Chapter 3 Greedy #2
James halted mid-step. He turned to face William. His expression was cold, the fury in his eyes glinting beneath the soft light of the chandelier above.
“How much more money does that woman want from me?” he snapped. “For five years, her parents drained me dry by marrying their daughter off to me. The moment they saw my company in the news, they came running with a marriage proposal!”
His tone turned bitter, filled with restrained rage.
“How much money have I given her all these years? Bags. Jewelry. Clothes. Every single thing is worth hundreds of thousands. Why doesn’t she sell one if she’s that desperate for money? With everything I gave her, she could live comfortably for decades!”
He scoffed, stepping closer to William. “That woman is insatiable!” he hissed.
“No matter how much I give, she wants more. Always more. Everything I gave was never enough. Even now, after walking out of my house and declaring a fucking divorce, she still wants more. When the hell is she going to be satisfied?!”
James turned to leave, his steps heavy with frustration.
“Mr. Sinclair—wait! All those gifts, the jewelry, the bank card you gave her… Madam didn’t take a single thing when she left,” William called out.
James froze, his body stiffening. “What?” His head snapped back, brows drawn tight in disbelief.
William continued, carefully choosing his words. “Madam only took one suitcase—the clothes she brought from her home when she got married. She didn’t even take the clothes you bought her after marriage. She left everything else behind.”
James’s eyes narrowed, confusion mixing with disbelief.
“I’m telling you the truth, Mr. Sinclair,” William stood firm, though his voice softened. “Everything you ever bought for her, it’s all still here. You can check her room yourself.”
For a brief second, James didn’t move. Then, his jaw tightened.
Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed up the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the silent house, each step thundering louder than the last as he made a beeline for her bedroom.
He pushed open the bedroom door and stepped inside, striding straight toward the walk-in closet. His hand gripped the handle, and with a forceful pull, he threw the door open.
The sight before him stopped him cold.
Inside, the room was lined with neatly stacked boxes—designer bags, shoes, jewelry, perfumes, all perfectly arranged.
The faint scent of unopened leather and luxury filled the air.
Tags still hung from untouched clothes. The shelves gleamed under the soft light, as if everything inside was brand new, preserved like a museum display.
James walked in slowly, his gaze darting from one shelf to another, his expression shifting from anger to surprise.
He picked up a perfume bottle, its seal unbroken.
The liquid inside shimmered, full to the brim.
Not a single drop was missing. He stared at it, his reflection caught in the clear glass.
“Why didn’t she use any of this?” he muttered under his breath.
Behind him, William stood silently, observing his boss struggle to process the shocking sight. The normally inviting scent of luxury now felt heavy, almost suffocating.
James’s fingers tightened around the perfume bottle, knuckles whitening.
“Doesn’t she love money more than anything?
” he spat, voice sharp with bitterness. “Her parents married her off to me just for my wealth. And yet…” He gestured toward the untouched luxury items. “Why didn’t she use any of it all these years?
Didn’t take a single thing when she left? ”
His eyes snapped toward William, desperate for an answer that made sense. “Why didn’t she take any of it?” he demanded again.
William hesitated, then spoke softly. “Mr. Sinclair, Madam never asked you to give her anything. All of this…” He gestured toward the luxury items. “…I purchased and placed in her closet every time a new collection came out, following your orders, so she could wear them to business events with you. She never once asked to buy anything herself. So how could she…”
He stopped, swallowing the unspoken words ‘have married you for your wealth?’
Instead, he looked at James and continued. “She never once threatened to divorce you before. In all these years, she never mentioned leaving. But this time…” He paused, then added quietly. “This time, she left without a word and divorced you. I think… she really means it.”
James went still. His body stiffened; his breath caught in his throat.
The bottle in his hand trembled, the tension in his fingers so tight it might shatter. The coat hanging from his arm suddenly felt like a dead weight dragging him down.
He swallowed hard, his head lowering as a flood of memories from the last five years rushed through his mind. The cold silences, the unanswered calls, the countless times he had dismissed her presence.
Then, abruptly, he lifted his head, his eyes wild with denial. “No,” he muttered. “That’s not possible.”
He waved the perfume bottle toward the closet, filled with untouched luxury. “Look at this. What woman would leave all this behind? What woman would walk away from this? From all of this?!”
He let out a harsh laugh, bitter and hollow. “Does she think I’m a fool who won’t see through her act of pretending to be some… selfless saint?”
The next moment, he hurled the perfume bottle at the ground.
It shattered with a violent crash. The scent of expensive perfume flooded the room, sharp and overpowering. The liquid spread across the hardwood floor, glistening under the dim light, while shards of glass scattered everywhere.
James stood still, his chest rising and falling with quiet fury. Then he turned and walked out, the sound of glass crunching under his shoes echoing behind him.
It wasn’t long before night fell quietly over the city.
Inside the mansion, James sat slouched in his study, his head resting against the back of the chair.
The room was dark except for the faint glow of the desk lamp, the papers scattered before him long forgotten.
He had worked until exhaustion took over, his body finally giving in as sleep crept up on him.
But it wasn’t a peaceful sleep. His chest rose and fell heavily, his breath uneven and restless. Even in sleep, his brows were furrowed, his face tense. It was the kind of sleep that trapped him in an anxious trance, one that made his body twitch and his mind spiral deeper into unease.
Behind those closed lids, a haunting vision replayed itself.
Snow fell thick and heavy in a dark, endless street. Through the blur of white, a figure appeared.
She was lying on the ground, her body still, her dress soaked in blood. Her skin was pale, her eyes closed, her lips faintly parted. The blood spread beneath her, staining the snow crimson.
James’s body jerked violently. His hands twitched, and within seconds, he shot upright in the chair. His breathing was rough, his chest heaving as a wave of fear and confusion struck through him.
His voice came out low, shaken, and raw as he whispered into the darkness,“Mia…” The name left his lips before he could think.
For a second, his mind was blank. It took him a moment to realize—he had only been dreaming.
He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, “Why the hell would I dream about that woman?” The irritation in his voice couldn’t mask the anxiety in his chest.