Chapter 4My Wife Says I'll Kill Her Boyfriend

"You're telling the truth?" Renee flinched, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

"Of course it is," I replied calmly, looking away indifferently. "I only lied to you because I was scared you'd divorce me."

Renee paused, a lingering doubt still clouding her face. "How come he knows everything about me, from the time I was little until now?"

I let out a soft, mocking scoff. "I know you well enough to know exactly what kind of threat would be most effective."

Renee fell silent. She just knitted her brows together and stared down at me, her mind racing.

I pressed my forehead to the cold floor, keeping her from seeing how hard I was fighting to stay together; after all, I'd never lied to her before, not once since we'd first met. Maybe it was because that phone call from the future was real, or because she would regret it all someday, but right now, I was just too tired.

I composed myself and lifted my head, wearing a casual, dismissive look. "Have you made up your mind yet? Do you want to sign the papers or not? You won't get another opportunity like this.”

Renee slapped me hard across the face, leaving it stinging instantly. "You can behave like a madman all you want, but this is where I draw the line. You're completely crazy, Timothy!"

She gestured for her assistant to come over and said, "Get the divorce agreement ready now! We're signing it right this instant!"

I thought I was past the point of hurting, but the empty space in my chest still felt cold and painful.

It wasn't long before the divorce agreement was delivered. Renee signed her name and then flung the papers at my face. "You'll get half of everything. I won't shortchange you by even a penny. You'd better remember this, though—I never want to see you again for as long as I live!"

No sooner had Renee spoken than the bodyguards finally released their hold on me.

I dragged myself up from the floor, picked up the papers, and turned to walk away. It started raining again on the way back. I was left drenched by the downpour, but I realized that I'd never been more clear-headed than I was then.

Just then, my phone suddenly buzzed with an unknown number. "I'm you from ten years in the future, Timothy! You need to get a divorce from Renee, right now! You shouldn't do anything reckless, though—don't hurt yourself or start a fire! Otherwise, Renee will make you pay for the rest of your life!"

I stayed silent for two seconds before replying, "I've already divorced her, and I won't do anything reckless again."

In the end, the "me" on the other end of the line finally seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. "I'm glad to hear that, then. You should take care of yourself and go live your own life from now on, Timothy."

I disconnected the phone and nodded firmly to myself. Two phone calls from ten years in the future had described different endings for Renee and me. I didn't care which was real and which was fake, though. I was simply done living in perpetual fear and dread.

I started packing when I reached the villa. I had only a few old clothes and a handful of personal documents—that was all I had to show for the past few years.

I noticed the only thing that still looked painfully out of place was the portrait of us on the bedside table. Renee had always said she hated having her picture taken.

In ten years of marriage, we hadn't taken a single wedding photo, but the room I'd just been in was filled with photos of Renee and Edward, from surfing by the sea to watching the snow fall at sunset. It was as if they had left their mark in every corner of the world.

Renee and I had been nothing more than ghosts in that portrait—sharing the same space day in and day out, yet forever out of touch.

I shattered the frame and tore the portrait down the middle, taking my half of our shared life and memories and leaving the rest behind.

I had just reached the airport when my phone rang again. I glanced at the screen—it was Renee. I hit decline instantly. She called again, and I rejected the call again.

Renee had no choice but to send me one message after another. "I never told you how I got the scar on the bottom of my foot!

"Is that phone call real?

"You actually lied to me! You've never lied to me before!

"Where are you, Timothy?"

I turned off my phone and buckled my seatbelt. I had called Dad an hour ago, and now his private plane was already flying me out to some city where it wasn't pouring rain.