Goodbye, Oliver

When I was alive, Oliver and I had clashed more than once.

We clashed once on a film set. That time, I was invited as the client to participate in the casting for a production the company was investing in, and Oliver was one of the auditionees.

Frankly speaking, his acting was terrible. But with Samantha backing him, he still managed to secure the most fully developed supporting role.

If performed well, this role would undoubtedly be a breakthrough role for tens of thousands of struggling extras.

In my opinion, every auditionee should compete for the role based on their own ability. And so, I dismissed Oliver on the spot and replaced him with the newcomer who had delivered the best performance.

This matter reached Samantha's ears. I had no chance to explain because she did the same thing as now, kicking me out of the company and slapping me across the face, in order to vent her anger for her wronged lover.

My skin was thick, so it did not hurt much. All I remembered was that the slap was loud, and I had a metallic taste in my mouth as if a fishbone had scratched the inner lining of my mouth.

Now Oliver was the one being slapped. He covered his face, his eyes filled with shock and disbelief.

Nonetheless, he quickly switched back to an innocent expression and asked anxiously, "Samantha, what did I do wrong to upset you?"

Samantha shook her hand, then bent down and patted his face with the back of her fingers. With foundation on, his face looked even smoother and fairer than usual.

"I've said this before. You can provoke Joshua however you like, but only he can be my husband," she said. "You've crossed the line this time."

Samantha straightened up, her aura chillingly cold. Without looking at Oliver again, she added, "Go to Alex, take a check, and get lost."

As for me, I was puzzled when I saw my wife, who had always loathed me, would actually turn against her young lover of three years for my sake.

Oliver went weak at the knees and dropped to the floor with a thud. Grabbing Samantha's sleeve, he cried, "I'm not leaving, Samantha. I'm sorry. I made a mistake. Please let me stay. I'll never do it again. Samantha, I can't live without you!"

Samantha got annoyed and slammed down the office intercom.

Shortly after, two security guards came up and dragged Oliver away.

As she listened to the cries, Samantha slumped back into her office chair and massaged her temples, looking utterly exhausted.

Her secretary, Alex Harper, stepped forward. After observing her expression, he hesitated before speaking. "Ms. Cole, why don't you go back to Restmeadow Estate to see Mr. Davidson? He seems to have something to discuss with y—"

"I'm not going back!" Samantha rudely interrupted him upon hearing him mention me. She had only just calmed down, but now she was agitated again.

"I've spoiled him! I was just spending a little more time with Oliver, but he dares to act all high and mighty with me. Besides, it's not like I'm not going home. Must he make such a big deal out of it?"

As soon as she finished speaking, she seemed to remember something, and the gloom on her face disappeared. With a smile, she said, "Alex, I remember that young model who sent me flowers last time. He was quite cute. Ask him to meet me."

Samantha then gave him the address of a restaurant.

I smiled self-mockingly.

In our five years of marriage, Samantha had a string of lovers, each lasting no more than three months.

At first, I thought Oliver would be an exception. Unexpectedly, her driving Oliver away in the name of protecting me was a lie. The real reason she did so was that she was tired of him.

Samantha met with her new lover.

The young model had a sharp, assertive aura and a crew cut. Although he seemed unapproachable, in reality, it was all just a facade.

"Ms. Cole, I'd like to propose a toast to you.

"Ms. Cole, do you have any dietary restrictions?

"It's too formal to keep calling you Ms. Cole. Shall I call you Samantha instead?"

Honestly, he looked cheap.

He was grinning from ear to ear all night, but Samantha seemed distracted throughout. Although she would respond briefly to topics that interested her, she would drift off into her own thoughts most of the time. She did not even bother maintaining basic etiquette.

Meanwhile, I sat down next to the young model and studied him for a while. Suddenly, a realization hit me. His features were rather rugged, and he was not exactly Samantha's usual type.

Judging from the lovers she had flaunted in front of me in the past, Samantha seemed to prefer the type with ethereal and refined features.

Perhaps this young model should start by lowering his nose bridge a little. His current nose looked sharp enough to hurt someone.

Truth be told, never once did it cross my mind that one day I would be sitting next to my rival in love and genuinely considering his future.

I burst out laughing. Then I quickly stopped myself. However, I immediately realized that it was unnecessary.

I was already dead, anyway. Nobody could see me.

The young model was still chattering away.

Somewhat tired, Samantha waved her hand, signaling someone to summon the manager over. "Why does this soup taste off? she asked.

Upon hearing that, the manager flinched. Without hesitation, he ordered the soup to be served again.

However, Samantha gripped the rim of the bowl tightly, preventing him from taking it away. After that, she slammed the spoon onto the plate, making a piercing sound.

The air in the room became still.

Samantha glanced coldly at the manager, her eyes swirling with emotion.

"Cut the act. Is Joshua not here? I've known all along that he was the one who made the creamy shrimp and corn soup I had whenever I came here."

