The day Vicky’s company went public, she used the national press conference to announce her engagement to her assistant, Kyle. I had been her husband for four years, standing quietly in the shadows while she built her empire. From the audience, I watched Kyle step onto the flower-draped stage, beaming under the warm lights. "Our company wouldn't be where it is today without Kyle’s unwavering support," Vicky said into the microphone, her voice echoing through the glass auditorium. "Thank you all for believing in us. Going forward, Kyle and I will be running our premier tech division together." The room erupted into applause. Flashbulbs strove to capture the happy couple. Looking at their glowing faces, the tight knot in my jaw slowly loosened, and the fists I had been clenching at my sides finally relaxed. Four years of devotion. Four years of quiet sacrifice. It was time to let go. 1. When I got home, I pulled out my phone and dialed a private number. "I honestly didn't think you’d say yes," CEO Enoch’s voice boomed softly over the line. "If you join us, Joel, I’ll offer you the highest tier package in the entire firm." "I’m in, Mr. Enoch," I said quietly. "As soon as I wrap up my transition here, I’ll be over." I had just hung up when the front door clicked open. Vicky walked in, setting her designer handbag on the marble console. "Who were you talking to?" she asked, kicking off her heels. "Just someone from engineering," I lied smoothly. "Clarifying a few technical specs." My eyes caught the heavy, light-catching diamond ring sitting on her left ring finger—the one Kyle had slipped onto her hand on live television. In our four years of marriage, Vicky had never worn the wedding band I bought her. She had always claimed she was allergic to metals, insisting that jewelry broke her skin out in rashes. Yet here she was, proudly sporting a flashily cheap engagement ring from her assistant. "Why did you leave the launch early?" she asked, stepping into the living room, her voice laced with sharp accusation. "A dozen major investors were asking me deep-dive technical questions about the microchips. Were you trying to humiliate me?" "You handled the press just fine," I replied flatly. "You didn't need me." A flicker of guilt crossed her face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "And what about that tone?" I asked, meeting her gaze head-on. "You announced an engagement to Kyle on national television. What does that make me, Vicky? What am I to you—your legal husband?" She let out an irritated sigh. "The market demands drama, Joel. An executive romance drives publicity, and publicity drives initial venture funding. If we frame it as a power-couple merger, we pull in double the capital for the new rollout." I stayed silent. I knew for a fact that three top-tier institutional investors had already locked in their term sheets a month ago. The market excuse was a lie. She was simply hiding behind the proprietary chip architecture I had spent years pouring my soul into, knowing I cared too much about the technology to make a scene. Seeing my silence, Vicky assumed I was merely sulking. She walked over and sat beside me on the leather sofa. As she leaned in, a soft wave of cedarwood cologne hit my nose. It was Kyle’s signature scent. My eyes drifted to her neck. Beneath her soft turtleneck, a faint, mottled bruise—a fresh hickey—peeked out from under her collar. Noticing where I was looking, she pulled the sweater up higher, her posture stiffening. "Look at these," she said quickly, pulling out a stack of term sheets from her tote bag and placing them on the coffee table. "Investors are practically throwing money at us. Kyle is exceptionally good at client relations, so I’m putting him in charge of managing the overall project. You just stick to the backend coding and hardware engineering like you usually do." She expected me to be thrilled by the sheer volume of contracts. "If Kyle is so exceptionally capable," I said, my voice dangerously calm, "why don't you let him handle the engineering side, too?" Vicky’s expression turned sour instantly. "Joel Callahan, learn to separate your personal feelings from business! Have some self-respect! You’re asking a non-technical manager to take over core engineering just to set him up to fail! Since when did you become so ridiculously petty?" She genuinely believed I was acting out of jealous spite, playing the same old passive-aggressive games she thought I always played. She rolled her eyes, shifting back into her authoritative executive tone. "Go draw my bath. And get the essential oils ready—my shoulders are tight from standing all day." In the past, whenever she returned