My husband’s illness forced me to visit his workplace for the first time to request leave on his behalf. The receptionist stared at me in disbelief.
My husband’s illness forced me to visit his workplace for the first time to request leave on his behalf. The receptionist stared at me in disbelief. “Are you serious? The man you’re describing, he owns this company. Our boss and his wife come and leave together every day. Unless you’re not his wife…”
The day I walked into my husband’s office, I was wearing the same beige cardigan I’d owned since college—the one with the frayed sleeves I kept meaning to replace but never did. It was early afternoon, sunlight bouncing off the glass towers of downtown, the kind of day that made the city feel too bright for the truth I was about to learn.
Steven had fallen ill—at least, that’s what I believed. He’d called in sick for nearly two weeks, complaining of dizziness, fever, exhaustion. His voice had been strained over the phone, and when I offered to bring him lunch or drive him to the clinic, he refused, saying he didn’t want me catching whatever he had. I’d spent those days making him soups, texting reminders to drink water, praying he’d rest.
But that morning, his manager had called—or so I thought—to ask for an update on his leave paperwork. It felt like a small thing to help with, something a wife should do. I’d never been to his office before; Steven always said it was dull, that he didn’t want me wasting a day just to watch him stare at spreadsheets. He’d told me he was a mid-level clerk at a company that managed regional imports. Nothing glamorous, but steady. Reliable.
I remember pressing the elevator button in the gleaming lobby, clutching the folder that held his medical note. The floor numbers blinked above the doors, and with each one, my pulse quickened. I rehearsed what I’d say—something polite, respectful. “My husband’s been unwell. I’m here to submit his leave request.” That was all.
The reception area was marble and gold accents, the kind of place you don’t associate with clerks. A wall of glass separated me from the city skyline, and everything—the air, the silence, the smell of fresh lilies at the counter—spoke of money. Old, unapologetic money.
“Excuse me,” I said to the woman behind the desk. She looked up from her computer with a smile that faltered the second I said Steven’s name.
“Condan?” she repeated. Her eyebrows shot up. “As in… Mr. Condan?”
“Yes. I’m his wife. He’s been ill, and I just—”
“His wife?” she interrupted, almost laughing. “Are you serious? The man you’re describing owns this company.”
For a moment, I thought she was joking. “Owns?”
She nodded, leaning forward. “Mr. Steven Condan. Our boss. He and his wife come and leave together every day.”
Her voice dropped slightly on the last words, as if realizing she’d said too much.
“His wife?” I repeated slowly.
The receptionist’s expression softened with pity. “Unless you’re not her.”
My hands trembled so hard I nearly dropped the folder. I wanted to argue, to tell her there must be some mistake. But before I could speak, the elevator chimed behind me.
I turned.
And there he was.
Steven stepped out, adjusting his cufflinks, his arm around a woman whose face I recognized instantly from an old photograph tucked in his college yearbook—Genevieve Bell. His first love. His high school sweetheart. The woman he’d once said “broke his heart and taught him humility.”
They walked together like a matched set—her coat ivory wool, her heels sharp, her hand resting on his arm as if it belonged there. When his eyes met mine, the color drained from his face.
For a second, no one moved. The air between us was electric, charged with disbelief. Then I laughed—sharp, humorless, echoing off the marble.
“One of your suits,” I said quietly, “costs more than my annual salary. You told me you were just a clerk. You started this business with my dowry money. You lied about being broke, about everything.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Genevieve smiled faintly, stepping forward before he could speak. “It’s simple,” she said. Her voice was calm, confident, practiced. “Steven promised to wait for me. Everything he has—this company, his career—is ours. So he has nothing to give you.”
The words sliced cleanly through the air.
I looked at Steven. The man I’d shared eight years of marriage with. The man I’d cooked for, supported, comforted when he failed, who’d once cried in my arms and told me he couldn’t survive without me.
“Nothing to give me?” I said softly. “You built everything with my money.”
