Chapter 12 Who's More Selfish Than You?
William glanced over just once, and his previously decent mood plummeted to rock bottom.
Isabella was laughing so genuinely happy. As her husband, even William had never seen her look like this before.
In his memory, Isabella was always the same, like a textbook template of the perfect wife and mother.
No matter what she did, she was always methodical and proper, even recording every penny spent in a ledger, as if afraid William might think she was embezzling household money.
Isabella came from a very ordinary family background. Her parents were both working-class, earning fixed monthly salaries. Their situation wasn't terrible, but compared to the Montagu family, it was worlds apart.
If she hadn't gotten pregnant first, there would have been absolutely no way she could have married into the Montagu family.
In his memory, Isabella only showed slight happiness when dealing with their two children.
Yet here she was, beaming so brilliantly at a strange man.
William's heart felt like it had been thrown into ice water, bone-chillingly cold.
His expression darkened, and the server waiting nearby looked somewhat nervous. "Sir, do you have a reservation?"
Laura gave her phone number, and the server hurriedly led them to their reserved table.
Unfortunately, their assigned seats were directly across from Isabella's table.
Isabella could see them with just a glance up, and likewise, William could see Isabella whenever he looked up.
Laura wore a considerate smile, even defending Isabella, "Maybe Isabella is just having dinner with a friend."
Her comment was like pouring gasoline on a fire.
Isabella's friends were limited to the laboratory. In their six years of marriage, William had no idea Isabella had such a wealthy friend in Seaside City.
He didn't look closely at the man's face, but judging by his build, his looks were probably impressive too.
William was extremely displeased.
When people arrived at the table across from them, Isabella was instinctively drawn to look by the sound.
The moment she saw William, she completely lost her appetite.
Her expression soured for an instant.
Richard caught this subtle change immediately and asked, "Are you alright? Are you feeling unwell, or is today's food not to your taste?"
Isabella's mood felt like she'd swallowed a fly—a nauseating sensation stuck in her throat, neither going up nor down.
But she couldn't very well tell Richard that her ex-husband had just walked in.
She pressed her lips together, forcing a smile, "I'm fine. Should I go find Julia? Isn't it rather rude for the two of us to eat without waiting for her?"
Richard chuckled, "She might not even genuinely want to eat. She's probably run off somewhere to play by now. We don't need to worry about her."
With that, Richard raised his hand to call over a server. "Please remove the wine and bring this lady a fresh orange juice instead."
Isabella waved her hands repeatedly, wanting to refuse Richard's kindness.
The dishes at this restaurant were all expensive. Having them remove something already served seemed terribly wasteful.
"Lunch isn't really the ideal time for drinking, and I suspect you aren't much of a drinker anyway, Ms. Capulet?"
Richard seemed to be making casual conversation, but he'd somehow guessed Isabella's preferences perfectly.
She'd never really liked the taste of alcohol - that bitter, harsh sensation was always difficult to swallow.
Isabella had never understood what people who enjoyed drinking actually found appealing about it.
The server quickly replaced Isabella's drink with orange juice.
She took a sip. It tasted no different from what she could make at home with her juicer.
Probably because it had no added sugar, the tartness was quite pronounced.
But she didn't let it show on her face, afraid Richard might spend more money because of this.
Isabella wasn't much of a conversationalist, but Richard was an excellent conversation guide.
Worried she might feel awkward, he casually started a topic about children's education, and they chatted about everything under the sun.
What surprised Isabella was that Richard, a man who didn't even have a girlfriend, spoke about education with remarkable insight.
Whenever she showed surprise, the smile on Richard's face deepened. "Ms. Capulet, you seem to think I should be a complete fool who knows nothing?"
"My parents have been traveling the world these past few years. I've been handling all of Julia's educational matters myself."
For a CEO like Richard, being personally hands-on carried significant weight.
Indeed, differences became apparent through comparison.
Compared to Richard, William was far too comfortable being a father, showing no concern for the children.
Isabella estimated that William probably didn't even know what Nathan and Olivia each liked to eat.
A customer from the table behind them finished dining, and a pot-bellied man walked past Isabella.
Apparently wanting to show off his wealth to his female companion, he stood by the scenic ocean-view window, excitedly extending his arms as if about to launch into grand speeches.
However, he seemed to forget there were people seated there.
His left hand struck hard against the orange juice beside Isabella's hand, and the glass tumbled over.
The orange liquid immediately spread across the table, with more than half of it spilling onto Isabella's cream-colored blouse.
The man's female companion cried out, covering her mouth in shock.
The middle-aged man hesitated for only a moment, then quickly tried to save face by putting on a tough front.
"It's just a piece of clothing! However much it costs, I'll pay for it!"
He had the unmistakable air of nouveau riche about him, pulling out his wallet and starting to count bills.
Isabella stood up, looking sadly at her white shirt.
This was something she'd bought to celebrate finally stepping out of domestic life and entering the workforce—she'd barely worn it a few times!
The important thing wasn't the shirt's monetary value, but its sentimental meaning, which no amount of money could replace.
Isabella said nothing, simply standing and using napkins to quickly wipe the sticky orange juice from her clothes.
Richard also stood, walking around the table to her side. With one hand, he pushed aside the middle-aged man who was just standing there, making things worse.
"Here, put on my jacket for now." Richard removed his brown suit jacket and draped it over Isabella's shoulders with one smooth motion.
The jacket still carried Richard's warm body heat. Isabella murmured her thanks, then discovered that the orange juice stains were remarkably stubborn—napkins alone certainly wouldn't clean them.
"I'll go to the restroom."
Rather than waste time arguing with the culprit, she rose decisively and started toward the restaurant's restroom, stepping around him.
William had been listening from the side, seething with anger, but as chaos erupted, he stood and followed, grabbing Isabella's hand.
"Don't you have anything to explain?" William demanded coldly.
Isabella's entire attention was focused on salvaging her shirt, making her seem distracted in the face of William's interrogation.
"We're getting divorced. What's left to discuss?"
Laura rose gracefully, covering her mouth in apparent shock.
"Isabella, so you're insisting on divorce because you already have another man."
"Isn't that incredibly selfish? As a mother, haven't you considered Nathan and Olivia's feelings at all?"
Isabella looked up, her gaze ice-cold as she stared at Laura.
"You were just a mistress who broke up my family. Why didn't you think about considering Nathan and Olivia? Who could be more selfish than you?"