I walked into my husband’s workplace on Valentine’s Day holding a romantic gift, only to see him proposing to his wealthy female boss while the staff cheered. He smirked at me, whispering, “You’re just a poor housewife, accept it.” I didn’t cry. I simply pulled out my phone, dialed the company’s majority shareholder, and whispered into the speaker…

leaving only a dark, wet stain on the oak floor. The congratulatory projection had been replaced by stark, glowing spreadsheets on the digital monitors.

I arrived flanked by Sarah and two imposing forensic accountants.

As I walked through the double doors, every single member of the board stood up.

Julian was nowhere to be seen. Camilla was absent.

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