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…

line.

Camilla traced his line of sight. Her expression didn’t morph into horror or guilt. Instead, her eyes narrowed. It was a look of cold, hard calculation.

The applause began to die. It didn’t stop all at once, but rather petered out in awkward waves until the entire fifty-fifth floor was trapped in a suffocating silence.

“Eleanor,” Julian choked out.continue reading …