson. It's my fault. I was too anxious about the Acestar project and…" He bit his lip. "I must have run too fast and tripped on my own."

Lisa patted his back, soothing him as though he were a child.

"You're too kind. I saw it clearly. He knocked you down on purpose."

Then she blocked my path.

"Grayson, is fixing a few bugs really that hard? Do you still want this job or not?"

I sneered. "I stopped wanting this job a long time ago. I already resigned yesterday. What's left to fix?"

"Resigned?" She narrowed her eyes. "What game are you playing now?"

The speed of my resignation had only been possible with her approval, and now she was pretending ignorance.

After a moment of silence, she leveled a cold gaze at me.

"I've already apologized for canceling our trip the other day. What more do you want? If you're dissatisfied with me, fine—but don't drag it into work."

She actually thought I was sulking about her ditching me.

I was exhausted, too tired to explain. I moved past them without a word.

But Lisa caught up in two strides.

"Stop! What's in that box? Company property and confidential files aren't yours to take."

I lifted my head, meeting her furious eyes. A wave of bitterness twisted into raw anger. Teeth clenched, trembling, I tipped the entire box over.

"See for yourself. What's inside?"

The contents spilled across the floor—nothing but my personal belongings.

Then came a brittle crack.

Lisa's heart flinched.

On the ground lay a shattered ceramic cup, its glaze worn with age but scrubbed clean.

She had given it to me back when we first started the company. Back when she said she wanted forever with me. Back when her promise was real.

Now it was broken—and that was real too.

Holding back tears, I ground the shards beneath my heel.

"I don't want this trash anymore. Let's never see each other again."

The pent-up resentment I had carried for so long finally burst free. The release was intoxicating.

I walked out of the company lighter than air—only to be stopped at the entrance by Anna Murphy from the bespoke atelier, holding a suit I had canceled.

It was the custom suit I'd once planned to wear for our third anniversary.

I frowned. "Who ordered this?"

"Ms. Blakely ordered it for Mr. Peterson," she explained. "It's the same design as the one you canceled."

"Is that so?"

I grabbed the suit, yanked with all my strength, and tore it apart, buttons scattering across the pavement.

No wonder Shawn had posted on social media about wearing a million-dollar suit to a gala with Lisa.

So he'd been flaunting it—on my dime.

I hurled the ruined suit to the ground.

"Tell Ms. Blakely I tore it up. This was a suit meant for me. Shawn could never wear it with dignity."

Under Anna's stunned gaze, I walked away.

The moment I held the divorce certificate in my hands at the courthouse, I felt a weight lift off my chest.

At last, I was free of this suffocating, humiliating marriage.

I hummed a tune as I returned home, lighthearted for the first time in years… until voices inside stopped me cold.

They belonged to Lisa's parents.

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