He reached for me then, his voice trembling. “Honey, listen. I loved living simply with you. I never meant to keep this from you forever. I just—wanted to see what it was like. To live normal.”
“Normal?” My laughter cracked mid-breath. “Eight years of lies is normal to you? You told me you were drowning in debt while you hid this.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly. “I was going to tell you soon—”
“Soon?” I cut him off. “Steven, eight years. You had eight years.”
He looked helpless, and for a brief, cruel second, I saw fear in his eyes—not of losing me, but of exposure.
Behind him, Genevieve shifted her weight, the heel of her designer shoe clicking against the tile. The light caught her handbag—Hermès, unmistakable. I remembered teasing Steven once, years ago. When you’re rich, buy me one of those. He’d laughed and said, I’ll buy you two. One to carry, one to wear.
Apparently, he had kept his word. Just not to me.
I turned my gaze back to her, to the perfect gloss of her hair and the way she watched me, amused, like a spectator at a play she already knew the ending to.
“You’re just friends, right?” I asked Steven. “Say it again. Look me in the eyes and tell me she’s just a friend.”
He couldn’t.
His silence told me everything.
The rest of the office was quiet, the kind of silence that feels like judgment. Employees pretending not to stare, the receptionist frozen at her desk, the air conditioning humming too loudly.
“Let’s get a divorce,” I said finally. My voice was steady, deliberate. “Eight million. That’s one million for every year you lied to me. Buy out our marriage so you can be with her.”
Steven’s eyes widened. “Sunny, calm down. Let’s talk about this at home.”
I smiled thinly. “You mean the apartment with the peeling wallpaper? The one that costs seven hundred a month?”
Color rose to his face. “Don’t make a scene here.”
He tried to grab my arm, but I pulled back. “Let go.”
“Not until you promise you’ll come home.”
Before I could answer, Genevieve’s voice cut through the tension. “Sunny,” she said softly, almost pitying. “If I were you, I’d be grateful. A wife’s title is what most women dream of. If you think Steven isn’t giving you enough money, I’ll make him send you more—five hundred, maybe eight thousand a month. That should cover your expenses, right? Just… don’t be extravagant.”
Her words burned hotter than any slap. My chest tightened as I thought about the coupons I’d saved, the off-brand groceries I’d bought, the nights I’d stayed up sewing the hems of my dresses so I wouldn’t have to buy new ones.
I didn’t think. I just moved. My palm connected with her cheek before I even realized what I’d done.
The sound cracked through the lobby, sharp and clean.
Genevieve staggered back, her hand flying to her face. Then came the performance—her eyes wet, her voice trembling. “Steven, she hit me! It hurts!”
He reacted instantly. His hands shoved me hard enough that I stumbled. The corner of the reception desk caught my back, and pain flared through my spine.
“Sunny, what is wrong with you?” he shouted.
“I—” But before I could answer, he pushed me again, rougher this time. My head struck the edge of the marble table. A dull, heavy sound followed by a flash of white pain.
I reached up, feeling warmth spread through my hair. Blood.
Through the blur in my vision, I saw him turn—not toward me, but toward her. He cupped Genevieve’s cheek gently. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m here.”
She leaned into his touch, her voice small. “It hurts, Steven.”
He looked up, snapping at the receptionist. “Are you blind? Get an ice pack! Can’t you see she’s hurt?”
The girl scurried away, trembling.
Blood was running down my neck, seeping into my collar. I felt cold. Not just from the blood loss, but from the realization that he hadn’t even looked at me—hadn’t noticed that I was bleeding, shaking, half-collapsed against the table.
When he finally turned, his voice was brisk. “Go home. I need to take Genevieve to the hospital. We’ll talk another day.”
I straightened slowly, my hand still pressed to the back of my head. “Even from today on,” I said quietly, “we’re even.”
He frowned. “What?”
Continue below
My husband’s illness forced me to visit his workplace for the first time to request leave on his behalf. The receptionist stared at me in disbelief. Are you serious? The man you’re describing, he owns this company. Our boss and his wife come and leave together every day. Unless you’re not his wife.
