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The Heart of Fen Xin
墨書 Inktalez
I was tired. Tired of waiting, tired of lies, tired of the scent of other women’s perfumes lingering on him, tired of this “home” that was devoid of warmth and filled only with money. Two years felt like a long and absurd dream, and now I was awake. I didn’t want to look at the meticulously prepared dinner that no one cared about, nor did I want to hear any more hypocritical excuses. I just wanted to escape! To flee this nauseating place immediately!
The light from my phone screen sliced through my eyes like a scalpel.
“Miss Lin, I’m sorry, President Chen has an important dinner he can’t miss. He asked me to tell you that he’ll make it up to you after the anniversary.”
It was Chen Yi’s assistant again, with the same old lines. Today marked our second wedding anniversary. The dishes on the table had gone cold. The red wine in the goblet reflected the cold light of the chandelier, standing alone. The little tiramisu I had made was already drying at the edges.
Two years, seven hundred thirty days. How many nights had he spent at “important” dinners, “important” meetings, and “important” social events? I had lost count.
I once thought love was understanding, tolerance, and waiting. I had followed him from the time he had nothing, when we squeezed into a cramped rental and ate bread together. Watching him build his business empire with vigor, I thought we would finally… have a real home.
But in this several hundred square meter riverside mansion, there was nothing but increasingly expensive furniture and an increasingly silent me. Oh, and the scent of perfume he occasionally brought back that didn’t belong to me.
Somewhere in my heart felt frozen, then shattered, making a faint yet clear cracking sound. Did it hurt? It seemed I had already gone numb.
“Lin Wan, are you listening?” The assistant’s voice on the other end was professionally polite.
“Got it.” I hung up. My voice was so calm that it felt strange even to me.
I stood up and walked to the liquor cabinet, pulling out the bottle of whiskey he had treasured for years, saying he would only open it when his company went public.
With a pop, I pulled out the cork. The strong aroma of alcohol instantly filled the air.
I didn't use a cup; I drank straight from the bottle, taking a large gulp.
It was spicy and scorching, burning through my throat like fire, yet it couldn't extinguish the thickening ice deep within my heart.
I used to avoid alcohol. He didn't like it.
Now, it didn't matter anymore.
The effects of the drink surged through me, blurring my vision. I remembered the first time I saw him. He wore a white shirt and jeans, his eyes shining like stars. He said, "Lin Wan, I will make sure you live a good life from now on."
What does a good life mean?
Is it about being trapped in an empty cage built with money?
Is it watching him change women one after another while I have to smile and explain to him that they are "just friends" or "only for fun"?
Is it waiting for a wedding anniversary only to receive a casual "sorry" from his assistant?
I picked up my phone, scrolled to that familiar number, and dialed.
It rang for a long time, and just when I thought it would go to voicemail again, he picked up.
"Hello?" His voice carried the slight slur of alcohol and a hint of impatience, with loud music and women's laughter in the background.
"Chen Yi." My voice was steady.
"Hmm? What's up?" He seemed unaware of my unusual tone. "I'm busy; make it quick."
"Let's get a divorce," I said.
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