The Mango Clause

At seven, the woman my father brought home gave me a box of mangoes. My mother watched me eat them, her face full of sorrow, then signed the divorce papers and jumped from our window. Mangoes became my nightmare.
On my wedding day, I told my husband, Ethan Carter, If you want a divorce, give me a mango. From then on, mangoes were his taboo too.
On our fifth Christmas Eve, his childhood sweetheart, Phoebe Summers, put a mango on his desk. That day, Ethan cut ties with her and fired her. I thought he was my destiny.
Six months later, I returned from securing a billion-dollar deal. At the celebration, Ethan handed me a juice. After I drank half, Phoebe appeared behind me, grinning. "How's the mango juice?"
I stared at Ethan. He was stifling a laugh. "Don't be mad, Elara. It was just a joke. I didn't give you a mango, just juice. Phoebe's right—you need to get over this silly quirk. You enjoyed it!"
My face went cold. I threw the rest in his face and walked away. Some things aren't jokes. The mango wasn't. Neither was my decision to file for divorce.

1
"Ms. Shaw, you've had a relapse of stress-induced gastritis."
"You must avoid any food that you have an aversion to. Next time, it might not be just stomach pain; it could require surgery."
"We'll keep you for observation overnight. Please notify your family to come as soon as possible."
The doctor's words echoed in the sterile silence. I had just spent 39 grueling days and sleepless nights abroad, fighting for a new project, only to be sent straight to the hospital by a glass of mango juice from my own husband.
I instinctively opened my messaging app, my thumb hovering over his name at the top of my contacts. I typed two letters before I noticed something was wrong.
His profile picture. He'd changed it.
It was a green mango.
As I stared at the screen, dumbfounded, my phone rang. It was Ethan.
His voice was cold. "I'm home. Where are you?"
Silence.
Normally, this is where I would have softened my voice, played the part of the doting wife, and coaxed him with sweet words. But tonight, the words wouldn't come.
His irritation crackled through the phone. "Elara, how long are you going to keep this up?"
"The hospital."
A beat of silence on his end. He never cared about my health. It would never have occurred to him that his "joke" could land me here.
"Stay there. I'm on my way."
I didn't want to see him, but my body was too weak to move.
Time ticked by. The doctor checked on me three times. Ethan never showed up.
Just before I drifted off to sleep, I scrolled through my phone one last time and saw Phoebe's latest social media post:
"My knight in shining armor always shows up to save the day, no matter what~"
The accompanying photo was of Ethan gently applying a bandage to her finger.
Phoebe's profile picture was a ripe, yellow mango.
Beautiful, and utterly sickening.
We had known each other for ten years. Ethan knew my boundaries. As a seasoned businessman, he knew how to maintain a professional distance from other women.
But now, he had crossed the line, again and again.
And so, the thread that held our marriage together, and the new project I had just secured—the billion-dollar European contract that was the lifeblood of his company—no longer needed to exist.

2
When I woke up the next morning, there were no missed calls, no unread messages from Ethan.
I wasn't even angry.
After the doctor gave me the all-clear, I went straight home.
The 5,000-square-foot luxury villa was something we'd bought with cash last year. A world away from seven years ago, when we were fresh out of college, sharing a single packet of instant noodles in a cramped basement apartment. Or five years ago, on our wedding day, when we celebrated with a cheap meal at a hole-in-the-wall diner and a tiny four-inch cake.
Now, here I was, alone in this cavernous house, left to lick my wounds.
I supposed I would get used to it.
I was reviewing the divorce papers my lawyer had sent over when Ethan walked in, bringing with him the heavy scent of rose perfume.
The fragrance hit me like a physical blow. Ethan had sensitive skin, allergic to most cosmetics. He despised perfume. For years, I had forgone all skincare products, even choosing my shampoo with meticulous care, just for him.
Apparently, his strict rules only applied to me.
He saw me on the couch with my tablet and paused.
"Phoebe was a little too excited at the party last night," he explained, "she got drunk and took a fall, so I took her home. It was late, and she lives far out, so I just grabbed a hotel nearby instead of coming to the hospital to get you."
I nodded, canceling another one of our company's supplier contracts on my tablet. "Okay. I understand," I said without looking up.
Ethan seemed thrown off. This clearly wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting.
He hesitated, then took a few steps closer. "It's Saturday, you should take a break from work. I'm planning to take Phoebe to Paris. Do you want to come with us?"
Seven years ago, on my birthday, Ethan and I had taken a cheap, five-dollar photo at a night market. Standing in front of a tacky Eiffel Tower backdrop, he swore that one day, when we had money, he would take me to the real Paris and we would recreate that exact photo.
As our home grew bigger and the company more successful, he only got busier. He'd placate me time and time again.
"Elara, this is a critical growth period for the company."
"As the CEO, I can't just take off on a vacation abroad."
"You're the most understanding person I know. You get it, right?"
I did get it. So I stopped mentioning Paris and threw myself into the business, helping to build his empire.
But apparently, if Phoebe wanted to go, he was free.
I opened the next client's email, my tone unchanging. "Three's a crowd. I'm not interested."
For some reason, he seemed to let out a sigh of relief. "Alright. I just need to grab something, and then I'm off. You're on your own for lunch; we'll have dinner together tonight."
He paused, his expression turning serious. "This new contract is crucial for our overseas expansion. I've invited the media for a press conference on Monday. Didn't you always want to stand by my side, officially? This is your chance. You should prepare…"
He looked at me intently. "Don't worry. I'll introduce you properly this time. I won't let Phoebe cause any trouble."
I glanced up at him, my face a blank mask.
I knew what this was: his compensation for last night's cruelty.
Fine by me. It would take a few days for the cancellation of the European contract to be processed anyway.
Announcing it at his press conference seemed fitting.