Seconds later, my supposedly sick husband walked out of the elevator arm- in-arm with his high school sweetheart. Our eyes met and his smile vanished. Seeing him in designer clothes, I burst into bitter laughter. One of your suits cost more than my yearly salary. Yet you pretended to be a low-paid clerk. You started your business with my dowy.
Lied about being broke. And I worked myself to the bone to help pay off debts. Even when I was ill, why did you deceive me like this? He stammered speechless sweetheart answered before he could. It’s simple. He promised to wait for me. Everything he has, company, career is mine. So, he has nothing to give you. I realized my husband had hidden not only his identity, but also a lifetime vow to another woman.
Yet, I was still married to Steven Condan. Could he really give me nothing? Steven reached out to touch my shoulder, but I jerked away. His hand hung in the air as he sighed. Honey, listen. I loved the feeling of living a simple life with you. Really? I never meant to keep it from you forever. I was planning to tell you the truth soon. Soon? Eight years? Steven? We’ve been married for eight years. Isn’t that long enough? I asked again, my voice trembling. Or did you think I was dumb enough to be fooled forever? He reached for me again. That’s not it, Sunny? I backed away, my heels unsteady because they were worn out. But I had never been able to bring myself to replace them.
My gaze fell on Genevieve Bell, who was wearing glittering heels, a cashmere coat, and carrying in Hermes bag. I had only ever dared to glance at those in the shop window. I had joked to Steven, “When you’re rich, buy me a Hermes, too.” He had laughed and ruffled my hair. “I will, and I’ll buy you two. One to carry, one to wear. ” It turned out he had bought one, but for someone else. I fought back the bitterness and asked him with a laugh. That’s not it. Then what about her? Steven glanced at Genevieve. Genevieve is just a friend. Genevie’s mouth turned down immediately. Steven. Steven pulled her close, gave her a look, and then turned back to me.
Don’t worry if I had something going on with Genevieve. You’d be the last to know. She’s just divorced and a little emotionally unstable. I’m just taking care of her. She loves to joke around. Those words were just to tease you. Don’t take them to heart, Sunny. Trust me. Trust. I remembered the first year of our marriage when he first failed at business and owed half a million. The day the creditors came to the door. He squatted in the corner with his head in his hands. Apologizing to me, I held him and told him it was okay. We would pay it back together. That night, I took out the dowy card my mother had given me. It had 200,000 in it, all my security. I put the card in his hand and said, “Take this money and we’ll figure out the rest together.
” “I believe in you,” he cried in my arms for a long time, promising he would never betray my love. Apparently, not betraying me meant 8 years of deception. I heard myself laughing, but my face was wet. “Steven, look me in the eyes and say it again. You’re just friends.” He opened his mouth. his Adam’s apple bobbing, but no sound came out. The silence was more cruel than any answer. I knew I didn’t need to ask anything more. I took a deep breath and wiped away my tears. Steven, let’s get a divorce. That’s eight words, a million dollars a word. Buy out our marriage so you can be with her. It’s a bargain, right? Steven seemed genuinely panicked. Sunny, calm down.
Let’s talk about this at home. I interrupted him. Are you talking about the old apartment with the peeling wallpaper that costs $700 a month? I almost laughed. Expression changed and he reached for me. Don’t make a scene here. It’s not a good look. Let go, I said through gritted teeth. He wouldn’t. Not until you promise me you’ll come home and talk this through. See, in us pulling at each other, Genevieve said softly. Sunny, if I were you, I’d be grateful. A wife’s title is what many women want. If you think Steven is giving you too little money, I can make him give you 500. No, 8,000 more a month. That should be enough for your expenses, right? Don’t be too extravagant.
