My wife said she was allergic to semen, so every time we reached the final moment, she made me take care of myself. But she was willing to swallow her lovers’ stuff. In seven years of marriage, she took exactly twenty-nine lovers. The thirtieth young man sat naked in the middle of the studio while Vivian Blake focused on drawing a nude sketch of him. When I pushed the door open, the sound of charcoal scraping against paper stopped dead. “Isn’t drawing outside enough for you? You had to bring him home to draw him?” Vivian did not even lift her head as she pulled a palm-sized sticky note from beside the easel, scribbled a few strokes on it, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it at my feet. “There, I made up your drawing.” That night, the light in the studio stayed on until after midnight. Early the next morning, Vivian was furious at my indifference. But she had forgotten that we had an agreement: every time she made me angry, she had to paint a portrait of me. Once the portraits reached one hundred, we would get divorced. The sticky note she drew with an eyebrow pencil last night was the ninety-ninth.
“Ethan, go get Liam something to wear.” Vivian sat on the bed half-wrapped in a robe, lit a cigarette, and ordered me around. Clothes were scattered all over the floor, as if telling the story of how intense last night had been. I stood still and glanced at her. Liam Hayes, wrapped in the blanket, looked at me with a bright smile. “Ms. Blake, this doesn’t seem right, does it? He is Mr. Cole, after all.” He called me “Mr. Cole,” but there was not a trace of guilt in his tone, only smugness and provocation. The blanket slipped a little with his movement, revealing skin covered in red marks. “Besides, I’m afraid Mr. Cole won’t have anything that fits me!” My face was blank as I turned and walked toward the door. “Ethan! I’m talking to you!” Her voice came from behind me, carrying a hint of displeasure. I paused, but I did not look back. “If he needs clothes, he can get them himself. I have things to do.” In seven years, I had rarely gone against her. Whether she made it obvious or only hinted at it, I almost never refused anything she asked me to do. Today was the first time. “What did you say?” Vivian was clearly not used to my cold attitude, and anger crept into her voice. “You have things to do? What could you possibly have to do? You stay home every day and don’t even work for money!” “Ethan, you’d better remember this. If I hadn’t married you, how could you have ever lived like this on your own?” She was right. If I had not married her, I really would not have had this comfortable life with no worries about food or clothes. But she had forgotten that this was not the life I wanted. Back then, my family’s company had just run into trouble. Walter, the old butler who had taken care of me since I was young, told me that because the cash flow had broken, the family business was on the verge of bankruptcy. If we could not find someone to invest, the old employees who had followed us for years would have nowhere to go. It was at that moment that Vivian appeared. She gave me one condition: marry her, and she would inject capital into my family’s company. I hesitated. She saw my hesitation, tapped her brush against the easel, and added in a tone that gave me no room to refuse. “How about this? I have a bad temper, so if I make you angry in the future, I’ll paint you a portrait.” “When I’ve painted one hundred of them, our debt will be cleared.” After we got married, I never hoped for love. Sure enough, it did not take long before I discovered that she had chosen me only because I resembled someone she could not forget. The first portrait was delivered in the third month of our marriage. The technique was exquisite. Starting with the twentieth portrait, there was no frame. Starting with the fiftieth portrait, it became a sketch. Starting with the eightieth portrait, it was only a few careless strokes. The one she drew with an eyebrow pencil on a sticky note last night was the ninety-ninth. In the drawer of my study, ninety-eight portraits were stacked neatly. From serious to careless, they recorded her journey from slight guilt to complete indifference. Just then, Liam walked out of the walk-in closet wearing an off-white casual outfit. I froze for a moment. At that instant, he looked too much like that person. It seemed he had come prepared. Vivian’s gaze fixed on him. Perhaps because of that familiar shadow, she was not as casual as usual and actually stared for a second before saying, “Not bad. Keep that style.” Liam’s smile grew wider. “Really? Then Ms. Blake has to take me out later and buy me a few more outfits.” Vivian nodded. He glanced at me and deliberately asked, “Mr. Cole should come too, right?” I knew he wanted to embarrass me. “No, I have things to do.” But Vivian frowned. “You’re coming too. Don’t make me say it twice.” I knew this was not the time to clash with her head-on. I did not argue again and answered in a low voice. I would endure it one more time. Once I collected the hundredth perfunctory “portrait,” I would be free.
Vivian booked an entire floor of an art gallery. She stood beside Liam and watched him pose. In a gentle tone I had never heard from her before, she said, “That angle is good.” Liam smiled and adjusted his pose. “If Ms. Blake paints me, it’ll definitely be worth a lot.” The corner of his eye swept toward me, full of provocation. The gallery manager flattered him. “Mr. Hayes really has such artistic presence.” Vivian did not deny it. The manager looked at me. “And this gentleman is…?” Vivian seemed to have only just remembered me. “He’s with us. Ethan, take a look too.” The manager exclaimed, “You’re even this kind to your assistant. Ms. Blake, you’re so considerate.” I said nothing and continued replying to emails on my phone. I had already handled my family’s affairs. “I’ll look at that one.” I casually pointed at a landscape painting. “Then I like that one too,” Liam immediately said. I frowned. “Go look over there.” “I’m just looking.” He suddenly turned sideways, jabbed his elbow into my ribs, and tripped me with his foot. I stumbled backward and crashed into the base of a metal sculpture. The edge scraped across my arm and back, burning with pain. I also hit the glass cabinet beside it, and the replica sculptures inside shattered all over the floor. Vivian rushed over, her face dark. Liam retreated to a safe distance, covered the back of his hand that had “accidentally” brushed against some broken plaster, and frowned. “Is Mr. Cole upset? If you don’t want me to look, I won’t look. Why did you have to push me?” He held out his hand, where there was a barely visible red mark on the back. Vivian immediately held his hand, her face full of distress. “How did this happen? Does it hurt?” She glared at me. “Ethan! Are you really that petty? Was it worth it over one painting?” I braced myself against the base and tried to stand, but my wound hurt and blood was seeping out. I opened my mouth. “I didn’t. He was the one who—” “You’re still making excuses?” she cut me off, not seeing my miserable state. “It’s always like this with you!” She held Liam’s hand and comforted him softly. “Don’t be scared. I’ll take you to a doctor.” Liam leaned against her and frowned pitifully. “Will it affect my painting?” “No. I’ll take you to the best doctor.” She supported him and turned to leave. When she passed me, she did not stop, only threw me one cold sentence. “I’ll make up a drawing for you later.” Then she left without looking back. She left me behind with the mess all over the floor. The “makeup drawing” promised in the gallery should be the hundredth one.