home late from networking dinners, I would draw her a warm lavender bath and spend an hour massaging her aching neck and back. To her, I wasn't an innovator or a partner; I was a glorified live-in butler who happened to build her company's intellectual property. Four years of unconditional love had been outmatched by a boyish assistant who had joined her team three months ago. "I’m tired," I said, standing up. "If you want a bath, the tub is in the bathroom." Vicky stared at me, a flash of pure bewilderment breaking through her composed facade. "Joel? You’re throwing a tantrum over something this small? Everything I do is for this company! It’s for our future!" As I walked away, her voice pitched higher behind me. "Joel! Are you deaf?! I’m talking to you!" I walked straight into the master bedroom, closed the door, and turned off the light. 2. Vicky spent the night on the couch in a fit of silent fury. The next morning, I cooked breakfast for two out of sheer habit. To my surprise, Vicky actually came down early, dressed for work, and offered to drive me to the office. Ever since we married, she had insisted on keeping our relationship strictly secret at the firm, claiming we needed to maintain professional boundaries. We had never once commuted together; she wouldn't even let me be seen stepping out of her car within three blocks of the building. I didn't bother refusing. I almost thought her sudden change of heart meant she was trying to extend an olive branch after my coldness last night. Ten minutes into the drive, she pulled the sedan up to a leafy curb. Kyle was standing under a streetlamp, waving down at us with a familiar smirk. She unlocked the doors, and Kyle smoothly opened the front passenger door, sliding into the seat beside her. "Oh," Kyle said, turning around to look at me in the backseat, his eyes gleaming with clear provocation. "Joel! What a surprise. I’ve been taking Vicky’s car every morning for weeks, but this is the first time I’ve seen you in it." Every morning. My mind flashed back to a month ago during the heavy summer downpours. The rain had flooded the streets, and every ride-hailing app was completely jammed. I had gone to Vicky’s office, asking if she could give me a lift home. She had berated me viciously in front of her door, warning me never to mix personal favors with work, and told me to walk if I couldn't get a cab. Later that evening, from the lobby window, I had watched Kyle get into her passenger seat. She had been more than willing to drive twenty miles out of her way in a torrential storm for him, while telling her husband to walk home in the dark. "Kyle lives far out in the east end and doesn't have a vehicle yet," Vicky said glibly, checking her rear-view mirror. "It’s just convenient." "Right," I said softly. "A star manager like Kyle deserves premium executive perks." Kyle turned his head further, giving me a gloating grin. "Vicky actually offered to buy me a company car, but my driving isn't great. You’re not upset that she picks me up every day, are you, Joel?" Before I could answer, Vicky cut in sharply. "It’s just a ride, Kyle. Joel isn't that fragile." I looked out the side window, watching the blur of morning traffic. "I’m fine," I murmured. Vicky frowned at my detached response. As the glass-and-steel façade of our corporate headquarters materialized in the distance, her voice turned sharp again. "Pull over at the next corner," she ordered, tapping the dashboard. "Joel, you can get out there. It’s a short walk, and I don't want people gossiping if they see us arriving together." Even after breaking her own rule to bring me along, she was still terrified of being associated with me. "Oh, come on, Vicky," Kyle purred, placing a hand gently over hers on the gear shift. "We’re almost at the underground garage. Just let Joel ride down with us." Vicky’s stiff demeanor melted instantly. "Alright. If you say so." She would listen to a casual suggestion from him over a direct plea from me any day. Besides, if colleagues saw all three of us stepping out of the same elevator, no one would suspect a marriage; they would simply assume the executives were being generous to a senior developer. I didn't care anymore. My only goal today was to get human resources to sign off on my resignation without causing an uproar. In the underground parking structure, Kyle and Vicky walked ahead, their hands naturally interlacing as they headed toward the private executive elevator. Upstairs, the office was buzzing with post-IPO tension. The company had hired a batch of senior tech interns the previous month, and today was the deadline to process their end-of-term evaluations. Out of seven, only two were being retained. I took my resignation letter, slid it inside the thick stack of intern termination forms, and walked straight into the HR manager’s office. The manager glanced at the top sheet, assumed I was simply dropping off the department paperwork, and signed the bottom of the stack without flipping through the back pages. Handing the folder back, he smiled warmly. "You and Kyle are truly Vicky’s left and right hands, Joel. The company couldn't run without you guys." I offered a small, polite smile and said nothing. 