One Point Short of Love

Hallie Shaw lived her life judging everyone with a rigid scorecard. When we were dating, she used to say that any person or event scoring below ninety points wasn't worth a second of her time. After marriage, every single thing I did was evaluated. On our wedding anniversary, I prepared a full spread of her favorite dishes. She took one bite and said, "Eighty-nine points." Then she set down her utensils and left to share a meal with Miles, who allegedly had a poor appetite. For the company's anniversary party, I tried on twenty-seven suits, only for her to glance at me and say, "Eighty-eight points. Not suitable to bring along." That very night, she walked into the celebration with Miles, who was wearing nothing more than a simple white shirt. To earn that perfect score, I quit my dream job, earned seven professional certifications, and learned four foreign languages. Yet no matter how hard I tried, my score remained forever stuck at eighty-nine. Meanwhile, Miles didn't have to lift a finger. Just by standing there, he was automatically a perfect hundred. I asked her once, "What does it actually take to get a ninety?" She glanced over at Miles and offered no answer. In that moment, a sudden, bitter laugh escaped my lips. Her scoring criteria had only ever had one rule from start to finish, and it wasn't me. I pulled off my wedding ring and dropped it straight into the wine glass in front of her. "Hallie, this time, I'm the one giving out the scores. Your loyalty: zero points. Your marriage: zero points. And as a person, you fail." Chapter 1 The wedding ring sank straight to the bottom of the wine glass with a sharp clink. Hallie Shaw stared down at it for a moment, wrapped a napkin around her fingers, and fished the ring out. "Throwing a public tantrum: eighty points," she said, setting the ring on the table, her voice cold. "Scott, stop making everyone uncomfortable." The surrounding laughter instantly died down. Miles Allen quickly wiped his wine-splashed trousers and hurried to step between us. "Hallie, don't blame Scott. He just cares about you too much," Miles said with a meek expression. "Rings shouldn't be thrown around like that, Scott. You should put it back on." I looked at his outstretched hand, but didn't move. On his pinky finger sat a blue diamond ring. I had designed that ring myself last year. Hallie had claimed the finished piece had flaws and wasn't good enough for me, so she had sent it away to be destroyed. Turns out, "destroyed" just meant it ended up on Miles' hand. "What a nice-looking ring," I commented softly. Miles instinctively pulled his hand back. "It's just an anniversary gift from Hallie. If you like it, I'll take it off right now." Hallie stopped him. "A gift given is a gift kept. Scott, you have plenty of jewelry. There's no need to fight over everything." I let out a dry laugh. "It's my design. Why shouldn't I fight for it?" "Because it belongs to Miles now." She pushed the wedding ring back toward me. "Put it on, apologize to him, and we'll let this go." "I'm not apologizing." Miles gently tugged at her sleeve. "Forget it. It's just a shirt. Scott has been out of work for a long time, so it's only natural he's a bit sensitive." Hallie’s expression softened. "You're always sticking up for him." She picked up the microphone and announced the final promotion at the anniversary party to the guests. "Starting today, Miles will serve as the head of the International Business Division, taking full charge of Project Dawn." Applause broke out across the room. Everyone knew the International Business Division was a project I had spent two full years building. The clients I secured before resigning, the four languages I learned, the hundreds of pages of proposals I wrote—all of it had become Miles' perfect track record. Hallie passed the microphone to him. With reddened eyes, Miles said, "Thank you, Ms. Shaw. And thank you, Scott. Even though he didn't participate in the later stages, he gave me a lot of inspiration." A few guests laughed and cheered. "Mr. Wilson is so generous, handing over his own project like that." "Well, they're married. With Mr. Wilson staying home and living off her success, why would he need to compete with Mr. Allen for a career?" Hallie looked at me. "Hear that? No one is discounting your efforts. Miles is simply a better fit." I squeezed the medical report inside my bag, my fingertips slowly turning cold. Tonight, I had planned to tell her I was diagnosed with early-stage stomach cancer. The doctor said it was progressing fast, advising me to stay calm and schedule surgery as soon as possible. Instead, I crumpled the