The words hurt more than a slap in the face. I thought of the countless days I had spent pinching pennies. Toilet paper I stocked up on when it was on sale at the supermarket. The secondhand clothes I bought online. The messy haircuts I gave myself. A sense of humiliation washed over me. One hand was gripped tightly by Steven, but with the other, I gathered all my strength and slapped Genevie’s self-righteous face. Clear sound was deafeningly loud in the lobby. Time seemed to stop a few seconds later. Genevieve seemed to realize what had happened. Covering her face, her eyes red and screaming, “Steven, she hit me. It hurts.” Even reacted almost instantly. He pushed me away and I stumbled backward. My lower back hit the sharp corner of the reception desk.
A burst of pain before I could steady myself. He reached for me again. Sunny, are you crazy? He roared. Grabbed my shoulders and pushed me hard. The world spun. My head hit the corner of a marble table heavily. Making a dull sound. Excruciating pain shot through the back of my head, and I reached back and touched it. It was bleeding. I leaned on the table, barely able to stand, my vision was blurred, but I could see him cradling Genevie’s face, examining her carefully. “It hurts, Steven. It hurts,” Genevieve said softly. Steven patted her back gently like a child. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.” Then he looked up and roared at the receptionist.
Who was standing there stunned? Are you blind? Can’t. Did you see Genevieve is hurt? Get an ice pack now. The young receptionist trembled and hurried to find an ice pack. Blood trickled down my neck into my collar. Sticky and warm before turning cold. It was so cold. My whole body was cold. Steven finally turned to look at me. Go home. I need to take Genevieve to the hospital. We’ll talk about this another day. My vision was fading, but I tried to make my voice heard. Even from today on, we’re even. He froze. What? You think 8 million is too much? Fine. Your debt to me for my dowy for my 8 years of youth, for the blood I’m shedding.
I’ll get it back penny by penny in court and the marital property, including the company he started with my money, the profits over the years, the house, car, and jewelry. He bought her everything. I would take back what was mine. Genevieve suddenly looked up. You’re dreaming? I didn’t answer but turned and walked toward the door. Every step was a stabbing pain in the back of my head. Every step, blood flowed, but my back was straight. People can fall, but they can’t bend. As for whether it was a dream, I didn’t need to answer her. I trusted my lawyer would give me the answer. It was completely dark by the time I left the law firm. I endured the headache and went home.
When I walked in, I saw an open suitcase in the middle of the living room. Steven was putting shirts in it and Genevieve was sitting on the couch. You’re back. Steven looked up at me. His tone is calm. Home as if nothing had happened. Good. I need to talk to you. Genevieve hasn’t been feeling well lately. And that slap today made her old injuries flare up. The doctor said she needs someone to take care of her. I’m going to stay there for a few days. I laughed in spite of myself. You don’t need to tell me we’re in a divorce. Cooling off period. You can stay wherever you want. You don’t need to report to me. He clicked his tongue impatiently.
Sunny, don’t be like this. I know you’re upset today, but we can talk about our issues later. Genevieve needs me now. Needs. He needed me and I was always there. I needed him and he was with someone else. Was that fair? No. But marriage was never about fairness. It was about willingness. I was willing for 8 years now. My heart was dead and my love was gone. “Okay,” I said, turning and walking into the bedroom. He probably thought I would cry. “Make a scene, try to make him stay, but I didn’t. I opened the closet and started packing his things.” I stopped when I got to the photos. In the frame was our wedding photo. He was smiling so brightly and my eyes were full of light.
“Sunny, what are you doing?” He followed me in a hint of panic in his voice. Aren’t you leaving? I didn’t turn around. Just kept tossing things into the suitcase. I’m helping you pack so you don’t have to come back. I said it was just a few days. Then don’t ever come back. Take your things and the person who needs you and get out. Genevieve appeared in the bedroom doorway. Steven, are you still going with me to the cruise auction tonight? You promised to get me that necklace. Yes, Steven answered immediately without even looking at me. I’ll do what I promised hearing this. Genevieve looked at me, a smile playing on her lips. Sunny, I doubt you’ve ever been to a high-end event like that.