The manager trembled with fear as he replied, "Ms. Cole, Mr. Davidson didn't show up today."

Samantha tightened her fingers, crumpling the napkin in her palm into a ball as if she were squeezing and toying with my sincere heart.

Still, what a surprise. So she had known all along. She had known I was the one behind the soup she drank.

Assumptions

When Samantha first took over the Cole Group, she was so swamped with work that she had no appetite. The only thing she could stomach was soup.

Knowing this restaurant was famous for its creamy shrimp and corn soup, I spent some time learning the recipe from the head chef.

Unfortunately, I truly had no talent for cooking. Every day, I either burned my hands, nicked my fingers, or got smacked in the face by live, wriggling shrimp.

Watching the way I handled a knife, Brandon, one of my subordinates, once remarked with a speechless expression, "Joshua, you're removing a shrimp vein, not dismantling a human spine."

In the end, Brandon and the rest of the comrades who had fought through thick and thin with me were forced to taste every version of my soup. It was so terrible they nearly rolled their eyes into the back of their heads.

After several attempts, I finally mastered the dish. Then I went to find Samantha with a lunchbox in hand.

She was reviewing documents. I took it upon myself to take the documents away and told her to take care of her health.

Samantha scoffed. Then, she opened the lunchbox, met my expectant gaze, and poured the soup all over me.

"Wanting to please me, Joshua? This is how you should do it."

That day, I washed my glasses for a very long time. Long enough for the tears in my eyes to disappear.

When I put on my glasses again, I figured I would just secretly make the soup for Samantha at the restaurant she frequented and give credit to the chef, since she disliked the one I had made.

I had never expected her to know all along.

Yet she always chose this restaurant whenever she went on dates with her lovers. So, where did that leave me?

There was a dull ache in my chest.

Alas, everything was just my assumption. I thought my sincerity and perseverance would touch Samantha. Yet, I never considered whether she was willing.

Samantha, Samantha… I was already dead.

I had been handling all the Cole Group's trivial matters for the past five years. Yet I had never imagined that the last problem I would solve for her would be myself.

Still, judging from Samantha's indifferent attitude at dinner, I assumed the young model had no chance.

To my surprise, she actually brought him home.

After all, only Oliver had enjoyed such a privilege before.

The moment Samantha and the young model entered the house, they could barely keep their hands off each other.

The two kissed their way from the entrance to the duplex staircase, leaving pieces of clothing scattered behind them one after another.

Nonetheless, I noticed that Samantha kept her eyes open throughout the kissing and feeling each other. Her gaze was calm, and she even skillfully guided the young model toward our room.

A thought flashed through my mind.

'Is Samantha purposely bringing the young model home to spite me?'

However, I quickly shook my head, for that would be impossible. In my opinion, Samantha simply wanted to humiliate me.

The first time she brought Oliver home, I lost control of my anger. Like a lion whose territory had been invaded, I acted violently and broke Oliver's nose.

"Samantha, you can mess around with your lover however you want at other times, but you're not allowed to bring him home!" I roared at her.

"You have no right to tell me what to do!"

"No right?" I laughed bitterly. "Is being your husband not enough?"

"Joshua, please get this straight. If you hadn't insisted on rushing back into the fire to retrieve the belongings your parents left you, my Dad wouldn't have died saving you!" she retorted sharply.

"Husband?" she sneered. "Your role throughout this marriage has only been to atone for your sins!"

Only after our heated argument did I know Samantha hated me. She hated that I had caused her father's death.

Even so, had she ever thought about why her biological father, who had been ruthless and decisive in the business world for so many years, would suddenly become so kind and compassionate as to choose me from the orphanage, adopt me, and even risk his life for me?

Well, I hoped she would not regret it when she learned the truth.

Seeing that I had not come out of the room or rushed out to punch the young model as if to assert my dominance, Samantha behaved even more seductively. I had to admit, the sight actually cooled some of the anger surging inside me.

At some point, she became so focused on imagining my reaction that she forgot to respond to the young model's kiss. Her back was against the door, and her hand was already on the doorknob, slowly turning it.

For a moment, my heart stirred with anticipation.

Inside our room, on our bed, my body was still lying there.

Knowing how timid Samantha was, I wondered if she would scream or laugh first if she saw my body with her own eyes.

Also, I glanced meaningfully at the young model's lower body, wondering if he would still get a boner in the future.

Unfortunately, the scene I expected did not happen. Samantha's phone rang.

It kept ringing, ruining her mood completely. She pushed the young model away, took a few steps forward, picked up her phone, and answered it.

I leaned closer and heard Alex shout, "Ms. Cole, Mr. White has attempted suicide by cutting his wrists!"

"What?" Samantha exclaimed in shock. Eventually, her gratitude for Oliver's grace for taking a fatal blow for her during the last kidnapping got the better of her. Therefore, she hurriedly dressed and set off for the hospital.

Before leaving, she glanced back at the room. The door had opened by a crack. But it was dark inside. She could not see anything.