report into a ball and pushed my chair back. Hallie grabbed my wrist. "Where are you going?" "Home." "Put the ring on first." "It's dirty. I don't want it." Her grip tightened, though her tone remained calm. "Scott, know that there are limits to my patience. The bigger scene you make, the lower your score goes." "What if we divorce?" She stared at me, then suddenly laughed. "Using divorce to threaten me isn't as smart as you think." Miles walked over and handed me a document. "Scott, this is the equity authorization for Project Dawn. Hallie said that if you sign it tomorrow, everyone will forget about tonight." I flipped to the last page. My fifteen percent voting rights would be transferred entirely to Hallie. Once I signed, I wouldn't even have the right to say no at the company. I closed the folder. "What if I don't sign?" Hallie pressed the wedding ring into my palm. "You will." "Why?" "Because this marriage is the only accomplishment you have left." She let go of my hand and turned to straighten Miles' collar. Just then, the crumpled medical report slipped out of my bag and fell to the floor. Chapter 2 I reached out to grab it as Miles bent down to pick it up, only for Hallie to bump into him as she stepped forward. The paper slipped from his fingers, falling straight into the ice bucket where the ink immediately smeared into a soggy blur. Hallie didn't even turn around. "I want to see those signed documents on my desk tomorrow morning at nine." At nine the next morning, I placed the agreement in front of Hallie, unsigned. She glanced down at the blank line. "Not over your little tantrum yet?" She tapped the signature line with her silver fountain pen. That pen was a gift she had given me back when I first joined the Translation Institute. Later, when I quit my job for her, the pen stayed behind in her study. Now, "Miles" was newly engraved into the metal. I reached out to pick it up. Hallie frowned. "Leave it. Miles is used to writing with it." "It's mine." "It’s just a pen." She opened her desk drawer, pulled out a black card, and slid it toward me. "Last night's score doesn't count. Take this and go buy yourself something you like." I didn't touch the card. "Did you engrave his name on it because he was a 'better fit' for that, too?" Miles walked in with a cup of coffee, pausing near the doorway when he heard us. "Scott, I'm so sorry. Hallie told me it was company inventory. I had no idea it was special to you." He quickly pulled off the cap. "Here, you can have it back right now." Hallie held his arm back. "You use it for all your meeting notes. There's no need to switch." She looked over at me. "Scott, you were never this petty before." My hand slowly went limp. Seven years ago, she waited four hours for me in the rain outside the Translation Institute. She handed me this exact pen and told me I shone brighter than anyone else when I stood on that conference stage. Later, she said she didn't need a partner who was busier than she was, so I stepped down. Now, she remembered which pen Miles preferred, but completely forgot why it belonged to me in the first place. Her assistant, Daisy, knocked and walked in. "Ms. Shaw, the Jerman representatives have arrived." Hallie stood up, smoothing down her blazer. "Scott, come with us to the conference room. Miles just took over and isn't fluent enough to interpret yet. You can back him up." I didn't move. "In what capacity am I attending?" "As my husband." "But at the party last night, you told everyone I had no part in this project." She checked her watch, thoroughly annoyed. "We're husband and wife. Why are you constantly drawing lines between what's yours and mine?" Ten minutes into the meeting, Miles had already mistranslated three key numbers. The Jerman representatives' expressions grew heavier until their lead delegate, Mr. Hans, asked directly in Jerman whether the person in charge was even baseline competent. Miles gripped his notepad tighter, casting a desperate look in my direction. "Scott, translate," Hallie said calmly. "It's his project." "This is not the time to throw a fit." "Last night, you said he was a better fit than me." The entire table fell silent. Hallie lowered her voice to a whisper. "Help him secure this contract, and I'll bump your score back up to eighty-nine." I stared at her for a moment, then took the papers from her hand. I didn't do it for the score. Inside that contract were six months of hard work from over thirty colleagues. When the meeting wrapped up, Mr. Hans stepped forward to shake my hand. "Mr. Wilson, we were under the impression that you were leading this project." Before I could answer, Hallie cut