3. At 2:00 PM, my phone buzzed with an incoming text from Vicky. It was a screenshot of two premium seat reservations for a romantic drama playing at the downtown theater tonight. It was her standard apology gesture. Deep down, she knew that the firm’s upcoming product roadmap relied entirely on the next-generation microchip design sitting locked inside my private server. "We haven't seen a movie together in ages," her text read. "Let’s go tonight after work." I stared at the screen for a moment, then typed back: "Engineering is light tonight. I’ll head over straight from the office and wait for you near the theater." I needed a neutral, public venue to hand her the divorce papers. When 6:00 PM rolled around, I stood near the glass doors of the building and watched Vicky walk out to the parking lot. Kyle walked beside her, sliding comfortably into her passenger seat once again. A minute later, my phone pinged. "Something urgent came up at the office. Go ahead to the theater and wait for me inside." I didn't bother going to the theater. Instead, I took a cab straight to a family law firm downtown, met with a senior partner, and spent an hour finalizing the draft of our divorce petition. By the time I walked back toward the cinema district, the movie Vicky had picked was already halfway over. She always dragged me to melodramatics I hated, forcing me to sit through two hours of contrived angst just to keep her company. I bought a single ticket for a sci-fi indie playing in the adjacent screen, watched it in peaceful solitude, ate a quiet dinner at a noodle bar, and headed home. While taking off my coat in the hallway, I opened my social feed. Kyle had posted a photo half an hour ago. The background was an upscale candlelit steakhouse. High-end ribeyes, two glasses of vintage Pinot Noir, and two hands clasped tightly across the white linen tablecloth. Though only the hands were visible, I recognized her manicured fingers instantly, along with the thin gold bracelet I had bought her for our first anniversary—the one she usually kept hidden in her jewelry box. Caption: "Real love goes both ways. Thank you, baby, for the incredible surprise gift tonight." A few minutes later, the front door unlocked. Vicky walked in, carrying a crisp, glossy shopping bag. "I bought you a designer necktie while I was out," she said, tossing the bag onto the entry table with a practiced smile. "See if you like it." Whenever she canceled plans or stepped over a boundary, she bought me a random gift to smooth it over. In the past, I would pretend to be overwhelmed with gratitude, carefully storing the item away like a prized trophy, eager to prove that her breadcrumbs were enough to keep me happy. She was used to the routine. "Just leave it in the closet," I said calmly, stepping past her. Her smile vanished, replaced by an instant flash of heat. "Joel! I know I had to raincheck on the movie, but I went out of my way to buy you something nice! What is with this cold attitude?" I stopped, turning back to look at the bag. "Vicky, did that tie come free with a minimum purchase at the boutique?" Her face flushed crimson. Her eyes widened in sharp, defensive anger. "What the hell are you talking about?!" In the past, I never cared about the price tag of her gifts because I treated every gesture as proof that she cared. But my phone had just buzzed with an email from my attorney containing the final PDF of the divorce settlement. I didn't even look up as I unlocked my screen. "The tag on the silk lining says "GIFT WITH PURCHASE - NOT FOR RESALE"," I said evenly. "You can keep Kyle’s leftover freebies. I don't want them." "Joel Callahan! Who do you think you are?!" she hissed, her voice rising to a sharp pitch. "You spend all day rotting in that dim laboratory—what do you know about luxury? I was nice enough to bring you back a luxury accessory, and you’re turning your nose up at it? If you don't want it, fine!" I didn't argue. I turned on my heel and walked into the guest study, shutting the door behind me. Once you decide to leave a marriage, the words that used to tear your heart apart lose every bit of their power. I stayed