His Three Minutes Cost Him His Wife Chapter 08

His Three Minutes Cost Him His Wife Chapter 08

Several more months passed before I relocated to 

a brand–new coastal town and opened my fully 

independent interior design studio. 

The space spanned two modest rooms- one 

dedicated to drafting and project work, the second 

set aside for client consultation meetings. 

A golden pothos trailing houseplant sat on the 

windowsill, its long vines hanging nearly all the 

way down to the wooden floorboards. 

One afternoon mid–consultation with Maggie 

Wells, my villa renovation client, my studio 

assistant hurried into the upstairs meeting room. 

Her face tight with unease, she leaned down to 

whisper quiet words beside my ear. 

“There’s a man kneeling out in the town square 

plaza downstairs, holding a large cardboard sign up over his head. He told the front desk his full 

name’s Nico, and he claims he’s your husband.” 

Maggie’s gaze flicked toward the floor–to–ceiling street windows, her expression curious. 

“Give me one minute to step outside,” I told her, standing to cross to the glass panes overlooking 

the plaza below. 

Nico knelt bare–kneed directly onto hard gray 

concrete pavement with no blanket or mat 

beneath him. 

He gripped a handwritten cardboard placard high 

above his shoulders for every passerby to read in 

thick black marker lettering: [CLARA, I WAS 

WRONG. GIVE ME ONE SECOND CHANCE.] 

A crowd of onlookers circled around him, dozens 

of strangers lifting cell phones to snap photos and 

record video clips, murmuring amongst 

themselves once they recognized the Valenti clan 

surname. 

I stared at the chaotic scene through the glass for 

two full seconds. 

“Call the building security team and ask them to 

escort him off private property immediately.” 

The assistant headed downstairs to deliver my 

instruction, returning a short while later. 

“He refuses to leave unless you agree to come 

down and speak with him face–to–face.” 

“Dial local law enforcement then.” 

Two uniformed police officers arrived minutes. 

later, engaging Nico in a lengthy conversation. 

beside the plaza pavement. 

He refused to stand to his feet until one officer 

wrapped a hand around his upper arm to pull him 

upright. 

His knees buckled the second his weight shifted off the concrete slabs, nearly sending him 

crashing to the ground. A random bystander 

caught his elbow to steady his swaying frame. 

He twisted his head upward to stare straight at my second–story studio window, but I’d already stepped away from the glass long before his gaze 

landed there. 

The following day, Liam Brooks, my old university 

design classmate, dialed my personal cell phone. 

“Nico tracked me down and begged me to pass 

along a request–he wants one final private dinner 

talk with you, swears he’ll never reach out to you 

again afterward.” 

I asked him for the restaurant address and agreed 

to show up. 

The bistro he booked was small and intimate, 

Nico seated alone in a back wall booth. 

Unshaven stubble coated his jaw, deep purple dark circles weighing heavy underneath his eyes. 

“Have a seat,” he said flatly once I pulled out the opposing booth chair. 

He folded both hands together atop the table surface, knuckles bleached white from tight 

squeezing. 

“I’ve signed over all my Valenti Clan Commercial Conglomerate voting equity stock to the multi–generational clan trust fund, and the full title conveyance legal paperwork for the Riverside townhouse is filed and finalized under your legal name. I’ve liquidated every asset I own with no property or shares left in my possession at all.” 

I lifted my water glass and sipped a small mouthful of clear liquid. 

“You handed control of the entire family business back to the elders and signed the townhouse fully over to me. Do you honestly believe these grand sacrifices will make me feel grateful enough to 

reconcile with you?” 

His knuckles whitened even harder against the tabletop wood. 

“Nico, every self–destructive choice you’ve made 

these past months exists solely to ease your 

overwhelming guilt over how you treated me. 

You’re not performing these gestures out of selfless love for me–you’re only trying to erase the weight of your own regret. And none of this will ever fix the harm you caused our marriage.” 

His face drained completely of all color. 

“Kneeling in that public plaza wasn’t an act of undying devotion. You couldn’t accept the reality that you’d destroyed your marriage and lost your wife for good. Surrendering your corporate power wasn’t a genuine selfless choice, either. You 

thought throwing away your wealth and status 

would buy back the peace of mind you lost after 

pushing me out of your life.” 

I pulled a few cash bills out of my purse and set 

them flat on the tablecloth between us. 

“This meal’s on my tab. Don’t ever seek me out for 

another conversation again. Every hardship or loss 

you endure from here on out is your own burden to carry. I won’t feel an ounce of sympathy for you 

anymore.” 

I stood up from the booth chair and turned toward 

the restaurant exit without glancing backward 

once. 

A loud heavy thud echoed from behind me as Nico’s fist slammed hard against the wooden 

table surface. I kept walking forward without 

slowing my pace. 

Night had fully fallen by the time I stepped outside 

onto the sidewalk, warm amber streetlamp light 

stretching my shadow long across the concrete 

pavement ahead of my footsteps. 

My silhouette always a half–step in front of my 

physical body. 

I returned to my empty apartment without 

switching on a single overhead lamp, sinking 

down onto the living room sofa in complete 

darkness. 

My voice had stayed steady and calm through 

every harsh word I’d spoken to Nico inside the 

bistro, yet my palms sweated through my jacket 

lining now that I sat alone. 

I’d cut off every last possible path for him to 

reconcile with me–and sealed my own door shut 

on that chapter of my life forever too. 

My phone illuminated the dark room with a new 

incoming text message from Nico. 

[I won’t reach out to you ever again. Please take 

good care of yourself for the rest of your life.] 

I stared at those typed lines for several minutes 

before deleting the text entirely from my inbox.