Have you? But then again, those places have a lot of rules and they’re not suitable for someone as straightforward as Sunny. Steven turned to explain to me. Sunny, it’s not that I don’t want to take you, it’s just that those events are full of business partners. And you have to be careful about what you say and do. I’m afraid you won’t be comfortable. And if you say or do something wrong, you might offend an important client. I interrupted him coldly. Are you finished? He froze. I pointed to the door. If you’re finished, then get out. Get out of my apartment, Sunny. This is our No, this is mine. I paid the rent. I paid the utilities. I bought the furniture.
What have you contributed besides living here for 8 years? He opened his mouth wanting to say something? But in the end, he said nothing because what I said was true. The household expenses he gave me for the past 8 years. $5,000 a month barely covered the rent and basic expenses. I said it wasn’t enough and he told me to save. I saved and he sent lavishly on another woman, calling her just a friend. His tone turned cold. Fine, I’ll go. But don’t regret it. Get out. The door slammed shut and the room suddenly became quiet. Too quiet. I could hear the hum of the refrigerator and the beating of my own heart. I slowly squatted down, hugging my knees. Tears fell, hitting the floor.
One drop, two drops. I don’t know how long it was before my phone vibrated. I picked it up. It was a photo from an unknown number on the hotel bed. Steven sleeping, face Genevieve pressed against his chest, giving the camera a victory sign. Below the photo was a line of text. Thank you for your sacrifice. Stared at the photo for a long time. Then I replied, thank you too for sending me evidence. The private investigator said that Steven was careful and he couldn’t find any evidence of physical infidelity. That would make it difficult for me to file for divorce and get more property. Fortunately, now I had it. I didn’t sleep.
The adrenaline from the pain in my head and the vibration of the phone kept me in a state of hyper awareness. I saved the photo. Then I backed it up to a cloud drive. Then I emailed it to myself. I looked at the text again. Thank you for your sacrifice. You’re welcome. I whispered to the empty room. My first stop wasn’t the lawyer. It was the emergency room. I needed every bruise, every scratch, and specifically the gash on the back of my head. Documented domestic dispute. I told the nurse. She looked at my worn out heels and my pale face and nodded sympathetically. The medical report was clinical and damning. Laceration requiring four stitches, signs of concussion, bruising consistent with being pushed.
The next morning, I withdrew the last $2,000 from our joint household account, the one Steven threw crumbs into, and bought a new suit. Not a designer piece, but something sharp, tailored, and black. I pulled my hair back to hide the bandage. Then I walked into the offices of Vance and Sterling. Ethan Vance was known in the city as the butcher. He didn’t handle divorces. He handled corporate severances and high stakes asset recovery. He was expensive, ruthless, and according to the tabloids, hated liars. Mrs. Condan, Ethan said, not bothering to stand as I entered his glasswald office. He looked at my clothes, assessing the cost. My retainer is 5,000.
“We take 30% of the settlement,” he said. “Deal,” I replied. For the next 3 days, I was a ghost. I didn’t answer Steven’s calls. I didn’t reply to Genevie’s taunting texts, which ranged from pictures of room service lobster to selfies of her wearing a diamond necklace. Text from Genevieve. He bought it. It’s so heavy. My neck hurts. Sad you never got to feel this weight. I forwarded the screenshot to Ethan. Ethan, good. Keep them coming. We need to prove dissipation of marital assets. On the fourth day, the annual Condan Charity Gala was taking place. This was the event where Steven was planning to officially introduce Genevieve as his partner to the business world, likely spinning a story about how his marriage had been over for years.
I wasn’t invited, but as the legal wife and a shareholder by virtue of my dowry investment, I didn’t need an invitation. The ballroom of the Ritz was suffocating with the scent of liies and expensive perfume. I stood at the entrance wearing a crimson dress I had rented. It was the color of fresh blood. It hugged my frame, revealing a confidence I had forgotten I possessed. Steven was near the stage holding a champagne flute, laughing at something a board member said. Genevieve was draped on his arm, wearing a white gown that looked suspiciously bridal. She wore the necklace, a cascade of diamonds. I walked in. The room didn’t go silent immediately, but a ripple of whispers started near the door and spread inward.
