To help my husband, Ryan Whitaker, compete for the director position, I spend an entire month securing the sale of a luxury apartment worth tens of millions of dollars.

On the day the contract is signed, Ryan hands the primary contract to Lucinda Brooks, a new employee who has just joined the company.

When I demand an explanation, his eyes flicker with guilt.

Still, he argues, "Lucinda studied abroad. She is more academically accomplished than you, and her Iridian is better. The client happens to have a foreign business partner, so it'll be smoother if she takes the lead on the signing."

As he speaks, he wraps an arm around my shoulders, expecting me to compromise like I always do.

But this time, I don't smile but continue to pull a long face.

That very afternoon, I submit my resignation letter and hand over every core client under my management.

Ryan is furious as he tears up the resignation letter and mocks me. "When I married you, I didn't even care that you only graduated from high school. Why are you picking a fight with a newcomer now?"

I laugh.

It's true that I don't have an impressive educational background, but he's forgotten one most crucial thing.

I didn't earn my title as the company's sales champion through academic credentials.

When Ryan Whitaker tore my resignation letter into pieces, I didn't immediately rush to pacify him like I used to. Instead, I felt completely spent.

Over the years, he had used my education against me more times than I could count.

Ryan and I were childhood sweethearts, raised in the same small town, but I was practically raised by the neighborhood.

When we were kids, he would always sneak food out to me.

Whether it was his mom's fresh pastries or the candy his dad brought back from the city, he would always split it right down the middle with me.

We officially started dating during his freshman year of college, and that was the happiest time of my life.

Then, his dad suddenly fell ill.

The medical bills quickly snowballed into hundreds of thousands of dollars, completely crushing a family that never had much to begin with.

I still remember that winter night.

He was crouched in the hospital corridor, his eyes red-rimmed and his voice raw as he said to me, "Hannah, I'm dropping out. I have to find a job right now. I can't lose my dad!"

I was so angry that I didn't speak to him for days.

Later, I secretly handled my own withdrawal from school and started working around the clock to scrape together the money for his dad's treatment.

I didn't tell him because I knew he would never agree to it.

My advisor spent hours trying to talk me out of it, reminding me of how hard I had worked to earn my spot in college.

I told her it was fine and that I wasn't cut out for college anyway.

The truth was, I was lying. My grades were exceptional, but I was broke.

From that day on, as an orphan with no one to rely on, I worked day and night doing laundry, washing dishes, hand-delivering flyers, and running food deliveries.

The blisters on my hands would rupture and reform, and the skin on my shoulders was rubbed raw.

During the summer, when temperatures hit 104 degrees Fahrenheit, I would get heatstroke on my delivery routes. I'd just chug a couple of energy shots and keep pushing through.

In the winter, with temperatures dropping well below freezing, I would wash dishes at restaurants until my hands were red and swollen.

I worked three jobs a day, scraped together enough money to cover the medical bills, then kept pinching pennies to put him through college.

Meanwhile, my own education permanently ended with a high school diploma.

For the past six years, I practically killed myself working in real estate sales.

I drank until I suffered a gastric ulcer, secured 13 separate top-performer titles, and became widely recognized as the undisputed closer in the industry.

I never once threw my dropping out in his face, and I certainly never tried to use that old favor to hold him hostage.

But when Ryan was promoted to director, he began treating my lack of a degree like a weapon to hold over my head.

"Who exactly are you giving the cold shoulder to?"

When he realized I had fallen silent, Ryan's brow furrowed. He then rephrased his stance, just like he always did whenever we fought.

"I know you're upset, but Lucinda has studied abroad. When we host foreign investors, her presence provides the company with a good impression.

"We're husband and wife. What's mine is yours. Is it really worth throwing a tantrum over a measly commission?"

She provided the company with a good impression?

I sneered inwardly.

Oh, he certainly needed to make himself look good.

Whenever major clients visited the office, he would deliberately assign me to run errands. Those clients drove cars worth millions of dollars, and I wouldn't even get the chance to meet them.

Once, I happened to cross paths with a client at the lobby, struck up a conversation, and closed the deal right then and there.

When Ryan found out, he was not only unhappy, but he also gave me a massive lecture, claiming that going over his head to reach out to clients was against company rules.

