The Billionaire’s Forgotten Wife

"Honey, a new restaurant just opened on West Street. I can't wait to try it with you."

"So, what time do you get off work today? I'll come pick you up."

I shrugged. "Freya, I'm really sorry. I can't go to the new restaurant with you today..."

"Thorne is back. I'm following a recipe right now, preparing dinner for him."

Freya on the other end of the phone paused, then sighed. "Why are you still holding on? Just because of that incident? But it's been so many years, and Thorne, he..."

"Freya..."

"Alright, Clara, my sweetheart. I'm just afraid you'll get hurt."

I stirred the black truffle sauce in the pan and told Freya with a smile, "Don't worry, I won't... Today is our wedding anniversary. Thorne made a special trip back."

This morning I learned from the news that Watson Group and Clos Technology had completed their signing ceremony. That's how I found out my husband Thorne had just returned to Manhattan.

Thorne and I have a contractual marriage. Three years is the term, and whether we separate or continue in the end depends entirely on Thorne's wishes.

The fact that Thorne chose to return to Manhattan on this special day—does it mean that this contractual marriage also holds a different weight in his heart?

Thinking of this, I couldn't help but smile. I quickly prepared many of Thorne's favorite dishes and sent him a message asking what time he could come home for dinner.

This year marks the third year of my marriage to Thorne, the time when our contract expires. I really want to ask Thorne what he wants to do about our relationship.

After hanging up with Freya, I brought the dishes to the table. But as the neon lights outside the window lit up one after another, I still hadn't received any message from Thorne.

Looking at the table full of food, my eyes quickly dimmed.

Three years ago, when Thorne and I first got married, he went out to buy me a cake. Unexpectedly, it suddenly started pouring rain halfway. Because I was worried about him, I called him three times in a row, but none of the calls could get through due to signal issues.

When Thorne came back, I jumped off the couch, ran barefoot into his arms, and hugged him tightly.

Thorne at that time looked at me with eyes full of heartache and held me in his arms. "Clara, trust me. I won't let you be unable to reach me again."

But now...

At night, the phone rang again. My eyes brightened, but after seeing the caller, the glimmer in them quickly extinguished.

"Hello, Freya. What's wrong?"

The background noise on Freya's end was a bit loud. She quickly found a relatively quiet place.

"Honey, isn't today your wedding anniversary? Then why did I see Thorne at the club? On such an important day, he's not by your side?"

I looked at the cold dishes, my eyes feeling sore. "He... still has some things to finish. Work is more important..."

I touched the blister on my hand from cooking, feeling especially upset.

To have a romantic dinner with Thorne, I turned down Freya. But I never expected that this table full of food would now become a joke.

That little bit of expectation in my heart was like a balloon pricked by a needle, instantly deflating.

After hanging up the phone, I threw away all the cold food. But what filled my mind was the image of Thorne personally cooking me a steak when we were newlyweds.

Sure enough, people change.

It's just that Thorne changed faster than most.

I stood by the window with my arms crossed, watching Manhattan's night scene unfold outside. The neon lights were so dazzling they hurt my eyes.

What's there to be sad about?

Thorne and I have a contractual marriage, written clearly in black and white.

Thorne has no obligation to promise me he will fall in love with me, and I have no right to demand that he be faithful only to me for the rest of his life.

Accompanied by the night, my blurred reflection appeared on the glass. My fingertips unconsciously drew circles on the glass. I sighed softly, my blurred eyes seeming to cover up that bit of expectation I shouldn't have had.

At this moment, my phone vibrated twice in succession. It was a message from my father: "Bring Thorne home for dinner this weekend."

I curved my lips, my eyes full of coldness.

It seems my father also got the news of Thorne's return, which is why he couldn't wait to have me bring Thorne back for dinner.

I didn't reply. I directly exited the chat, but unexpectedly scrolled to a social media post Nate had made four hours ago.

In the photo, Thorne sat in the middle laughing unrestrained. A long-haired girl was sitting on his lap, and Thorne's hand was resting on the girl's waist.

My body stiffened. The phone suddenly slipped from my palm and fell heavily onto the floor.

My eyes could no longer hold back the moisture. Tears fell in big drops.

I am Thorne's wife, but I can't get even a bit of his favor. Everything between us, in his eyes, is nothing more than a transaction full of rules. I shouldn't have fantasies about him. I shouldn't let myself fall into this meaningless waiting.

I wiped the tears from my face, turned and walked to the study, organized the materials for tomorrow's court session, then took my suitcase and walked into the bedroom.

It's been three years already. Our contractual relationship has expired. It's time to say goodbye to Thorne.

More than half of the wardrobe was filled with Thorne's shirts, while my commonly worn clothes only occupied a small corner. I folded them one by one, moving slowly, but without any attachment.

When tidying up the bedside table, I touched a red velvet box. My fingers suddenly paused.

Inside the box was a simply designed pearl necklace. It was something Thorne had personally designed and made, and had personally placed around my neck on our wedding day.

Compared to the numerous pieces of jewelry Thorne gave me after marriage, this necklace wasn't particularly valuable.

But this necklace was once the only comfort in my heart. Each pearl was selected by Thorne one by one and carefully strung together.

Back then, I had naively thought that perhaps I could have some place in Thorne's heart. But now everything seems somewhat ironic.

Looking at the necklace, I closed the box and put it in the innermost part of the drawer.

Things that should be let go should be left here.

The necklace is one. Thorne is another.

After packing up, I lay in bed looking at rental listings. Since I've decided to leave Thorne, I want to leave here as soon as possible and have no more entanglements with him.

Just then, there was suddenly a sound at the door.

My heart sank...

Thorne was back.

Soon, the bedroom door was pushed open. A dim yellow light spilled in from outside, and a faint smell of alcohol permeated the room.

"Asleep?"

Thorne's voice carried a slight hoarseness.

I didn't speak. I turned over in the blanket, my back facing Thorne standing at the door.

Thorne didn't acknowledge me either. He let out a mocking laugh and took his pajamas to the bathroom.

The sound of rushing water seemed to pour over my head, completely sobering me up. Not long after, Thorne came out of the bathroom, and then the other side of the mattress sank down.

A cool amber scent drifted into my nose.

That was Thorne's scent.

Thorne lifted the blanket. When he lay down, his hand naturally wrapped around my waist.

I suddenly turned to dodge, pulling away the distance between us. With disgust in my eyes, I shouted, "Stay away from me."