in. "He was only assisting temporarily." Miles offered a bright smile. "Scott is a house husband. He's been out of the field for so long that he just jumps at the chance to test the waters again." Mr. Hans looked visibly taken aback. "With talent like Mr. Wilson's, keeping him at home is an absolute waste." Hallie’s face darkened instantly. "He isn't suited for high-intensity work." She pulled the contract straight out of my hands in front of everyone and handed it over to Miles. "You worked hard today." It was clear that praise wasn't meant for me. At lunch, Miles raised his glass for a toast. "Scott, I owe you one. I never could've closed this deal without your help." I covered the top of my glass. "I'm not drinking." Hallie glanced over. "He's reaching out to you. Don't be ungrateful." "I can't drink right now." Miles put on a look of mild concern. "Is there something wrong with your health? I noticed you've been clutching your stomach all day." My fingers clenched. Hallie just let out a cold laugh. "He can't even manage his own temper. He's just faking an illness to get sympathy." She pushed the glass right back in front of me. "Finish it, and we'll pretend yesterday never happened." I looked down at the red wine swirling in the glass, a wave of nausea hitting my stomach. "What if I'm actually sick?" "Scott, using fake illnesses to beg for attention is the cheapest trick in the book. For this, your emotional stability score drops to a failing grade." Miles quickly poured a glass of water and slid it to me, looking entirely hurt and innocent. "Scott, I know you're upset because I took over the contract, but you shouldn't joke about your health like this. Hallie hates being lied to about things like that." I picked up the glass. Just as the tension in Hallie’s brow began to ease, I turned and dumped the wine straight into the empty ice bucket beside me. "I won't drink this. And I won't sign that authorization agreement, either." Her face went completely cold. "Scott, you will pay for your reckless behavior." Right then and there, she called finance to freeze every secondary card under my name, then demanded my car keys back. When the lunch ended, rain was pouring outside. She held an umbrella high over Miles, guiding him into the car and driving away, without so much as a word to me. Chapter 3 I stood on the icy steps outside, dialing the number of my former mentor, Professor Thomas. "Professor, about the reinstatement evaluation you mentioned last time, is that offer still on the table?" A heavy silence lingered over the line for a long moment. "Scott, didn't you personally send an email saying your physical and mental health weren't fit for the job, telling me never to reach out to you again?" I froze. "I never said that." Moments later, Professor Thomas forwarded the email to my inbox. It was sent directly from my personal email address. Right beside the signature at the bottom was Hallie’s email signature. When I confronted her, Hallie admitted it without a shred of hesitation. "I had my assistant send it." I slammed the printed email onto her desk. "What right do you have to turn down my work on my behalf?" "We had just gotten married back then, and you were flying to a dozen countries every month. How could you have maintained our relationship with a job like that?" "You were the one who said that if I resigned, you’d spend more time with me!" She raised her eyes, looking at me coldly. "And I gave you the best lifestyle possible, didn't I?" "Freezing my cards and taking my car keys is your idea of the best lifestyle?" "That’s a punishment, not a lifestyle," she replied, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "As long as you behave, those privileges will be restored immediately." I stared at her, feeling a suffocating weight crush my chest. It turned out that the care and devotion I thought we shared were nothing more than a reward she handed out to a top performer. The moment I refused to fall in line, she could strip it all away at a moment's notice. Just then, Miles pushed the door open. Seeing us in the middle of a fight, his eyes immediately welled with tears. "This is all my fault. I shouldn't have taken Scott's things." He quickly unclipped his employee badge and held out the project files. "I'll give up my position as department head, too, so you two don't have to fight because of me." Hallie pushed the files straight back into his chest. "No one is taking your position." She turned her gaze back to me. "Stop bringing your personal baggage into the workplace." Without another word, I turned and walked straight out of the office. That afternoon, I received a frantic