The livestream battle against his childhood sweetheart was a disaster. I was losing, badly. Then, Guy Bray stormed the stream, unleashing twenty "Galaxies" in a row, single-handedly turning the tide for her. The chat exploded. "See, Chloe? I told you! The CEO only has eyes for you. Let's see what kind of tricks that bitch Faye can pull now!" "Exactly! You should stop giving him the silent treatment. Worst case, just make him beg on his knees when he gets home!" My hand went to my pocket, to the birthday gift I’d been so excited to give him. I was about to call him. But then, Guy, who was supposed to be halfway across the world, appeared on camera. He stepped into the frame and pulled Chloe into a deep, passionate French kiss for everyone to see. Her popularity meter shot through the roof, a supernova of support that annihilated mine. I was K.O.’d. Utterly defeated. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just sent him a single text. "A week of silence means we're done. Does that still stand?" 1 The glaring red exclamation mark next to my message felt like a punch to the gut. It was a sight I hadn't seen in a decade. In the ten years we'd been together, Guy and I had fought, we’d screamed, we’d threatened to break up. But we always had an unspoken rule, a final lifeline to pull each other back. "Promise me," he’d said, his pinky locked with mine. "No matter how bad a fight gets, we never delete or block each other. Cross your heart, hope to die." A childish oath, sealed with a press of our thumbs, but it was the magic that had mended us time and time again. This time, he was the one who broke it. My finger hovered, then swiped. The contact, saved as "A_MyOneAndOnly," vanished from my list. My assistant, Nina, slammed her hand on the table, her voice shaking with rage on my behalf. "What the hell is Chloe's problem?! Using the CEO for a publicity stunt?! This round doesn't count. We demand a rematch!" Nina shot nervous glances at me, ready to physically restrain me if I, as I usually would, made a move to confront Chloe. But to her surprise, I just picked up my glass of wine and downed it in one go. "A loss is a loss," I said, my voice steady. "Let this be my parting glass, a thank you to everyone for all your years of support. Cheers." "Faye, no! You can't, you're allergic to alcohol—" Her words were cut short as a bitter, burning wave surged up my throat. I clapped a hand over my mouth and ran for the restroom. Behind me, the whispers started, sharp and cruel. "So what if she had the title of Mrs. Bray? The moment the real queen came back, she was knocked right back down. What a pathetic loss." "Totally. Guy even gave Chloe his A-team, a top-tier crew. All the company resources are flowing her way. It couldn't be more obvious who he loves and who he doesn't." Tears I refused to shed in front of them now fell, hot and traitorous, onto the simple, plain band on my ring finger. It made me think of a time when his devotion was mine and mine alone. When everyone shot down my passion project, he stood against them all, a fierce defender of my dream. He even sold his family's old summer house and pressed the money into my hands. "Faye," he'd said, his eyes shining, "go for it. I will always, always be your rock." When I pulled all-nighters, he'd be right there beside me, digging through research papers. When I was sick in the hospital, he stayed awake all night, holding my hand until the sun came up. But that was seven years ago. Today, all that fierce devotion belonged to his childhood sweetheart. I looked at the faint, worn inscription inside my ring—J&F—and then at the picture Chloe had just posted on her feed: a pair of million-dollar, diamond-encrusted rings on her and Guy's hands. My simple band seemed to dim, a pale ghost of a promise. With a bitter, self-mocking laugh, I pulled the ring from my finger and tossed it into the trash can. Just then, Guy's custom ringtone blared from someone's phone in the hall. Normally, I'd have answered within three seconds. This time, I leaned against the cool tile of the wall, slowly pushing the door open. "Faye, it's the boss! He's calling to apologize, I bet..." One of the gossiping onlookers, hungry for more drama, hit the speakerphone button. "Chloe, you were amazing! That dance with Guy was so hot! You're the only one who deserves to be by his side, not like... some people." "I know, right? And she actually thought she could win a battle against you. She just humiliated herself. Guy totally set this whole thing up..." The taunts hung in the air, followed by a sudden, dead silence. I forced my heart to stop its frantic hammering and was about to speak. But then, Guy's voice, raw with anger, erupted from the phone. "Who the hell told you to spread those rumors? Let me make one thing crystal clear: I have only one wife, and her name is Faye Sterling! Every single one of you who said otherwise can pack your desks and be gone by morning!" A wave of bitterness washed over me. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. In public, he always gave me the respect and face befitting the CEO's wife. But in private, he repeatedly crossed every line for Chloe. "Faye, come on. You're already mine, what's a Director position to you? Just think of it as a training opportunity for the kid." "It's just one multi-million dollar contract. You're the CEO's wife, you need to be more magnanimous." I tried. I tried to accept it, to be "magnanimous." But my acceptance only fueled Chloe's audacity. She'd alter data in my project proposals without my consent and leave me to take the fall. She’d reassign my team members behind my back, then cripple me with no resources while demanding my department meet 80% of the company's KPIs. I’d fought him on it, screamed at him, but Guy would always brush it off with a placating murmur. "Chloe's new to the role, she needs to establish her authority. Just be patient, I'll have a talk with her." But I knew he never would. Even this time, I had made it perfectly clear. If I lose this PK battle, I'm leaving. And still, when it came down to it, he chose her. The memory solidified my resolve. I cut through his frantic "Honey, are you okay?" "Guy," I said, my voice flat. "Come home tonight. We need to talk." 2 "That's right, Guy, you should go home and be with Faye. I'm fine... ah!" A sharp cry of pain stabbed through the phone, and Guy's voice instantly became distant, muffled. "Look at you, why are you even in a competition when you're sick? Are you trying to kill yourself? I'm taking you to the hospital..." This was the seventh time this month she'd "fallen ill," each time with surgical precision, right when I needed to talk to Guy about something important. I knew the drill. As I moved to hang up, Guy's hurried, breathless voice came back on the line. "Look, Chloe's having terrible cramps. I need you to bring over a warm, sweet drink. Oh, and a blanket. A new one." His tone was clipped, commanding, as if I were Chloe's personal assistant. Which, in a way, I had become. Chloe loved the way I cooked sea bass, so Guy would wake me in the middle of the night, regardless of the hour, to make it for her. "Sorry, babe," he’d say, trying to placate me. "Just humor her, she's like a kid." I’d look at the dark circles under his eyes, the stress lines etched on his face, and my heart would soften every time. But not tonight. Tonight, I was done softening. "Sorry," I said, the word feeling foreign. "I'm exhausted. I don't have time." The line went dead. A second later, a chorus of notifications pinged from the phones around me. "What the—? Why did he just dock our performance bonuses? He's always docking our pay! Does he even want us to make a living?" A sea of resentful eyes turned on me, their expressions a mixture of pity and blame. I was the cause of their misery, another casualty in our marital war. Of course. After all these years, Guy knew exactly how to twist the knife. He knew my team was my weakness. I tried calling him back, only to find I’d been blocked. Left with no choice, I sent a message to Chloe. "Tell Guy I'll bring what he asked for. I'm on my way." The stomach pains I'd been ignoring for hours suddenly flared, a sharp, stabbing cramp. I fumbled through my purse, my fingers searching for my medication. Instead, they closed around a bottle of multivitamins. He must have packed them by mistake. I remembered it then. He was putting my pills in my bag when he’d gotten a call from Chloe. He’d talked to her for an hour, a soft, bashful smile on his face that I hadn't seen since the first year we were dating. A bitter jealousy had coiled in my gut, and I’d kicked him out of the room. I assumed, like always, he'd be back within 24 hours to apologize. Instead, I got 24 hours of non-stop updates on Chloe's social media feed. "Ice cream dates, snowball fights, watching the sunrise... everything is perfect when you're with the right person!" I had stubbornly refused to give in, to be the first to break the silence. But now, on the seventh day, I had been about to crumble. Because of the rule he himself had made. "A week of silence means we're done." But now, something had shifted. I wasn't crumbling. I was letting go. I went home and packed a bag. Then, I went to the kitchen and began preparing the sea bass. One last time. After this, our debts would be settled. It was late by the time I finished. Getting out of the car in a rush, I tripped on the curb and went down hard. "Guy, it hurts," I cried out instinctively into the empty night. But there was no one. Only the biting wind. The man who had sworn he would never let me walk a dark street alone was gone. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I limped my way to the urgent care clinic. And there he was. In the brightly lit infusion room, Guy was holding Chloe, gently spoon-feeding her a warm drink. The look in his eyes as he gazed at her was pure, undiluted adoration, a sweetness so thick it was suffocating. I backed away, wanting to be invisible. But my injured knee buckled and I stumbled, knocking it against a chair. A fresh wave of pain shot up my leg, and I saw blood seeping through my pants. His head snapped up, and his eyes, cold and sharp, found me. "Faye," he said, his voice laced with scorn. "I thought you were busy. What, did you have time to make a business trip to the hospital?" His gaze fell to my bleeding knee, and for a split second, I saw something flicker in his eyes—a muscle in his jaw twitched. He started to rise, but Chloe's arm snaked around his neck, pulling him back. "Guy, I feel so dizzy..." she murmured, then her eyes met mine, a triumphant glint in them. "Oh, Faye, you're here! Perfect timing. I just finished the drink. Thank you so much for bringing it..." I saw the malice hiding behind her saccharine smile. I knew she was setting a trap, crafting another lie where I would be the villain. I thought of all the other times, of how Guy always took her side without question, and a profound weariness washed over me. I forced myself to stand straight, placed the thermos on a nearby chair, and turned to leave. "Mr. Bray, if there's nothing else, I'll be heading home now." "Wait." He gently settled Chloe back against the pillows, then strode over to me. He pulled a crisp hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and pressed it into my hand. "Here," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "A little tip for your trouble." The sharp edge of the bill cut into my palm. I took a steadying breath and finally met his gaze. "Mr. Bray," I said, my voice quiet but clear. "If you really want to thank me, could you do me a small favor?" 