3
That evening, as was my habit, I arrived at the restaurant early to wait for him.
In seven years, it had become second nature.
While I waited, I received a call from overseas. It was from our competitor in the last negotiation, who also happened to be an old friend from business school.
Marcus's voice was warm. "Elara, have you given any more thought to my offer to join Aether Global?"
"Carter Enterprises is too small for you. It doesn't deserve your talent."
This was the third time he had tried to poach me.
The first was seven years ago, when I turned down a high-paying job at a multinational corporation to join Ethan's tiny startup for a meager salary, half of which went to our shared rent. Marcus had argued with me until he was blue in the face, but he couldn't change my mind.
The second time was just a few days ago, across the negotiation table, where I had him and his team on the ropes. After our victory, he had approached me, half in admiration, half in frustration. "Elara, I heard you're still criminally underpaid at Carter's. Come work with me. Don't let your brilliance be wasted on someone who doesn't appreciate it."
I had smiled and refused. How could it be wasted? It was my husband's company. It was the empire we had built together over seven years.
The third time was now.
I paused for only three seconds, signaled the waiter for a bottle of red wine, and accepted his offer without hesitation.
"Send me the address. I'll start on Tuesday."
The other end of the line was silent for a moment, then erupted in jubilant laughter.
Fearing I would change my mind, Marcus quickly said, "Great!" and hung up.
I chuckled, and as I was putting my phone down, a notification from Ethan popped up.
[Change of plans. Phoebe couldn't wait. We're on the plane now. You're on your own for dinner.]
[I have a surprise for you when I get back.]
A moment later, a new post appeared on my feed. It was from Phoebe, and I was the only one tagged:
"Thanks to my big bro for making my dream come true! As a reward, I'll treat you to a feast tomorrow~"
The picture was of Phoebe and Ethan, hand in hand, under the real Eiffel Tower.
It was identical to our cheap photo from seven years ago.
I stared at the screen for a long moment, then calmly closed the app and opened my chat with Marcus.
[As a signing bonus, how would you like a billion-dollar European contract?]

