I just landed a billion-dollar deal for the company. My wife, the CEO, was overjoyed and promised to reward me with a house. She excitedly showed me a luxury villa she’d built for me in The Sims, complete with a digital ocean view. "Move in here for now," she said, promising to build the real thing once profits doubled. Later, I stumbled upon a post by her male assistant—a photo of a $30 million beachfront estate, captioned: "A gift from my boss. Real love means exclusive pampering." Suddenly, it all made sense. Money wasn’t the issue; I just wasn’t worth it to her. Without a word, I quietly liked the post. Within minutes, the comments exploded. My wife called, frantic, claiming the estate was just a "corporate incentive" to motivate the team. She begged me to undo the like, dismiss the rumors, and even promised we could try for a baby this year. But I’d had enough of her empty promises. "Save the excuses," I told her. "I want a divorce." 1 The moment the words left my mouth, Victoria's tone shifted from panicked to bitterly annoyed. "I am literally just trying to incentivize my employees. Half of this company belongs to you, so I'm doing this for our future!" She let out a harsh breath. "If you don't want to appreciate my hard work, fine. But don't you dare joke about divorce. Marriage is not a game, Earl. Consider this your first and last warning." "I gave you the chance to fix this mess, and you refused. So don't blame me when I stop protecting your reputation." She hung up on me, the line clicking dead in my ear. Standing in the long queue at the City Hall courthouse, I let out a long, heavy sigh. She didn't get it. I was just so unbelievably tired. This time, the word 'divorce' was not a threat. It was a promise. The line was moving agonizingly slow. Clutching my ticket number, I mindlessly scrolled through my phone. Underneath Oliver's Instagram post, the comment thread was turning into a warzone. Most of it was my own project team, furiously defending me. "Stealing another man's wife? Raised with great morals, I see. Teach me how to be a professional sugar baby, will you?" "Preach. Working overtime means nothing compared to having a sweet mouth. Zero actual skills but skyrocketing up the corporate ladder. Wish I figured out the cheat code sooner." The passive-aggressive shade was endless. No wonder Victoria couldn't hold back and called to threaten me into doing damage control. Her precious boy toy was getting ripped to shreds online. But my team was only spitting facts. Aside from his pretty face and boyish charm, Oliver was utterly useless. Yet, Victoria had personally tossed out resumes from Harvard and Yale graduates, breaking every company protocol to hire a kid who barely scraped through a community college. When the rumors first started flying and the office morale tanked, I had gone to her, genuinely asking for her reasoning. She had looked at me with deep disappointment. "Earl, I thought of all people, you would understand me. Instead, you're being an elitist snob just like the rest of the board. Have you forgotten our core values? We built this firm to give everyone an equal shot, especially young people who just need a chance to prove themselves." Like a fool, I believed her. I actually felt deeply ashamed of my own prejudice. I immediately told HR to stop filtering by degrees and start hiring based on raw talent and drive. A week later, HR hired a decent applicant from a lesser-known state school. Victoria dragged the HR director into her office and screamed at him for three hours straight. "Do we look like a charity? Since when do we let community college trash walk through our front doors? If you can't handle a simple hiring process, pack your desk and get the hell out." That was when I learned that her so-called 'equal opportunity' applied exclusively to Oliver. My phone buzzed. A message from my lead developer popped up on the screen. "Don't be sad, Chief. We're tearing him apart for you." Looking at the flood of goofy, supportive memes in our group chat, the tight knot in my chest loosened a fraction. I was just typing out a message, telling them to ease up before they got in trouble, when a company-wide email notification dropped from Victoria. "Any employee caught slacking off on social media during business hours will have their monthly salary halved and all performance bonuses revoked. A second offense will result in immediate termination." Attached was a penalty list. I scrolled through it and barked out a dry, humorless laugh. Every single employee who had liked or left positive comments on Oliver's post was completely ignored. The only people fined were my team members. Instantly, my phone blew up. The group chat descended into pure chaos. "She is taking this way too far! This isn't about enforcing rules, she is straight-up targeting the Chief!" "Chief, are you thinking about starting your own firm? Or jumping