“Elena, dear,” she began, dripping false sympathy. “Mark and I have been discussing the future. His future. And we’ve come to a difficult conclusion.”
I set down my fork. “What conclusion?”
“You’re holding him back,” she said bluntly. “Mark needs a certain image. A wife with connections, social standing, with… value. I’m sure you’re sweet, but you aren’t equipped to be the wife of a major CEO.”
I looked at Mark, waiting for him to defend me.
He said nothing.
“What are you suggesting?” I asked quietly.
“A divorce,” Victoria said, as casually as changing courses. “Amicable. And we’ll make it worth your while. We’re not heartless.”
That’s when she pulled out the checkbook.
That’s when she wrote five thousand dollars.
That’s when she told me to go back to my “dustbowl farm.”
And that’s when Mark—my husband, the man I supported and loved—said: “We need this merger, El. Mom’s right… I need to be free to court the Blackwood heiress if we’re going to save the company.”
The Blackwood heiress. Me. He was preparing to leave me to pursue me.
It would’ve been hilarious if it hadn’t been so devastating.