Mr Grey, I want a divorce

003. She butt- texted that message

Time is money.... and money is king, and right now, I am losing both.

The thought circled my mind as I sat in the dimly lit living room, the city skyline glowing faintly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The residence was too quiet. No footsteps. No movement. No sign of life. I sat down, waiting for someone who should have been home by now.

She had other houses, yes. Properties scattered across cities and countries, places she rarely stayed in. But this one? This was the residence she returned to most. The place where she laid her head at night. Where her clothes filled the walk-in closet. Where her scent lingered faintly in the air, stubborn and familiar.

And yet, here I was.

Holding a floral arrangement.

Sitting like an inconvenience to myself.

The arrangement rested on my lap, untouched. Perfectly arranged. Fresh. High-end. I had no idea how long flowers were supposed to last, but David assured me these were the best money could buy. As if money was ever the issue.

I leaned back into the couch, irritation simmering beneath my skin.

I couldn’t believe I had left my high-level meetings all the way in China just to be here.

“Where is she?” I murmured under my breath, glancing down at my timepiece.

The custom-made watch gleamed under the chandelier light, rare, understated, worth more than most people’s annual salaries. The second hand ticked smoothly, mocking me with every passing second. An entire hour had been wasted.

An entire hour.

This was a financial bleed.

Contracts were supposed to be executed right now, nine-figure deals. Agreements that moved markets. Numbers that recalibrated power. Instead, I was sitting in my own living room, waiting like someone without leverage.

All of this was David’s fault.

My jaw tightened as the memory replayed itself.

I had been in a meeting, an extremely important one, about to finalize a nine-figure acquisition when my phone beeped.

It never beeped.

My phone was always on Do Not Disturb mode. Always. No exceptions during meetings. But for some reason, that day, it wasn’t.

The sound had sliced through the room, sharp and out of place. Every executive at the table had gone quiet. I remembered the way they looked at me, surprised, cautious. Waiting.

I picked it up.

And saw a message from my wife.

Mr. Grey, I want a divorce.

No explanation, no warning, just that.

I stared at the message for hours in my office afterward, long after the meeting had dissolved. The skyline outside my window shifted from afternoon to evening, light bleeding into darkness, and still I sat there, the phone resting heavily in my palm.

Why would she send something like that?

Was it a mistake?

Or had David forgotten to send her bespoke gifts and arrangements this year?

That thought made me frown.

“David, what is the meaning of this?” I pressed, sliding my phone toward him.

He had been seated across from me, handling paperwork like any other day. Unbothered. Calm. He lifted his head slowly, as if I hadn’t just placed my entire marriage in front of him.

He carefully picked up the phone from the table and read the message.

“Wow,” was the first word he said.

He raised his brows, then looked at me. “It means your wife finally gave up on you and wants a divorce.”

Just like that.

He placed the phone back in my hand and returned to his work, fingers moving across the keyboard as if he hadn’t just detonated a bomb in my office.

“Gave up on what?” I demanded. My grip tightened around the phone. “She has everything. Why would she want a divorce?”

My eyes drifted back to the message, rereading the words as if they might change.

“Wait, did you not send her gifts this year?”

“I did everything,” David replied calmly. “I didn’t miss a single day.”

“Then why does she want a divorce?” Irritation sharpened my voice. “It’s not like I don’t spoil her with bespoke gifts. Women never get tired of holdings.”

David leaned back in his chair, lifting his coffee and taking a slow sip.

“Looks like she got tired of gifts and wants a different kind.”

“What exactly is she expecting?” I said sharply. “Money? A new flagship vehicle? An estate? A private getaway? A designer piece?”

I snapped my fingers as I spoke, each word landing with certainty. “There’s nothing above that tier.”

David finally closed his laptop.

The soft click echoed louder than it should have.

He looked at me fully now, studying my face like he was seeing something I couldn’t. Perhaps he sensed my patience thinning. Perhaps he knew how close I was to ending the conversation, and possibly his employment.

“Your wife wants a present,” he said.

I scoffed.

“Your presence.”

I frowned. “Clarify.”

“Kai,” he said slowly, deliberately, “when was the last time you visited your wife?”

The question rankled me more than it should have.

“I don’t see what my presence has to do with the divorce message she sent.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” David clicked his tongue. “I still don’t know what Asha saw in you, marrying you without knowing the kind of person you are.”

He said it easily. Too easily.

David was the only employee who had ever spoken to me like this without getting fired.

“She saw two things,” I said confidently, leaning back in my chair. “First, money. Second, my looks. I’m boardroom-approved handsome. People gravitate toward me for both.”

I paused, stating facts.

“She always loved luxury more than anything else, and my presence is meant for one thing, money.”

Obviously, that’s what women want.

A rich, good-looking husband.

And I fit the profile perfectly.

So why ask for a divorce?

The thought didn’t make sense. It still didn’t.

Maybe she typed it by mistake.

No woman in her right mind would do something like this.

I decided then that I would wait.

I was sure she’d message back and say it was a mistake.

Three days passed.

“It has been three whole days and she hasn’t sent a message. What is she trying to play here?” I murmured as I sat inside my Gulfstream.

The hum of the engine filled the cabin, steady and constant. Outside the window, the sky stretched endlessly, clouds drifting beneath us. I was supposed to be in Shanghai, closing a deal.

Instead, that message sat heavy in my mind.

It distracted me from my enterprise. From everything.

If I didn’t get to the bottom of why she typed that message, I wouldn’t be able to focus.

I picked up my phone again, my thumb hovering over the screen. I tried typing a response, asking her what she meant by this so-called act, but my fingers refused to touch the glass.

I wouldn’t be forced to do what I didn’t want to do.

“How do I look?” I asked, standing and checking my reflection in the mirror.

The suit fit perfectly. Tailored. Impeccable. My hair was flawless, my timepiece gleaming against my wrist. I sprayed my signature cologne, the scent sharp and commanding.

If I was going to ask her the meaning of that message, I needed to look presentable.

“You look stunning as always, Kai. Here,” David said, handing me a bouquet.

I glanced at it.

“What am I supposed to do with this arrangement?”

“It’s for your wife. She’ll love it once she sees you. And the car will be here soon.”

“Okay,” I said, adjusting my tie. “So where is the meeting taking place? And did you send her a message informing her about our meeting?”

“No,” David replied plainly.

I stopped mid-adjustment and looked at him.

“What do you mean, no?”

“Surprising her is the best way to fix your estranged marriage,” he said calmly. “Go home. Surprise her. Show her some love. Let me handle the meeting.”

I tried reasoning with David, but he still insisted that I needed a day off from work to ask Asha Grey why she wanted a divorce.

But I still believed it.

She butt-texted that message.