Whenever senior executives came over to our house for dinner, he would claim he didn't want me to feel awkward since I didn't know anything about fine wine and suggest I go out to eat by myself.

Whenever he bought clothes for me, he never bought evening wear, casually claiming I lacked the elegance to pull it off.

At one point, I finally hit my limit and confronted him. "Are you really that terrified that I'm going to embarrass you?"

He brushed it off like it was nothing. "You're overthinking it. I just think you look much more comfortable in casual clothes."

He claimed it didn't matter, but in reality, he found it embarrassing to have a wife with nothing more than a high school diploma.

"You're right. She definitely makes the company look good."

I didn't have the energy to argue anymore. Refusing to back down like I usually did, I turned on my heel and left.

"Hannah!" Ryan called after me, his tone suddenly softening.

"My college classmates are having a reunion tonight. You've been pulling all-nighters for days, so just head straight home after work and get some rest, okay?"

Look at that. Even now, his only priority was saving face.

There had been several times when he had gatherings with his college crowd, and he would always suggest that I stay home and rest.

I used to be naive enough to be touched by it, believing he was just looking out for my well-being.

Now, I finally understood.

He was just mortified by the idea of bringing a high school-educated sales rep around his classmates who had studied abroad.

"Okay," I said.

I didn't bother calling him out and left.

After work, I went back to our sprawling mansion.

I had bought this place entirely with the hard-earned commissions I made from entertaining clients and working myself to the bone selling properties.

The down payment alone had wiped out three full years of my savings, and the mortgage ran over 20,000 dollars a month.

Back when we were still in our hometown, Ryan used to envy people who owned houses like this.

I remembered that, and I made it happen.

But standing here in this empty living room, all I felt was a chill.

I took a shower and was heading out to grab a bite to eat. While putting on my shoes at the entryway, I noticed a bottle of gastro medication sitting on top of the shoe rack.

Ryan had a terrible stomach. Whenever he drank, it flared up so badly he would break out in a cold sweat. He never went anywhere without these pills.

He must've been in such a rush to leave today that he forgot them.

I stared at the bottle, my hand hovering in mid-air.

When we first started in the industry, he began drinking with clients every single day. I had told him not to push himself so hard, but he refused to listen, insisting he could handle it.

One night, he downed over half a pint of hard liquor and threw up the second he came home.

Then, the stomach pains hit. Ryan was drenched in sweat from the pain and curled up on the couch.

That night, I crouched outside the emergency room, unable to stop crying.

After debating with myself, I finally picked up the bottle of medicine, hailed a taxi, and headed toward the restaurant where his reunion was being held.

I didn't plan on crashing the party. My plan was simply to drop the pills off at the front desk and text him to come down and pick them up.

But as I walked past a partially open private room, the roaring laughter echoing from inside made me freeze in my tracks.

"Hey, isn't your Millie getting promoted again? She's making two million a year now. That's incredible!"

"Oh, please. It's nothing compared to your wife. She got her master's degree abroad and is currently employed at a state-owned enterprise."

It was Ryan's old classmates, aggressively sizing each other up.

Standing out in the hallway listening to them, I found the whole display completely meaningless.

Suddenly, someone turned the conversation toward Ryan, their tone dripping with subtle mockery.

"Ryan, what happened to that wife of yours? You know, the one who dropped out of school to work for you? Why isn't she here tonight?"

The corners of my mouth tugged into a smile outside the door.

Ryan had dragged me to one of his reunions once, and I had overheard two people talking in the restroom.

"Why on earth would Ryan marry a woman like that? She barely finished high school. What does he even see in her?"

I hadn't told Ryan back then because I didn't want him to be stuck in an awkward position.

This time, I assumed Ryan would brush it off like he usually did, or at least attempt to smooth things over for me.

Instead, a brief silence stretched through the room before his voice drifted out, light and completely unbothered.

"Don't bring her up. We divorced ages ago. We move in completely different social circles. We couldn't make it work."

Those words felt like a slap to my face.

Divorced ages ago? When on earth had we gotten a divorce?

Just this morning, he was calling me his wife, but by nightfall, I was someone he had "divorced ages ago."