“Isn’t that?” I thought he said she was a recluse. “She looks incredible.” Steven turned, his smile dropped. He looked like he’d seen a corpse. Genevieve gripped his arm tighter, her nails digging into his tuxedo. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I walked straight up to them. A waiter offering me a glass of champagne on the way. I took it. Sunny Steven hissed, his eyes darting around to see who was watching. “What the hell are you doing here?” “You look ridiculous. Go home.” “Hello, Steven.” “Hello, Genevieve,” I said, my voice projecting perfectly. “I just came to see the necklace. It really is beautiful.” “Jene smirked, recovering her composure.
It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” “Steven has such good taste. Maybe if you behave, he’ll buy you a bracelet. A small one.” I smiled. Oh, I don’t want the necklace. Genevieve, I just wanted to see what my money bought. Steven grabbed my elbow. Lower your voice. We are leaving. No, I said, jerking my arm away. You are. At that moment, four men in suits walked into the ballroom. They weren’t guests. They were process servers flanked by two uniformed officers. They walked straight to us. The music stopped. Steven Condan, the lead officer, asked, “Yes, what is this?” Steven tried to sound authoritative, but his voice cracked. You are served. The man handed him a thick stack of documents, and this is a temporary restraining order regarding the dissipation of assets.
All your accounts, including the corporate discretionary fund and your personal holdings, have been frozen as of 5 p.m. today pending an investigation into fraud and embezzlement of marital funds. Frozen? Genevieve shrieked. What do you mean frozen? It means, I said, stepping closer to her, that the necklace you’re wearing is evidence, officer. The officer looked at Genevie. Ma’am, if that jewelry was purchased within the last 48 hours with funds from the named accounts, it is considered contested property. You’ll need to hand it over. You’re joking, she gasped, clutching her throat. Take it off, Genevieve, Steven said, his face turning a deep shade of purple. Don’t make a scene.
But you promised, she wailed. Take it off. With the entire elite of the city watching, Genevieve had to unclas the necklace. She threw it into the officer’s evidence bag. I stepped close to Steven, leaning in so only he could hear. Eight years. Steven, you owe me for every single day. The media fallout was catastrophic. Billionaire faked poverty to wife for a decade. The dowry startup. How Steven Condan built an empire on lies. Ethan Vance played the press like a fiddle. He released the story of the dowy. He released the photos of the peeling wallpaper apartment contrasted with Steven’s penthouse. The public didn’t just see a divorce, they saw a sociopath. Apex tech stock plummeted.
May you like
His voice broke, shifting from anger to the manipulation he used so well. Baby, this has gone too far. Look, I made a mistake. A huge mistake. But I did it for us. I wanted to surprise you when I made it big, but then I got scared you only loved me for the money. I laughed, a dry, rasping sound. I loved you when we were eating instant noodles. Steven, I loved you when I scrubbed floors to pay your debts. You didn’t hide the money because you were afraid I’d be a gold digger. You hid it because you wanted the power of being the provider without the responsibility of sharing it. You wanted to watch me struggle while you played king. I can change, he pleaded. I’ll dump her. I’ll sign whatever postup you want. Just stop the lawsuit. I don’t want you back, Steven. I want what’s mine. You can’t prove the company is yours. That dowry was a gift. It was an investment. I corrected. And I have the recording. His face went pale. What recording? The night you cried in my arms. When I gave you the card, my old phone had a voice memo feature I used to record my grocery lists. I hit record by accident. I have you sobbing, saying, I will use this to build our future. I swear on my life, this is a loan I will repay a thousand times over, Ethan says in the state. That’s a verbal contract. Steven stared at me through the crack in the door. He realized then that the woman he thought was a simple, easily fooled housewife had died the moment he pushed her into that marble table. You’re going to ruin me, he whispered. You ruined yourself, I said, and slammed the door. Money has a way of revealing character. Lack of money reveals it even faster. With Steven’s assets frozen and his reputation in tatters, the frenzy had