call from the publishing house my late father used to work with. "Mr. Wilson, the press launch for your father's manuscript was moved forward! Why aren't you here yet?" By the time I rushed to the venue, Miles’ name was already projected in massive letters on the main screen. "The Unbound Voice" was the final interpretation handbook my father had completed while gravely ill. Before he passed away, he handed me the manuscript, telling me to publish it only when I stood on the translation stage again. Yet now, Miles was standing on stage, holding my father’s manuscript and telling the crowd it was an industry achievement he had led his team to compile. Hallie sat in the very front row, her face completely calm. I stormed onto the stage and yanked the microphone straight out of his hand. "This manuscript was left behind by my father! Every single page has his personal annotations. What right do you have to put your name on it?" Whispers instantly erupted through the audience. Hallie stood up, walked onto the stage, and effortlessly took the microphone from my grip. "Scott has been emotionally unstable recently. I will take full responsibility for today's disruption." She gestured to the security guards to step up. I clutched the heavy stack of manuscript pages tightly to my chest. "Hallie, this belongs to my father." "The publisher already secured authorization." "Authorized by who?!" She didn't answer. Miles leaned in, explaining in a quiet, fragile voice, "Hallie said she could make decisions on your behalf. Scott, I'm just the editor here. I would never try to steal your father's credit." I flipped open the title page. Though my father’s name was still there, my name, however, had been neatly cut away. Even the personal inscription he wrote for me, "May Scott always believe in his own voice", had been completely blotted out with heavy black ink. I raised my hand, slapped Miles across the face, and chaos ensued. Hallie grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip, violently pulling me away from Miles. "Have you lost your mind?" I shoved the manuscript right in front of her eyes. "This is what my dad left for me!" "Leaving it at home to collect dust is useless. Handing it to Miles ensures more people appreciate its value. That is the best possible outcome for it." My eyes burned with unshed tears. "If it were your mother, would you still say that?" Hallie’s expression darkened instantly. "Don't bring the dead into this." She then forcefully snatched the manuscript out of my hands. A sharp rip echoed through the air. The title page ripped straight down the middle, leaving only half of my father’s signature. A violent, crushing spasm suddenly hit my stomach. I grabbed the edge of the display table to keep my balance, cold sweat pouring down my spine. Miles held his cheek, saying softly, "Scott really doesn't look well. Maybe we should pause the launch..." Hallie glanced down at me, her eyes filled with nothing but cold disappointment. "He always knows how to ruin the mood at crucial moments." She turned to the guards. "Security, take him away." As I was dragged out of the venue, the polite sound of applause broke out once again behind me. When I got home, I searched the study for the authorization papers for my father's manuscript, but my hands brushed against a black notebook instead. Every single page was filled with Hallie’s precise handwriting. [Comprehensive Evaluation for Potential Partners] [Family Background: 85] [Career Capability: 95] [Emotional Stability: 76] [Health Risk: 68] On the final entry, my name was written. [Scott: Overall score 89. Suitable candidate for marriage.] And right above my name was a single line. [Miles: Perfect score. Excluded from marriage evaluation.] Footsteps echoed from the hallway outside. Just as I slammed the notebook shut, a premarital assessment form slipped out from the inner pocket. The date stamped at the top was the exact day before Hallie had proposed to me. Chapter 4 "Who gave you permission to go through my stuff?" Hallie snatched the notebook away, real anger flashing across her face for the very first time. I pushed the evaluation form straight in front of her. "So marrying me wasn't about love." "Marriage requires a rational choice." "Miles got a perfect score. Why didn't you choose him?" Her fingers paused for a fraction of a second. "He wasn't suitable for the Shaws." And just like that, I understood. Miles came from an average background. His father was deep in debt, and he had nothing to offer the Shaws. Meanwhile, the connections my father left behind, alongside my fifteen percent stake in the company, were just enough to