Please don't make this a fight."
I laughed, bitter and sharp. "Don't bother. She clearly needs them more."
I packed a few things and left for the guest room without looking back.
By morning, my phone pressed cold against my ear as I spoke with my lawyer.
"Mrs. Centineo," he said gently, "the joint account you share with your husband… it only has fifty dollars left."
I froze. "That’s impossible. There was five million—"
"He emptied it, Ma’am. Every cent."
Darren had stolen not just my dignity, but my security.
"I understand," I whispered, though my voice sounded foreign. "Proceed with the divorce. Send the papers here."
Just then, the bedroom door opened. Darren walked in, grinning far too wide, balancing a tray of pancakes and orange juice.
"Breakfast in bed!" he chirped, placing the tray on my lap like a prize.
I stared at him. As he acted as if everything was perfect.
"Have a bite, Eliana. I made this myself."
"I’m not hungry,"
His smile cracked. "Are you still sulking about the guest room? It’s trivial. Tonight will make you forget all this."
"Tonight?" My stomach clenched.
"The launch of Predict Pro." His chest puffed with pride.