vanished. But the biggest blow came from Genevieve. I learned about it during the deposition. We were in a conference room, me, Ethan, Steven, and his team of sweating lawyers. Steven looked at his phone during a break and let out a strangled cry. Everything all right? Ethan asked politely. Steven threw the phone across the table. It was a live stream from a gossip site. Exclusive. Genevie Bell spotted vacationing in St. Tropz with rival tech mogul Marcus Thorne. The video showed Genevieve in a bikini laughing on a yacht. The reporter asked her about Steven Condan. Genevieve looked at the camera over her sunglasses. Steven? Oh, that was barely a fling. Honestly, I didn’t know he was married. He lied to me, too. I’m just a victim in all this. Steven put his head in his hands. She told me she was going to visit her mother. He mumbled. She took the cash I had in the safe. I felt a twinge of pity, but I crushed it instantly. She did exactly what you taught her to do, Steven. Take the money and run. The legal battle lasted 6 months. Steven tried to hide assets offshore, but Ethan found them. Steven tried to argue I contributed nothing to the business, but we brought in forensic accountants who showed that without that initial $200,000, his company would have gone bankrupt in month two. The judge was a stern woman who had clearly read the file on the domestic assault. The ruling was brutal. Repayment of principal. The $200,000 dowy was to be repaid with interest calculated at the rate of his company’s growth, meaning that initial stake was now valued at $12 million. Division of assets. Since the business was started during the marriage with marital funds, I was entitled to 50% of his shares. Damages. Punitive damages for fraud and emotional distress, plus medical costs. Steven retained the title of CEO, but I was now the majority shareholder. I owned him. After the gavl banged, Steven didn’t move. He sat in his chair staring at the wood grain. I walked over to him. I’m keeping the shares, I said, which means I’m your boss now. He looked up, eyes red. What are you going to do? Fire me? No, that would be too easy. You’re good at making money, Steven. I want you to keep working, but every time you walk into that office, every time you sign a check, every time you look at the company logo, you’ll know it belongs to the woman you called stupid. You work for me now. 3 years later, I walked into the Apex Tech headquarters. The receptionist, a new one, jumped to her feet. Good morning, Ms. Summers. I had taken my maiden name back. Good morning, Jessica. I took the private elevator to the top floor. I wasn’t wearing worn out heels anymore. I was wearing Louis Vuitton. And I had two Hermes bags, one for my laptop and one just because I could. I entered the boardroom. Steven was there presenting the quarterly figures. He looked older. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a nervous, twitchy energy. He wore off the rack suits now because the alimony payments and the garnish on his wages to pay off the judgment left him with a middle-class income. He stopped speaking when I entered. Continue, I said, taking the seat at the head of the table. He cleared his throat. Profits are up 12%. Good, I said. Then we can increase the charitable donation to the women’s shelter this year. After the meeting, Steven lingered. Sunny, he said. Miss Summers, I corrected, not looking up from my iPad. Miss Summers, I I saw Genevieve the other day. She’s working at a counter in the mall. Her rich guy dumped her. I don’t care, Steven. I miss you, he blurted out. Not the money. I miss coming home to someone who actually asked me how my day was. I finally looked at him. The man I had wasted eight years on. He was a shell. And I realized I felt nothing. No hate, no love, just indifference. You didn’t miss me, Steven. You missed having a fan. And honestly, I prefer being the owner. I stood up and walked to the door. Oh, and Steven. Yes. He looked hopeful. You have a smudge on your collar. Fix it before the client meeting. It’s not a good look for the company. I walked out of the office and into the city streets. The air was crisp. My phone buzzed. It was Ethan Vance. Ethan, dinner tonight. I know a place that doesn’t have peeling wallpaper. I smiled. Sounds perfect. I typed back. I hailed a taxi. Not because I had to, but because I chose to. I wasn’t the girl who pinched pennies anymore. I was the woman who had walked through the fire and bought the flamethrower. The past was a debt that had been paid in full. The future was pure profit.
