Elena turned, the silk of her dress rustling—a sound that felt too loud in the sudden, suffocating silence.
“The narrative?” she said. “Marcus, I’m your wife. I supported you when Sterling Inc. was nothing but a laptop and a rented desk.”
“And that was appropriate then,” Marcus replied, checking his reflection in the hallway mirror as he adjusted his custom cufflinks. “But we’re on the verge of merging with Helios. It’s a four-billion-dollar acquisition. I need a partner who projects power, lineage, and sophistication. Not… this.”
He gestured vaguely at her, then toward the potted plants on the balcony.
“You’re too small, Elena. You’re a gardener’s daughter. It sticks to you. You smell like dirt and mediocrity.”
The insult to her father—Arthur, a man with calloused hands and a heart of gold—hurt more than the divorce papers lying on the marble table.
“I’m offering you a deal,” Marcus continued, tossing a thick envelope onto the table beside the decree. “Fifty thousand dollars. A clean break. You move out by morning. I have a Vogue photo shoot here on Thursday and I need the space cleared.”
