Chelsea composed herself, turned on her laptop, and her fingers flew across the keyboard as she swiftly hacked into the surveillance system, erasing all traces of her presence.
She left as cleanly as she had arrived.
"Sir, Madam has left!"
Early the next morning, Altsin returned to the mansion from the hospital upon receiving the news.
As he opened the door, a fresh and pleasant rose fragrance greeted him—Chelsea's scent, which he had grown accustomed to over three years.
He seldom entered the master bedroom, which Chelsea had decorated herself. The overall tone was different from the other rooms; the bright yellow sheets and quilts exuded a sense of serene warmth. It was clean and tidy, just like her style.
But he did not linger, nor did he have any interest in admiring it. Instead, he went straight to the bedside table.
The divorce agreement bore her signature, and the check he had signed was left untouched.
A delicate sapphire ring lay on the bedside table, with the inscription 'Altsin' engraved inside. The side featured a lifelike rose carving of extraordinary craftsmanship. He couldn't help but touch it. The sapphire was of excellent quality, clear and bright. In his palm, it felt cool, and the rose carving was both wondrous and beautiful.
She loved roses, he knew. She had planted a whole garden of them, yet he had never given her a single bouquet.
Underneath the ring was a card. He picked it up and opened it. In graceful handwriting, it read: "Happy third anniversary, Altsin. Goodbye."
Altsin's eyes narrowed as he looked at those words. His gaze shifted to the calendar on the bedside table—April 10th, their wedding anniversary. Three years had passed in a flash.
Holding the priceless sapphire in his hand, a thought suddenly crossed his mind: Where did she get the money?
He had never been stingy with the household allowance, but Chelsea rarely touches that money and claimed she had no need to spend money while at home. Since there were no significant expenditures from the account, where did her money come from?.
Listening to his assistant's report, Altsin's eyes grew deep and contemplative. He said in a low voice, "Find out where she went. Monitor any recent activities. If she was planted by a rival, make sure to bring her back."
A country girl, an orphan with no parents—was Chelsea truly as simple as she appeared?
***
Three days later, in Bromley.
The headquarters of the Bromley Group, located in the CBD of the Grand Trade Building, was in a state of chaos. Employees rushed inside, and the executives had gathered early in the lobby, awaiting the arrival of the new CEO.
Just two days prior, the Bromley Group, whose stock had plummeted to the brink of bankruptcy, was miraculously revived by a mysterious high-profile acquisition. While employees kept their jobs, they now faced a new anxiety.
"Who is the new CEO? Is it a man or a woman? Does anyone have any clue?"
"Not even the management knows the new CEO's identity. I hope it's a handsome guy, a domineering CEO to rescue me!"
"Keep dreaming. What if it's a woman?"
"Don't joke. That's impossible. You might as well hope Chelsea rises from the dead…"
"Here they come! Stop chatting!"
Everyone held their breath, eyes fixed on the entrance, a wave of tension sweeping through them. A black Rolls-Royce pulled up, and the vice president personally opened the door. A person stepped out.
It was a woman.
Her black, ten-centimeter heels hit the ground first, followed by a woman with short, sleek hair and dressed in a white suit. She stood up slowly, her delicate makeup highlighting a beautiful face.
The senior staff, employees who had worked at the Bromley Group for nearly a decade, looked at the familiar face and gasped in astonishment, "M-Miss..."
Chelsea stood at the entrance of the Bromley Group headquarters, her red lips curling into a slight smile. "Hi, long time no see."