"Oh, my God. You got divorced? Then who are you with now?"

His classmates gasped, their voices instantly alive with curiosity.

"Let me introduce her."

Ryan's voice rang out again, laced with a hint of pride. "This is Lucinda Brooks. She holds a master's degree from an international university, and she is… my new wife."

The room erupted.

"Wow! You sure are sneaky, Ryan!"

"I knew it. I was wondering why you brought such a stunning woman tonight. Turns out you traded up a long time ago!"

Just then, Lucindia spoke in fluent Iridian. She said something to the server, apparently ordering a replacement bottle of red wine.

The server responded with absolute deference.

I looked through the crack in the door.

Lucinda was leaning her head casually against Ryan's shoulder, and Ryan was looking down at her with a tender smile plastered across his face.

All of a sudden, I felt like the past six years of my life had been an utter joke.

I genuinely believed that all the hardship and suffering I endured had been worth it.

I honestly thought he was different from the rest of them, that he would never look down on my education, and that he would never care about my background.

But they were all the same.

He was just a lot better at playing the part and managed to keep the mask on a little bit longer.

I walked to the end of the hallway and threw the bottle of medication into the trash.

Ryan didn't come home for the rest of the night.

I tried calling him three times, but nobody picked up, and I was terrified he might have had an accident while drunk.

We had been together for six years, and despite the resentment, some part of me still cared.

I grabbed my car keys and drove back to the restaurant, only to find that the party had already split up.

I flagged down a server and asked her where the man in the black shirt from that private room had gone.

She thought about it for a second. "Oh, he was drunk. His girlfriend had to help him out of here."

"His girlfriend?"

"Yeah, the pretty one in the dress," the server said, wiping down a table. "She was supporting him, and he leaned down to kiss her before they headed to the underground parking lot. He couldn't even walk straight, so she was completely holding him up."

That couldn't have been anyone else but Lucinda.

"Thanks," I said, turning around and walking out of the restaurant.

The night air was freezing, cutting across my face like a knife.

I got into my car and sat there for a while, the stereo blasting all of his favorite songs.

It suddenly hit me that the last time he and I had actually shared a ride in this car was over two weeks ago.

Maybe he had stopped being my Ryan a long time ago.

…

The next morning, the office was a lot livelier than usual.

"Hey, did you see that? Lucinda rolled up in Mr. Whitaker's car. They came up from the parking lot together, and she was even carrying his coat!"

"Oh, my goodness. Is Lucinda sleeping her way to the top? No wonder she made manager in less than six months."

"He literally handed her Hannah's multi-million dollar deal yesterday after Hannah spent a month chasing it down. Could he be any more obvious?"

"Where does that leave Hannah then? Has she fallen out of favor?"

A female coworker dropped her voice to a whisper. "But honestly, even if Hannah doesn't have a fancy degree, she has way more of a presence than Lucinda."

"Right? Hannah is a top performer. Is Mr. Whitaker blind?"

I heard every word.

To my coworkers, Ryan and I were nothing more than a boss and his subordinate.

Because the company's hiring policy required a bachelor's degree minimum, Ryan had forced me to keep our relationship secret from the start. It was to mask my high school education and to protect his image as a director.

Of course, people weren't completely blind, and the rumors flew anyway.

Everyone whispered behind my back, constantly questioning if I was sleeping with Ryan for promotions.

Some said I was gorgeous, some said I was highly capable, and some guessed we were messing around, but not a single soul ever guessed that I was actually his legal wife.

In the past, for the sake of Ryan and his reputation, I had walked on eggshells at the company, watching my boundaries when texting male clients and refusing to ever grab a solo lunch with male coworkers.

Looking back now, I reckon he never cared one bit.

Just then, Ryan's assistant, Robert Ashwick, walked over and tapped on my desk. "Hannah, Mr. Whitaker wants to see you in his office."

I hit enter to save my document, stood up, and walked over.

Pushing the office door open, I found Ryan lounging in his chair, sipping coffee and looking rather refreshed.

He set his mug down and cut straight to the chase. "I need you to hand over a few of your Tier A clients to Lucinda so she can get some practice. Make sure you show her the ropes."