I endured the pain and went to a private medical center. The doctor prepared to treat my wounds. “There’s debris in the wound, so we’ll need to clean it out. We’ll use some anesthetic first…” Vivian rushed in, holding the best antibiotic ointment. “Doctor, use this ointment on Liam first! His hand can’t get infected!” “But Ms. Blake, Mr. Cole’s wound is deeper…” “What does he have to be afraid of?” Vivian impatiently interrupted the doctor, only then noticing the blood on me and frowning. “Just bandage him up however you can first. Liam’s hand is the hand he uses to paint!” The doctor looked at me helplessly. I said, “Use it on him.” The doctor sighed and left with the ointment. I turned to the nurse. “Just clean it directly. No anesthetic.” The nurse froze. “But without anesthetic, it will hurt a lot…” “It’s fine.” The tweezers probed into the wound and pulled out the debris. Every time, it felt like a branding iron searing my flesh. I clenched my teeth and did not make a sound. When it was over, the nurse’s hands were shaking, and she whispered, “You… really can endure pain.” I said nothing. After my wounds were treated, I went home. The kitchen smelled of soup. The housekeeper saw me and avoided my eyes. “Sir, Ms. Blake asked me to make soup for Mr. Hayes, and I have to go over there to take care of him for the next few days.” She looked at my arm wrapped in gauze and paused. “There’s still a little left in the pot. Would you like some?” I tugged at the corner of my mouth. “No.” Even a housekeeper knew to ask. But my wife, who had shared my bed for seven years, had not even noticed how badly I was hurt. My phone vibrated. It was a confidential message from the family lawyer. “Everything is in place. Ready for handover at any time.” I replied to confirm and booked the earliest flight overseas for the next morning. No one was home. I quickly packed my luggage. Standing in the middle of the bedroom, I looked at the place where I had lived for seven years. It would be a lie to say I felt no attachment. But more than that, I felt relief. I called her one last time. It rang for a long time before she picked up, and Liam’s voice was in the background, crying out in pain. Her voice was full of impatience. “Ethan? What do you want now? Liam is still hurting!” I was silent for two seconds. “Nothing.” “Ridiculous.” She hung up. I listened to the busy tone and put down my phone. I walked to the study and opened the locked drawer. Ninety-eight “portraits” were stacked in chronological order. The one on top was the smiley face she had drawn with lipstick on a napkin three months ago. I put them into a document envelope. Then I took out the divorce agreement, signed my name, and placed it on the desk in the study. I did not leave a note. The day the hundredth painting arrived would be the day the agreement officially took effect. I dragged my suitcase out and checked into a hotel near the airport. That night was very quiet. She sent no messages and made no calls. The hundredth painting did not come either. That was fine too.
The next day, I boarded the plane and turned off my phone. As the plane shot into the clouds, something in my heart that had been pressed down for seven years collapsed with a roar. After I passed through customs, a woman in a sharp suit was waiting with a sign. “Mr. Cole, welcome. I’m Olivia Reed, your special assistant.” She took my carry-on and spoke as we walked. “The car is waiting. You have a video conference in one hour, an inspection of the tech park this afternoon, and a welcome dinner tonight.” Her professionalism and efficiency reminded me of myself seven years ago. “I didn’t expect you to be so young.” After we got into the car, she looked at me through the rearview mirror. “From your file, I thought you’d be more serious.” I smiled faintly. The car drove onto the highway. The moment my phone was turned on, it vibrated dozens of times in a row, all missed calls and messages from Vivian. I did not read them and deleted them directly. Olivia looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Do you need to handle personal matters first?” “No,” I said. “They’re not important.” My phone rang again. I picked up. “Ethan! Are you insane?! Where did you go?! Come back right now!” Vivian’s voice was shrill with rage. I said calmly, “Ms. Blake, there is nothing left to say between us.” “Nothing left to say?! You are my husband! Get back here right now!” “We haven’t reached one hundred paintings yet.” My tone had no fluctuation. “When your hundredth ‘portrait’ is delivered, the divorce agreement will officially take effect. Before that, legally, maybe I still am. But in reality, we’re even.” “Ethan, you—!” I hung up and blocked her. Olivia spoke. “Mr. Cole, your residence is a lakeside penthouse. I think you’ll like it.” I looked out the window as the setting sun dyed the clouds gold and red. “Good,” I said.
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