4
My phone was silent for a beat, then it began to vibrate uncontrollably.
[YES! YES! YES!]
[Elara, you're too good to me! Yesterday was your birthday, right? The gift I sent should have arrived. Don't forget to pick it up.]
I froze. A small, brittle laugh escaped my lips, growing louder and louder.
That's right. Yesterday was my birthday.
When Ethan watched me drink that mango juice, did he remember it was my birthday?
When he was playing doctor with Phoebe, leaving me alone in a hospital bed, did he remember to get a gift for the woman he'd been married to for seven years?
Probably not.
But it didn't matter anymore.
We were getting a divorce.
Who wants a gift from their soon-to-be ex-husband?
After dinner, I didn't rest. I threw myself into the European project. It was a gift for my new employer, after all. It had to be perfect.
For the next two days, I lived at the office, the lights in my room burning through the night.
My colleagues noticed. The company group chat, the one I wasn't in, was buzzing.
"What did I tell you? Director Shaw is completely dependent on Mr. Carter. How could she dare to stay mad?"
"If it weren't for her relationship with the boss, with how well the company is doing now, they wouldn't even need her."
"I heard she was the one who held Mr. Carter back when he was starting out. The company would have gone public years ago otherwise."
Phoebe dutifully screenshotted every message and sent them to me, followed by a voice message dripping with false sympathy.
"Elara, I know you must feel so insecure, being married to a powerful man like Ethan. But you have to understand, men aren't attracted to old workaholics. They like girls who are young, pretty, and feminine… like me."
I listened to her cloying voice and smiled.
"Is that so? In that case, I'll have HR fire you tomorrow. Wouldn't want you to be unable to attract a man."
Then, I blocked her.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was an irate Ethan.
"Elara, what did Phoebe do to you now?" he seethed. "I finally convinced her to come to Paris and forgive you for your behavior at the party, and now you've made her cry again! Are you happy until you've made everyone miserable?"
Forgive me? For what?
The absurdity of it all made me laugh. I printed out the divorce agreement I had drafted and replied casually, "When are you and Phoebe coming back? We need to discuss the divorce."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a furious roar.
"Elara, have you lost your mind? There's a limit to these jealous tantrums! If you keep this up, I'm going to get really angry."
I froze, then burst out laughing.
I had the signed divorce papers in my hand. Did he really think I was afraid of him getting angry?
"I've signed the papers. They'll be on your desk when you get back. Make sure you read them."
CRASH!
It sounded like he had kicked a chair. He spoke through gritted teeth.
"Fine. Don't you regret this!"
The line went dead. I shrugged and signed my name on the agreement.
The next morning, the first thing I saw when I opened my phone was Ethan's latest social media post, visible to the public. It was posted at 4 a.m.; he clearly hadn't slept.
It was a picture of him and Phoebe, standing in front of a hotel's floor-to-ceiling window, their fingers intertwined.
The caption read: [Seven years of storms, and I'm lucky to have you.]
Thousands of comments flooded in.
"Finally official! Is this the boss's wife he's been hiding for seven years?"
Ethan didn't reply, but he pinned a comment with a single "Shh" emoji.
Then there was the company-wide announcement he had set in the group chat.
[Effective immediately, Phoebe Summers will be replacing Elara Shaw as Director. The European partnership project will be transferred to Director Summers's portfolio. Tonight's press conference will also be led by Director Summers.]
He knew I had spent 39 sleepless nights abroad for that deal. He knew I had spent my days buried in paperwork and my nights networking, drinking until I was sick, just to secure that contract.
And he was doing this to force me to surrender.
My phone buzzed with a new message. It was from him.
[You still have a chance to take it all back.]
I didn't reply. I tossed my phone aside and went to get ready.
He seemed to have forgotten one crucial detail: I was the one who had made that deal happen. The European partners didn't care about Carter Enterprises. They cared about me.

5
After getting ready, I went out for breakfast.
When I returned to the office, all of my belongings had been thrown out into the hallway.
My mug, my files, and the signed divorce agreement, which had been torn in half.
The only thing that had survived was our wedding photo, which had been carefully placed on the windowsill.
Phoebe was sitting in my chair, looking triumphant.
"Oops, sorry, Elara," she said with a malicious glint in her eye. "Ethan already gave me this office. From now on, you can work over there."
She pointed to a leaky storage closet next to the restrooms, her chin held high.
I didn't even bother to look at her. I turned to Ethan, who had been silent the entire time.
His eyes were bloodshot, but a cruel smirk played on his lips. "Phoebe's right. I gave her the office. But if you take back what you said about the divorce, maybe I could reconsider…"
"No, thanks."
I cut him off. I walked over to the windowsill, picked up our wedding photo, and, under his smug gaze, dropped it into the trash can.
"I don't want this either. You can throw it away."
Then, I grabbed my laptop from the desk and walked out, pretending not to see the fury that had turned Ethan's eyes crimson.
Today was Monday. I had to be in Europe for my new job on Tuesday. I had packing to do.
I didn't go to the press conference that night.
Instead, from my home, I finalized the details with our European partners under my new title as a director at Aether Global.
The moment the contract was confirmed, I received a message from Ethan.
[I've invited the media to broadcast the press conference live. If you don't apologize now, the European project will really have nothing to do with you.]
I glanced at it and turned on Do Not Disturb.
It was about time. I had a flight to catch.
At 7 p.m., the media began to arrive. The event was being broadcast live across the city.
Phoebe, having spent a fortune on a celebrity makeup artist, was radiant, clinging to Ethan's arm and smiling for the cameras.
Ethan, dressed in a sharp grey suit, looked impeccable, but his eyes darted anxiously through the crowd, searching for someone.
Why isn't she here?
The thought flickered through his mind, and his initial excitement began to curdle into unease.
But the show had to go on.
Ethan cleared his throat and took the microphone.
"Good evening, everyone. I am Ethan Carter, CEO of Carter Enterprises. The purpose of tonight's press conference is to announce our company's partnership with Viktoria Solutions on the landmark 'Project Victoria'. This project…"
"Excuse me!"
A reporter with an international business channel press pass suddenly stood up.
"Mr. Carter, are you certain you mean Project Victoria?"
Ethan frowned. "Of course. This is our company's…"
His assistant rushed onto the stage, whispering frantically in his ear.
"Sir, it's bad! A minute ago, Aether Global released an official statement! They've secured Project Victoria. Director Shaw has left the company!"

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