When my husband fell seriously ill, I finally had a reason to step into his office after seven years of marriage. All I wanted was to ask for his sick leave. Instead, the receptionist froze, eyes widening as she studied my face. “The man you’re talking about… he owns this company. Our boss and his wife arrive and leave together every day. Unless… you’re not his wife.” In that second, my world cracked open.

Below it, the text she’d sent: Thank you for your sacrifice.

I’d stared at that message for a long time before answering with a single sentence: Thank you for sending me evidence.

Now Ethan stared at the image without any visible reaction, but his fingers stopped tapping.

“I don’t want a divorce settlement, Mr. Vance,” I said. “I want liquidation.”

Slowly, his mouth curved into a small, predatory smile.

“We take thirty percent of whatever you get,” he said.

“Deal,” I replied.

The next three days, I became a ghost in my own life.

I didn’t pick up Steven’s calls. Sometimes the phone would vibrate for a full minute, stop, then start again immediately from his number. Sometimes it was unknown numbers, probably his assistants. Once it was Genevieve, though she didn’t know I knew.

Her texts ranged from taunting—

He bought it. It’s so heavy. My neck hurts from the necklace, poor me.

—to condescending—

Hope you’re doing okay. You should really learn how to control your temper. Violence is never the answer.

I forwarded them all to Ethan, who replied with one-word messages.

Good.
Useful.
Keep them.

“Why?” I’d asked when he called briefly to check on my injuries.