The Ex-Wife's Triumph novel Chapter 105

At the Sterling Group offices.

Wyatt sat with his legs propped up on the edge of the desk, sinking lazily into the oversized leather chair.

His phone screen lit up with a message: [Mr. Wyatt, Joyce has gone to France as an exchange student.]

He glanced at it casually, but his smile slowly widened, reaching his eyes with a glint of amusement. He scoffed softly, "Fate really is unavoidable."

His fingers tapped the screen, sending a voice message with decisive speed: [Book the earliest flight to France. The sooner the better.]

Dropping his legs, he pushed off the ground, spinning the chair half a circle.

His slender fingers danced across the keyboard, typing out a concise leave application. The glow of the screen reflected the anticipation in his eyes.

Just then, a knock came at the door.

Wyatt didn't look up, fingers still on the keyboard. "Come in."

The door opened, and his assistant peeked in, followed by two movers carefully carrying a large, half-height box.

"Mr. Wyatt, your custom chair has arrived."

Wyatt's eyes lit up. He stood immediately, kicking the old chair aside. The legs screeched against the floor.

"Finally. If I had to sit in that piece of junk for one more day, my back would have snapped!"

He leaned against the desk, watching the movers assemble the parts. He turned his head to instruct his assistant, "Order me some food. The signature dish from that place we used last time."

"Yes, sir," the assistant replied and left.

Leaning against the car door, he thumbed the cold metal of the lighter. Smoke drifted from his lips, blurring his dark gaze as he stared into the distance.

Only when the cigarette burned down to his fingers did he crush the ember, toss it in the trash, and walk steadily toward the lit house.

Inside, the lights were blazing. A servant bowed respectfully. "Mr. Kingsley."

Kingsley gave a faint "Mmm," scanning the people sitting in the living room. His lips curved into a half-smile. "What's this? Everyone waiting for me?"

Bacchus, sitting on the sofa, spoke first, teasingly. "Who else? Mr. Sherwood, the busy man, is finally home."

Kingsley unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat next to him, retorting casually, "That's not right. The busiest person in this house is Mr. Winston Sherwood. Sometimes we don't see him for half a month. I can't compare."

"You're all busy. I'm the only idler here," Old Mrs. Sherwood chimed in with a laugh.