3 His response was to grab my arm and drag me violently into an empty examination room. He slammed me against the wall, pinning my wrists above my head. His eyes, dark and stormy, bored into mine. "Faye, do you have to be so goddamn difficult?" he seethed, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you have any idea that I haven't slept in three days, rushing to close that overseas deal just so I could get back to you?" "I know I didn't handle the livestream situation right. I should have told you. But this is business. As long as it boosts the company's numbers, the methods don't matter—" "So, would you sleep with her for the company?" I cut him off, my voice hollow. I stared at the face I had loved for a decade, the question hanging in the sterile air between us. Just moments before, Chloe had sent me a picture. The two of them, tangled together in a heated embrace, their bodies flush against each other. I needed to hear the answer from his lips. The color drained from Guy's face. His eyes darted away, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Don't listen to the gossip at the office," he stammered. "There's nothing going on between Chloe and me." He took a shaky breath. "Besides, you know... I have issues. With my stress levels... I can't perform." So that was it. In his world, a "platonic" relationship involved sharing drinks from the same cup, wearing matching million-dollar rings, and walking hand-in-hand at public events. And I, his wife, had personally seen him finding release to a picture of Chloe on his phone. Now I understood. His "inability to perform" was only with me. A laugh escaped my lips, a broken, hysterical sound that quickly turned into tears. To him, it was just more drama. "Faye, that's enough," he snapped, his patience gone. "Just stop it. The company is already driving me insane. I don't have the energy to deal with your theatrics." He reached into his pocket, his hand fumbling, and pulled out a delicate, glittering bracelet. It seemed to spark a memory, and his expression softened. He bent down, picked it up from where it had fallen, and fastened it around my wrist. "I bought this for you on my trip," he said, his voice softer now. "I thought it would suit you... and it does. It's beautiful on you." The fire of the diamonds reflected in his eyes, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a genuine smile. But I knew he wasn't seeing me. He was seeing her. I was just the mannequin. How many times had I been his model for gifts meant for her? Lingerie, shoes, jewelry. But this time, he'd been so careless. He'd grabbed the wrong one. Because engraved on the inside of the clasp, in elegant French script, were the words: Pour Chloé, mon seul amour. For Chloe, my only love. I yanked my hand back. The sharp edge of the clasp broke my skin, and a drop of blood welled up, staining the pristine metal. Guy's brow furrowed in annoyance. He roughly unclasped the bracelet and began frantically wiping the blood off with his handkerchief. "Damn it, why are you so clumsy? Blood is bad luck..." Of course. His goddess hated the sight of blood. She just enjoyed seeing mine spilled. "My apologies," I said numbly. From my pocket, I pulled out the folded document I'd prepared earlier. The Divorce Agreement. "You still haven't signed the final papers for the B-Corp partnership," I said, keeping my voice level. "This is a work matter, right?" "You must be mistaken. I signed those last week," he said without even looking up, his focus entirely on cleaning the bracelet. Of course. He remembered every detail of his life, except those that involved me. I was trying to think of another excuse when he finally took the papers from my hand. "Sign it and go home," he ordered. "And stop causing trouble." He just wanted me gone. So he could get back to her. A familiar bitterness rose in my throat, but I just nodded. "Mm-hmm." My lack of fight must have seemed strange to him. He stopped writing, his pen hovering over the paper. He gripped my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. "Faye," he said, his voice earnest. "You will always be number one in my heart. As soon as this crazy period is over, I'll take you on a trip, just the two of us." He used his thumb to push up the corner of my mouth. "Come on, give me a smile. You're most beautiful when you smile." I managed a weak, painful twitch of my lips. I'd been fed this empty promise a hundred times. I couldn't chew it, couldn't swallow it. But he seemed completely satisfied. Predictably, his phone rang. He was needed. "Don't worry," he cooed into the receiver. "I'm on my way." I glanced at the agreement. He'd only signed his first name. Guy. I sighed. Suddenly, a small, colorful object appeared in my line of sight. A cartoon band-aid. A young nurse was smiling warmly at me. "Your husband asked me to give this to you," she said, noticing my confused expression. Seeing my hesitation, she tore open the wrapper and gently applied it to the cut on my hand. "He's so sweet and thoughtful. And he has a fun side, too, buying cartoon band-aids..." My nails dug into my palms. I couldn't tell her that he only carried them because they were Chloe's favorite. I was just the lucky recipient of a leftover scrap of his affection. My phone buzzed. A message from my real estate agent. Ms. Sterling, we have an offer on the house you listed, but it's only for 70% of the asking price. Are you sure you don't want to reconsider...? I glanced at the cartoon character smiling up at me from my wounded hand and typed back without a second's hesitation. Sell it. Please handle the closing for me. Before my finger even left the screen, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. "Faye," Guy's voice was a low growl behind me. "You just had to make a scene, didn't you? You just couldn't let it go. Fine. You want a war? You've got one."
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