ship?" "Wherever you go, we follow!" Seeing their righteous anger, a wave of guilt washed over me. After seven years of marriage, Victoria knew me inside and out. She knew my biggest weakness was my fierce loyalty to my people. So, whenever I stepped out of line, whenever I didn't bow down to her whims, she made my team's lives a living hell. I had swallowed my pride and endured it time and time again. But today, the well of my patience had completely run dry. I dialed a number I had ignored for months. The voice on the other end answered on the second ring, practically vibrating with excitement. "Earl! Tell me you've finally seen the light and you're coming to join us. We have an executive suite waiting for you!" "I have one condition," I said quietly. "Name it. One, ten, a hundred conditions, whatever you want. The board will approve it." "I'm bringing my entire team with me." The man gasped in pure delight. "Are you kidding me? I'll have the contracts drafted in ten minutes. I'll double whatever they're making right now. No, triple it!" My department had always been the top-earning division in our industry. Yet, because of my turbulent relationship with my wife, they were constantly denied promotions, used as leverage to keep me on a tight leash. Not anymore. By the time I finished securing their futures, my number was called. I walked up to the glass window and slid the divorce application forward. It had been seven years. Victoria had probably forgotten entirely. Back when we were desperately in love and dirt poor, we had signed a mutual separation clause. We promised each other an easy out, vowing that if we ever turned toxic, we would let the other go without a legal bloodbath. We both cried that night, swearing we would never need to use that piece of paper. Yet here I was, cashing it in. The clerk looked at the forms, then at me. "Sir, I still need confirmation from your spouse that the marriage is irretrievably broken before I can process the fast-track paperwork." Sighing, I called Victoria. She forwarded it straight to voicemail. Again and again. Ten minutes ticked by. The people behind me were starting to grumble. Even the clerk was giving me a weary, impatient look. Having no other choice, I pulled up Oliver's Instagram. Unsurprisingly, he had just posted a live story. Victoria was in his kitchen, wearing an apron over her designer dress, smiling brightly as she cooked him lunch. I swiped to the next slide, showing the clerk the massive pile of luxury watches, limited-edition sneakers, and the thirty-million-dollar real estate deed Victoria had gifted him. The annoyance in the clerk's eyes instantly melted into deep, uncomfortable pity. She stopped asking questions. "The paperwork will be processed. You can come back tomorrow to pick up your finalized divorce certificate." "Thank you." I let out a breath I felt like I had been holding for years and walked out into the crisp afternoon air. Just as I reached my car, Victoria finally called back. 2 "Are you starting to panic now?" her voice dripped with arrogant condescension. "I tried to talk sense into you, but you wouldn't listen. I am absolutely furious right now, so whatever pathetic apology you have prepared, save it. I have to work late tonight, so I won't be coming home. Take the night to seriously reflect on your behavior." Before she could hang up, I clearly heard Oliver's voice whining in the background. "Victoria, which suit should I wear for my birthday dinner tonight?" The line abruptly cut off. Today wasn't my birthday. It wasn't hers either. It was Oliver's. Working late? Just another garbage excuse to throw her boy toy a lavish party. Victoria grew up in a severely abusive household. Birthdays were a source of deep psychological trauma for her. To protect her peace, I had never celebrated my own birthday in seven years, just to avoid triggering her memories. But for Oliver, she was willing to break all her own rules. I guess love really was a miracle cure. Pushing the bitter taste down, I drove straight to a high-end steakhouse to meet my team and the reps from the new company. Once the massive compensation packages were signed and sealed, the tension broke. My guys surrounded me, patting my back, offering a mix of sympathy and relief. "Chief, listen to us. A wife whose heart belongs in someone else's pocket is dead weight. You're dodging a bullet." I offered a quiet, self-deprecating smile. My mind briefly drifted to the first time I met Victoria. She was wearing a faded cotton dress, standing awkwardly in a crowded room, so painfully shy she couldn't even maintain eye contact. Now, she lied with the ease of breathing, carving me hollow without a second thought. But hadn't I created this monster? In the beginning, I loved her so fiercely that no matter how terribly she messed up, a single tear from her was enough to make me forgive her. She learned quickly that I had no boundaries. So she started pushing them. When she made a mistake, she offered a half-hearted apology. If I didn't instantly cave, she would sabotage my work until I submitted. It escalated over the years until she crossed lines I never thought possible. I handed her the knife, over and over, hoping each time would be the last. I was such an idiot. Shaking my head, I raised my glass. "Drinks are on me tonight. We don't stop until the bar runs dry!" The table erupted in cheers. We drank, laughed, and trashed the corporate world until the sun began to peek over the horizon. Exhausted, smelling like a brewery, I unlocked the front door of my house, expecting the cold emptiness of an empty home. Instead, I found Victoria sitting stiffly on the living room sofa. She had been waiting all night. As soon as the smell of liquor hit her, her face contorted in deep disgust. She backed away instantly. "I told you I despise the smell of alcohol! Why did you drink so much? Do my words mean absolutely nothing to you?" Hearing her shriek, I couldn't help but laugh. Because she casually mentioned she hated the smell of alcohol, I had been completely sober for seven years. But what was the reality? Just last month, Oliver had sent me a video, intentionally trying to provoke me. He was completely wasted, slurring his words, looking up at the camera with puppy-dog eyes. "I'm sorry, Victoria. I know you hate drunks. I'll never do it again." And Victoria? She had cradled his flushed face in her hands, her voice dripping with sickly sweetness. "Silly boy. Drink as much as you want. I don't hate alcohol, I just hate having to clean up after sloppy men." Then, right on camera, Oliver gagged, and she literally caught his vomit with her bare hands. "But for you? I'd do anything." The memory made my stomach churn. I slapped her hand away as she reached for my coat. "Didn't you say you weren't coming home?" Victoria glared at me, tossing a thick blanket at my chest. "I was worried about you being alone and depressed! And look at you, out partying without even giving me a call. And to think I went out of my way to pack up your favorite dishes from the restaurant." In the past, I lived in constant fear for her safety. Even in the middle of a screaming match, if she didn't text me back within an hour, I would be calling hospitals. This time, I hadn't checked in on her for twenty-four hours. The silence probably spooked her enough to bring her home. I glanced at the takeout containers on the counter. Prime rib, lobster bisque. My favorites. I didn't touch them. A slap to the face, followed by a piece of candy. It was her classic manipulation tactic. I wasn't biting anymore. Victoria, completely oblivious to my deadened eyes, assumed her little peace offering had worked its magic like it always did. Her expression softened into a magnanimous mask. "Alright, arguing is exhausting. Let's compromise." "I'll forgive you for framing Oliver and making him feel bullied today. But in exchange, you need to hand your current account over to him." "His sales numbers have been dropping, and he needs a win. If you hadn't been constantly suppressing his potential, he wouldn't be struggling right now. Behave, do this favor for me, and I'll lift the penalties on your team tomorrow morning." Everything suddenly made sense. The early return. The favorite food. The blanket. It was all for Oliver. Her devotion to that boy was honestly staggering. To secure him a win, she was willing to put her pride aside and play house with me in the middle of a cold war. I let out a dry chuckle. "Sure." The corner of Victoria's lips curled up in a victorious smirk. She wasn't surprised by my surrender. This play had run a hundred times before. "Next time, think before you act. If you hadn't been so petty and liked his post, inciting your team to cyberbully him, we wouldn't have had this fight in the first place." "But whatever, it's in the past. Go to the office and handle the handover paperwork." I reached into my pocket, pulled out my heavy silver Director's badge, and tossed it onto the coffee table with a clatter. "Why stop at just one account? Give him my title, too." 3 Victoria froze, her smile slipping. "What is that supposed to mean?" "He's so incredibly talented, right? He deserves the corner office." Her face darkened, frustration practically radiating off her. "I am trying to have a civilized conversation with you, and you're throwing another childish tantrum?" If I refused to give up the account, I was a jealous bully targeting her assistant. If I gave him my entire career, I was throwing a tantrum. There was no winning with this woman. And I was done playing the game. Seeing me standing there in silence, Victoria rubbed her temples, looking supremely inconvenienced. "Is this about that stupid house? Fine, I'll buy you a real one tomorrow, okay?" "I swear to God, you are a grown man. Holding a grudge over something so trivial is pathetic." Even now, she genuinely believed I was throwing away our marriage over a piece of real estate. "Don't bother," I said softly. "Save your money. Oliver is going to need it." Victoria's eyes flashed with absolute fury. She grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it at my face. "I have told you a thousand times! Oliver and I have a strictly professional mentor-mentee relationship. Why is your mind so filthy?" Everyone else in the building called him the intern or the assistant. She was the only one who purred his first name like a lover. It was insulting that she still thought I was blind. "You know exactly what you two are doing." Her face flushed a mottled red, and she began to scream. "If that's how you really feel, then give me my gaming account back! I stayed up for three nights straight building that digital villa, placing every brick. You don't deserve to look at it!" She lunged at me, trying to snatch my phone from my pocket. I easily stepped aside, unlocked my screen, and showed her the automated text message. Your account deletion request has been processed successfully. "You think I care about a fake house in a video game?" "The account is permanently deleted. The game is off my phone. Are we clear?" Victoria stared at the screen, genuinely wounded. Her hands flew up, wildly slapping at my chest and shoulders. "You are a heartless bastard!" Screaming a few more curses, she grabbed her purse and stormed out, slamming the front door so hard the walls shook. In the old days, I would have chased her down the street. I could never let her be alone in the dark when she was upset. Tonight, I locked the deadbolt, took a hot shower, crashed into bed, and slept like the dead. When I woke up the next morning, my phone was blowing up again. This time, the punishment didn't fall on my team. It landed squarely on me. An office-wide memo had been sent out. "Since a certain someone feels they are unfit to hold the position of Director, I am officially granting their request for demotion." Anyone who had dared to speak up for me previously had already been heavily fined. Today, the entire company was dead silent. I didn't care. I got dressed, met my team in the lobby, and walked straight into the HR department to hand over twenty resignation letters. The HR Director looked like she was about to have a heart attack. Her hands shook violently as she dialed Victoria. "Ms. Sinclair, the entire prime division... they're resigning..." Through the speaker, the first voice we heard wasn't Victoria's. It was Oliver's smooth, arrogant drawl. "Victoria, if it's an emergency, you can go back to the office. I can watch the movie alone." "Absolutely not," Victoria replied, her voice sickeningly sweet. "You've been so stressed lately, and I promised you a break. I never break my promises to you." Then, the phone shifted, and her voice turned into a venomous hiss. "Are you completely incompetent? You're bothering me over some petty resignations? What exactly am I paying you for?" "But... Ms. Sinclair, it's—" "But nothing! My signature stamp is in the top drawer of my desk. Stamp whatever they gave you and stop ruining my day!" The line went dead. The HR Director's eyes filled with panicked tears. Having no authorization to stop us, she numbly processed our severances. By the time we packed our boxes, the office gossip mill had spun the story into a new shape: we hadn't quit, Victoria had fired us. One of Oliver's loyal lapdogs leaned against a cubicle, smirking as I carried my box past him. He raised his voice so the whole floor could hear. "Talent doesn't mean jack if you can't keep the CEO happy." "Who cares who was here first? In the game of love, the one who isn't loved is just an embarrassment!" They were laughing, loudly insulting me to my face. My guys dropped their boxes, rolling up their sleeves, ready to turn the office into a boxing ring. I held up a hand, stopping them. I looked right at the lapdog and offered him a bright, genuine smile. "You're absolutely right. I sincerely hope your significant others all find their true soulmates." Leaving them choking on their own malice, I walked out of the building with my team. I took a detour to City Hall. Sitting in the passenger seat of my developer's car, I stared down at the crisp, legally binding divorce certificate in my hand. I started laughing. "I'm in a great mood today. Pick the most expensive restaurant in the city. It's on me." The guys cheered in the backseat, immediately arguing violently over whether we should get dry-aged steaks or a king crab banquet. I leaned against the window, quietly scrolling through my phone, letting their bickering wash over me. Suddenly, the car went dead silent. Someone tugged sharply on my sleeve. "Chief. Look over there." I looked up, following his pointing finger out the window.
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