Zachary gripped his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. His pride stopped him from calling again. Even if he had been in the wrong, Lynette shouldn't have blocked him at the slightest disagreement. That was too much!
He stopped calling, deciding he'd talk to her properly once he got home that night. The entire day, he was distracted at work.
That evening, he returned home with a bouquet of garden roses. He deliberately made noise downstairs, but Lynette never appeared.
For ten tense minutes, the only sound was the rhythm of his footsteps pacing the living room floor. The silence from the upper floor was absolute and unnerving.
Finally, he lost patience and summoned a housekeeper. "Where's Mrs. Wright? What is she doing upstairs?"
The housekeeper replied, "Mrs. Wright isn't home. She went out."
Zachary's expression hardened. First, she blocked his calls. Now, she wasn't home.
He glanced at her bedroom door and let out a cold laugh. He acknowledged her move with a sarcastic, "Fine. Very impressive, Lynette."
His pride wouldn't let him be the first to yield. In a relationship, whoever gave in first was the loser. He refused to be that person.
Zachary grabbed his suit jacket and left. He called his childhood friends and headed to a private club. He rarely went to such places—Lynette disliked them. Since marriage, he hadn't set foot in one. But tonight, he initiated the gathering.
Beside him, his friend teased, "What's with the sudden personality change, Zach?"
Another chimed in, "Zach, let us know when you get divorced. Lynette is a top-notch woman. If you don't want her, plenty of us would love to marry her and treat her like a queen."
The words seemed to hang in the air for a split second before Zachary acted. With a sudden, furious motion, he smashed his bottle against the table. His features twisted into something vicious. "Are you all looking to die?" he snarled.


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