in the study all night. Vicky never came to knock on the door. 4. Vicky left the house early the next morning without a word. I drove to the law firm, picked up the printed physical copies of the divorce agreement, and tucked them neatly inside my leather briefcase before heading to the office. My morning was spent doing quiet handovers with my core engineering team. Vicky was deliberately avoiding my floor, trying to use her old silent-treatment tactic to make me feel isolated so I would come groveling back to her. At noon, I walked down to the executive cafeteria for a quick bite. I had no intention of causing a scene, but as fate would have it, Vicky and Kyle were already sitting at the center booth. "Eat more, sweetie," Kyle purred loudly, peeling a steamed prawn and pressing it directly to Vicky’s lips. "You’ve been working way too hard." Vicky blushed softly, taking the bite while several junior staff members at adjacent tables watched with exaggerated swoons. "Vicky and Kyle are honestly couple goals," a young analyst near me whispered loudly. "They’re so affectionate, even in the middle of the office!" Vicky caught the remark and gave a self-conscious laugh. "Kyle just knows my stomach gets sensitive when I’m stressed. He makes sure I actually eat." When we first got married, Vicky was drinking heavily to win over early angel investors. Every night she came home sick, I would stay up until 2:00 AM preparing hot ginger broth and soothing rice porridge to heal her lining. Later, after my patents secured our first major institutional funding, she didn't have to drink anymore. But I still cooked tailored, gut-friendly meals for her every single day. I ate my salad in complete silence, my eyes fixed on my plate. Kyle wasn't satisfied with my lack of drama. He turned his head and called out with an overly bright smile, "Oh, hey, Joel! I didn't see you sitting there!" The table’s attention snapped to me. The analyst who had been swooning earlier gave me an awkward grin. "Joel! You’re pretty much the last single guy left in senior management. What’s your type? What kind of girl are you looking for?" I set my fork down, matching her cheerful tone. "Honestly? I’m open. Do you have any nice, single friends you could introduce me to?" The analyst beamed. "Definitively! I have a few great friends from business school—I’ll send you their profiles tonight!" Across the table, Vicky’s face turned instantly thunderous. Her knuckles turned white around her glass of water as she glared at me. I stood up, cleared my tray, and walked out without looking back. ... By mid-afternoon, a crucial cross-departmental compliance file needed Vicky’s signature. I took the folder and walked up to the executive suite. I knocked firmly on her door. No response. The heavy oak door was resting slightly ajar. Assuming she had stepped out for a meeting, I pushed it open to leave the folder on her desk. The sight inside made my blood run cold. Vicky was sitting directly on Kyle’s lap on the leather sofa behind her desk. Her skirt was pulled high above her thighs, her neck flushed red, her blouse half-unbuttoned. Even though I had already checked out of this marriage emotionally, the sheer, visceral indignity of the visual hit me like a physical punch to the chest. "Vicky," I said, my voice shaking slightly with disgust. "You are truly vile." I slammed the heavy compliance folder onto the floor. The loud crack echoed through the room as I turned to leave. "Joel! Wait! It’s not what it looks like!" Vicky scrambled up, her hands wildly trying to adjust her clothes. "Not what it looks like?" I turned back, staring at her with cold contempt. "Then enlighten me, Vicky. What exactly are you two doing on your office sofa during market hours?" She flushed, stammering for an explanation, but Kyle smoothed down his tie and cut in with a sneering grin. "Why are you acting so high and mighty, Joel?" Kyle said, stepping in front of her. "If you were actually capable of satisfying her in bed, do you really think Vicky would be coming to me?" Kyle had been at this company for three months. For those exact three months, Vicky had used every excuse in the book—stress, migraines, late-night deck prep—to keep me from touching her. I had thought she was exhausted. I had tried to be gentle, patient, and understanding. My patience had simply given her the room to mess around with her assistant behind my back. I reached into my briefcase, pulled out the thick stack of legal paper, and slapped it onto her desk. "Vicky," I said cleanly. "We’re getting a divorce."
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "560136", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel