Why Did Winston Buenavista Leave The Show?

To help my husband, Ryan Whitaker, compete for the director position, I spend an entire month securing the sale of a luxury apartment worth tens of millions of dollars. On the day the contract is signed, Ryan hands the primary contract to Lucinda Brooks, a new employee who has just joined the company. When I demand an explanation, his eyes flicker with guilt. Still, he argues, "Lucinda studied abroad. She is more academically accomplished than you, and her Iridian is better. The client happens to have a foreign business partner, so it'll be smoother if she takes the lead on the signing." As he speaks, he wraps an arm around my shoulders, expecting me to compromise like I always do. But this time, I don't smile but continue to pull a long face. That very afternoon, I submit my resignation letter and hand over every core client under my management. Ryan is furious as he tears up the resignation letter and mocks me. "When I married you, I didn't even care that you only graduated from high school. Why are you picking a fight with a newcomer now?" I laugh. It's true that I don't have an impressive educational background, but he's forgotten one most crucial thing. I didn't earn my title as the company's sales champion through academic credentials.

While we're camping outdoors, my boyfriend, Preston Bassett, hands his cup to his childhood friend, Ashley Rankin. Instead of making a scene, I simply tell him I want to break up. "Just because I'm letting her use my cup?" "Yes." Rather than getting mad, Preston laughs. "Fine. Let's break up then. But try to stand by your decision this time. Don't come crying to me for a second chance before we've even packed up the tent." His friend chimes in from the side, "Maybe you should just apologize. If you guys actually break up, you'll be crying before you know it." Preston looks at me like he couldn't care less, a mocking smirk on his face. "She's just bored out of her mind and is looking for trouble. "Back then, she was even willing to fall out with her family just to move to this city and be with me. I'd be impressed if she could keep this up for two days." He's right. I have loved him for three whole years, and I have willingly given up everything for him. What he'll never understand is the fact that jobs can always be replaced, and the wrong person is always someone worth walking away from. I have already submitted my resignation and received an offer from a new company. So, as soon as the handover is complete, I'll leave. This time, no matter what happens, I am never looking back.

It was my birthday. I thought he would take me to see the fireworks by the sea, but he showed up with another woman and her child. “Vera has a kid with her, and it’s inconvenient for them. Be a little understanding. She doesn’t know her way around here, and she has a lot of luggage. I’ll just drop them at the hotel.” He said it so casually, as if he were just explaining some trivial, everyday chore. It was that very gentleness of his that made me feel like I was so unreasonable getting angry over it. He helped them into the car. He leaned down to buckle the seatbelt on the child. Then, he turned to me with a smile. “I’ll be right back. Don’t overthink things.” I stood by the roadside and watched them drive away like a picture-perfect little family. As night fell, the sea breeze turned sharp and biting. Still, I waited until a notification of Vera Cannon’s social feed update lit up my screen. He was holding her daughter in his arms. They were watching the fireworks by the beach. It was a surprise I had planned for my own birthday. The comments poured in. [What a perfect match. What a beautiful little family!] Someone asked him why he was not picking me up. He just smiled and said, “Indy is very patient. She won’t be mad.” At that moment, my birthday cake melted into a puddle of frosting. I finally realized that he had not done that to be cruel to me. He was certain that I would always wait for him. However, even the warmest heart grew cold when neglected too many times. The waves crashed against the shore, over and over. With each crash, another shred of my hope washed away. This time, I was not going to wait for him to come back.

I was the odd one out in the Chicago mob. Other men's women spent their time fighting for affection, clawing for power, watching out for the homewreckers. Not me. I spent mine cleaning up after my boyfriend, Don Vincent Maro. His political rivals — I squared away. His brother's messes — I handled overnight. The women he kept on the side — I dealt with personally. Last month it got worse. He asked me to go chase off a man who'd been hanging around Sofia, his new girl. Sofia pouted. "Elena really can do everything." Vincent said, "That's why I keep her around." Sofia asked, "Won't Elena be upset?" Vincent paused. "Her? She's used to it." Seven years. No title in the Maro family. No public acknowledgment. Just one function — fixing things. This time, I was tired. I slid the last stack of documents across to Vincent. He signed them one after another without looking up. When he was done, he asked: Anything else? I said: No. It's all handled. What he didn't know was that at the bottom of that stack was the document terminating every identity I held inside the Maro family. The moment his pen touched that page, I no longer belonged to the Maros. And I no longer belonged to him.

Orlando and I had been together for ten years. I'd looked after his sick mom, sweating out a fever of my own, and where was he? Knocking back drinks with Rosalind, playing therapist to her broken heart. I swallowed my pride at work, getting chewed out by my boss, while he spent the night companying Rosalind because she had cramps. Then, when I got the news my mom had passed, I tried calling him, desperate for support. But nope—phone off. After a wild goose chase, turns out he was at Rosalind's graduation. That was it. I gave up. But Orlando wouldn't let go. Red-eyed, he begged me for just one more chance.

Everyone said my good looks were what saved me from my family's downfall. It was how I managed to become a Donna. I was the only one who knew why he had to compromise to marry me. Xavier Whitmore, the tall and handsome Don, was unable to have physical relationships with a woman. When I shyly took off the gown on our wedding night, he sat in his chair and lit a cigarette before remarking in an icy voice, "I'm allergic to women. That said, you have my word that you will be the only woman in my life." He kept his promise. Though he never so much as touched me in the five years of our marriage, he provided me with a life of luxury and wealth. Although it was merely a title, being his only woman brought me happiness. Everything changed on the day my men and I were ambushed by a rival mafia family. We barely made it out alive. When I returned home, I found him locked in a tight embrace with his widowed sister-in-law, Alice Ortega. "Alice, I won't let you remarry. If you do, I'll make sure that man dies a thousand deaths." I scoffed. It wasn't so much that he couldn't handle being physical with a woman. It was simply that he could not be physical with anyone but her. In that case, she could have the pleasure of being the Donna.