Chapter 135
The warmth between us vanished the moment I spoke. Jared pushed me away, got up, and pulled on his clothes, his voice turning icy. “How much do you want?”
I twirled a strand of hair around my finger, my mind racing. The year was 2014. Global markets were recovering, and opportunities were everywhere. Tech giants like Apple and Google, pharmaceutical leaders like Johnson & Johnson and Gilead, streaming platforms like Netflix, e–commerce like Amazon, even the booming real estate market, all ripe for investment. But I needed capital to get started.
“Still thinking?” Jared had already buttoned the last clasp of his pajamas, his gaze sharp and detached.
I hesitated. “If I said three–”
“Three million. Fine. It’ll be in your account tomorrow.” He cut me off, then strode to the door before pausing. “Victoria, there’s a limit to playing games. After this, I won’t force you again.”
Cold words, right after passion. I smiled sweetly. “Thanks, darling.”
The door slammed shut behind him, the sound jolting me. Good. My gamble paid off. Jared might resent me, but he’d never shortchange me financially.
Once we got back from this trip to Showtown, I’d start researching stocks. In my previous life as a wealthy wife, I’d dabbled in investments, but this time, I’d go all in. No more half–hearted efforts. No more being the disposable housewife.
The next morning, Tracy looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes. Jared didn’t ride with me. Instead, I sat alone in the car, watching through the rearview mirror as Tracy finished speaking with a few colleagues before slipping into his vehicle.
Our group arrived at Stonecrag Mountain, the scenery lush and serene, birds singing in the crisp air.
Jared lingered at the back, deep in conversation with his executives, while I walked ahead with two female VPs, chatting about everything except the obvious tension. Tracy, of course, stayed glued to Jared’s side. She was the VP, after all. She had power. Influence.
The women beside me–one married, one divorced and looking–kept shooting me sympathetic glances. They wanted to say something, but Tracy was their boss. Gossip was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
We took a seat on a bench in front of Stonecrag Church, chatting about its history. A kind older man nearby warned us, “You shouldn’t make casual prayers at Stonecrag Mountain. This is a sacred place of worship.”
Another man chuckled and asked if we were a couple, then added, “There’s also a legend that this is ‘Breakup Mountain.’ Many couples who pray here don’t last.”
The mood dampened, especially for the divorced VP who had been hoping to find a husband. She sighed in frustration. “I should’ve done more research before coming. Now this whole trip feels wasted.”
In the end, we decided to head to the Wishing Tree at the summit and make our wishes there. The two female executives and I bent over, writing our desires on wooden plaques. I picked up a pen and carefully inscribed:
[May you stand unbroken through every storm. May you always rise.]
But it didn’t feel complete. Without the courage to face death, there’d be no drive to climb higher. So I added a few more words, a reminder to my future self:
[If the path is too crowded halfway up, why not aim for the peak?]
Finished, I tied the ribbon around my plaque, stood on my tiptoes, and hung it from a low-hanging branch. Stepping back, I watched the wind flutter the wooden tag, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.