bridge that missing gap. "And what about me? Just 'suitable'?" Hallie stayed silent for a second, drawing the conclusion for me. "What else?" The sharp cramp in my stomach grew worse. I gripped the edge of the desk, barely holding myself upright. "Pursuing me for three years, waiting for me outside the Translation Institute, staying by my dad's side through his final treatments, was all of that just an evaluation, too?" "Getting to know a prospective partner is a necessary part of the process." "What about when you told me I didn't need to be perfect?" "That was to lower your guard." "And on our wedding day, when you said I was the only choice you'd ever make for the rest of your life?" She frowned slightly. "Scott, people say what's appropriate for specific occasions. Why insist on dissecting every single word?" I nodded. It turned out every word I had treasured was nothing more than her standard script to clear a process. My phone rang. It was Miles, sobbing hysterically on the line. "Hallie, people online are saying I stole the manuscript! The publisher wants to cancel the launch. Can you please come over?" Hallie grabbed her coat. I stepped up to block the door. "I was the one who contacted the publisher." "Drop the dispute." "No way." "Miles already promised to keep your father's signature. What more do you want?" "He ruined the manuscript and deleted the inscription my father wrote for me!" "That single line doesn't change the actual content." She brushed past me, but I reached out, catching her sleeve. "Hallie, what if I need you right now?" "Stop trying to compete for my attention like this." "I'm not competing." The agony radiated through my abdomen, making my voice tremble violently. "I'm only asking you once. Can you stay today?" She glanced down at my pale face, her eyes pausing for a brief second. Then, Miles' frantic voice came through the speaker again. "Hallie, the reporters are all waiting outside. I'm really scared..." Hallie pulled my hand off her sleeve. "Miles' launch affects the company's reputation. Go to the room and rest. I'll come back as soon as I handle this." Before the door slammed shut, she left me with one final line. "Have that authorization signed by the time I get back. Your performance today: sixty points." Listening to the sound of her car fading into the distance, I slowly collapsed onto the floor. A metallic taste filled my throat, and blood spilled through my fingers, dripping onto the floorboards. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. On the way to the hospital, the nurse asked where my family was. I looked at Hallie’s contact info, but didn't dial it. "I don't have any family." When I woke up, two-thirds of my stomach had been removed. The doctor handed me a small box containing my blood-stained medical report and a blurry printout of the tumor biopsy. "The lesion was quite severe. Didn't your wife know?" I shook my head. I packed the box into my bag and completed the discharge paperwork on my own. As I walked out, the publishing house sent me a video link to the press conference. Hallie stood firmly in front of Miles, promising reporters that the company would take full responsibility for any disputes. Then a reporter asked her who was more important—her husband or Miles. She answered calmly, "Scott is my husband, so he should consider the bigger picture. Miles is the project lead. I can't let him suffer any unfair treatment." Below the video, a message from Miles popped up. [Want to guess if she's coming back to spend time with you today?] [Scott, husband is just a title. I am the exception.] I didn't bother replying. When I got home, I signed two documents. The first was the revocation of my voting rights proxy. The second was a divorce agreement. I placed the wedding ring, the biopsy photo, and the black evaluation notebook into the box, then rested the silver fountain pen on top. On the back of the premarital assessment form, I wrote a single line: [The half of my life I lost no longer needs your score.] At 3 a.m., I dragged my suitcase out the door. A text from Hallie flashed on my screen. [The launch is over.] [The authorization form is in the study. I want to see your signature first thing tomorrow morning.] She still thought I would be waiting at home, just like before. I didn't block her number, only sending back a two-word reply. [It's signed.] With that, I turned off my phone and handed my boarding pass to Alderney to the gate agent. At that exact moment, a legally binding document bearing my personal signature, revoking all proxy voting rights, was being delivered directly by my lawyer to the company's board of directors.