The Price of Her Blindness

My name is Simon Lincoln. I used to be the CEO of a leading tech company, Glory Group, managing over a thousand employees. The floor-to-ceiling windows in my office looked out over the city's shimmering neon lights. For Fiona Scott's ambitious dream, I didn't consult anyone. Without hesitation, I signed my resignation letter and didn't even attend the final celebration party. Fiona is my wife. When I met her, I was just starting my business, and she was an intern squeezed into the subway among office workers—but behind her eyes was a hunger for building a business empire. We first met at an entrepreneurial salon. She wore faded jeans and clutched a notebook, asking me, "How to make a small company grow?" Her eyes shone as if sharpened—at that moment, I knew this girl was worth every bit of my commitment. I watched her leaning over the desk in our rented room, sketching the company's organizational chart. The desk lamp stretched her shadow long across the wall, and I felt every sacrifice was worthwhile—even if it meant giving up the business I'd spent five years building. Once the company was on solid footing, Fiona Scott moved the office from a residential house to a downtown high-rise. One day, rubbing her temples, she said she needed an assistant to handle miscellaneous tasks. I didn't think much of it, only reminding her, "Choose a hard-working one." Back then, I still believed our days would go on like this—with her pushing forward, and me supporting from behind. It was then that Jim Luke appeared by Fiona Scott's side—just in his early twenties, wearing black-rimmed glasses, his shirt always buttoned up to the very top, his face marked by an innocent naïveté, as if untouched by the world. He spoke softly and gently, printed documents sorted meticulously by page number, remembered to add two spoonfuls of sugar when making coffee for Fiona, and seemed diligent and earnest in his work. Within half a month, he had earned Fiona's trust. At first, I had no reason to be wary of him; I even thought a young man's drive was a good thing and occasionally taught him some business negotiation skills. It was only later that I realized what sordid thoughts hid behind that innocent-looking face—his gaze toward Fiona Scott was never the respectful look a subordinate gives a superior. The overseas market is the company's next major focus. I spent six months liaising with Mr. Shawn, a well-known investor overseas who controls the overseas channels we urgently need. Mr. Shawn had just returned to the country. We met at the Cloud Clubhouse downtown to sign the cooperation agreement. I had booked a private room three months in advance and confirmed the menu with the clubhouse manager three times. Before leaving, I told Fiona Scott the meeting time. She was in the middle of a department meeting; over the phone, she said, "A supplier needs me now, so I won't be coming," her tone full of focus on work. But as I stepped into the private room with my briefcase, I saw Fiona and Jim Luke standing side by side by the floor-to-ceiling window. Jim held a document, leaning in to say something to Fiona, their posture intimate. "Simon Lincoln, I brought Jim Luke here so he can gain some insight and learn something." Fiona smiled and explained, her fingers unconsciously brushing over Jim's sleeve, her tone unmistakably authoritative. I furrowed my brow; professionalism is crucial in business negotiations. Recklessly bringing a newcomer not only shows disrespect to the other party but also increases the risk of mistakes. Still, for her sake, I said nothing and simply set my briefcase on the table. Mr. Shawn arrived ten minutes later, clad in a custom suit, his hair perfectly combed. Upon meeting, he extended his hand first, his smile warm yet distant. Just as I was about to introduce, "This is my wife, Fiona Scott, and this is...", Jim Luke stepped forward abruptly, cutting me off. He deliberately raised Fiona's status while undermining the partnership's equality. Mr. Shawn's smile immediately faded, and he withdrew his outstretched hand. "Assistant Luke, huh?" Mr. Shawn adjusted his glasses, his tone colder. "I want mutual respect, not a bossy partner." Jim Luke froze briefly, his cheeks flushing bright red. His fingers gripped the edge of the document tightly, clearly caught off guard by the direct rebuttal, a flicker of panic in his eyes. Fiona Scott, unaware of any awkwardness, stepped forward and shielded Jim Luke behind her. "Mr. Shawn, Jim is young and talented, and he means well. Please don't take it personally." A jolt hit me in my chest—I knew this partnership was doomed. Mr. Shawn loathes disrespecting partners more than anything; years ago, when a company owner acted arrogantly during negotiations, he ended the deal on the spot.