Day after our wedding, Donna had cried about how stressful work was. So I offered her $600K a year, no strings.

By day three, she slapped a divorce agreement on the table.

"Hector, your money's an insult. Might as well just sign this now. You can add your name whenever."

She signed it fast, like she was canceling a subscription.

I freaked. Begged. Apologized. Even slapped myself like a total mess.

While I was spiraling—literally clawing at my scalp—she smacked me a few times through her own tears... then smiled.

"Alright, I'll forgive you."

After that, I walked on eggshells. She said she wanted her own business, so I quietly pumped money into it.

Now she thinks she's made it—boss girl vibes or whatever—and suddenly I'm just some "low-class rich guy" to her.

Since January, she's been tossing around the D-word like confetti. Ninety-nine times in six months.

Staring at that latest divorce text, all I could think about was the $500K she sent him every year, those two months she ghosted, my missing stuff, and that divorce paper she signed eight years ago...

Yeah. Cold chill straight down my spine.

She was hiding way too much.

I was about to shut off my phone when a call came through—Donna.

Background noise was wild, like some drunk party game in a bar. Probably a butt dial.

"Donna and Alec, drink from the same glass!"

"Kiss!"

"Carry her like a princess! Lock them in the dark room—don't come out for an hour! Hope you two finally make your dream come true!"

Then some random girl chimed in, all snarky:

"Who's 1874? Some insurance guy? Ugh, hang up."

Click. End of call.

Pain punched me in the chest. She saved me as '1874'—just the last four digits of my number.

Meanwhile, my phone screen still flashed "Sweetheart."

God, what a joke.

I had work to finish, thought about staying late—but I couldn't focus. So I headed home.

Walked in, couldn't find my slippers. Ended up dragging my dress shoes to the couch.

Then I looked around.

Everything I owned? Gone.

I was still standing there, confused, when Donna walked out of the bedroom and froze.

Last week, she'd hit me with:

"Being with a jobless guy like you is exhausting. I need a husband who actually supports my career. And you? You party all day, then come home to fold laundry and play chef. Can't you just get a REAL job and try for once?"

When I told her I was the CEO of Leandro Corp, she laughed.

"Please. Not even in your dreams. You're lazy. One day you'll blow through your money, and in a few years, you'll be living off ME."

She'd seen me in VIP rooms too many times—probably thought I was just some lucky loser who hit the jackpot once and was riding the wave till it crashed.

And the $600K a year?

"You gave it willingly," she said. "Starting this year, keep it. If you're gonna hold it over my head forever, I'd rather just give it back."

Then she straight-up kicked me out.

"Go stay somewhere else for a week. I need some peace."

A week later, I came home.

Yeah, she clearly didn't expect me back tonight.

Just as I was about to head for the shower, some guy walked out of the bathroom—wearing my bathrobe.

Alec. Of course. The guy she'd been wiring money to for eight years.

Donna rushed over and shoved me aside.

"He's just household staff," she told Alec, all casual. "He's gotten a little too comfortable—ignore him."

Then she yanked me to the couch and forced me to sit.

I had words. They just got stuck.

She brought another man home and downgraded me to the help.

I opened my mouth, but she slid in next to me, all desperate eyes and hushed whispers.

"He's a client. If I land him, it's a huge contract. Running a business as a woman isn't easy. You've never really helped me—just this once, please.

"He spilled something and needed a quick shower, that's all. Don't overthink it.

"And everyone in the industry thinks I'm single. I can't suddenly pop up with a husband."

Her excuses were airtight. Not a crack to slip through.

If I pushed back now, I'd just look petty.

So I dropped my gaze and started replying to urgent work messages.

Then Alec swaggered over, flopped down next to me like he paid the bills.

"Not many guys these days live off a woman's money," he said, full smirk mode.

He slid me a business card.

"Alec Humbert, tech dev at Leandro Corp."

Donna looked at him like he just invented air.

Neither of them had a clue.

Alec didn't know yet—he was too new to realize he just flexed on his CEO.

Donna never gave a damn. Everything was always about her. In her head, I was just that "lucky loser" who hit a $10 million jackpot eight years ago. She never even tried to know me.

She saw my blank face, saw I wasn't reaching for Alec's card, and snapped.

"You're just household staff. Alec giving you his card? That's respect. And now you're acting cocky? There's nothing to clean—just leave."

She shoved me toward the door and slapped a trash bag in my hands.

"Take this out on your way."

Right on top? Two used condoms.

Rage burned through me. I wanted to walk back in and slap the smug off both their faces.

Then Alec picked something up from the table.

"This must be expensive, huh?"

It was my pocket watch. My mom's. The only thing she ever left me. I'd cried over it more times than I could admit.

I polished that thing every day like it was sacred. One scratch and it wrecked me.

And Donna knew that.

She barely looked at me—just a quick, awkward glance.

Then she turned to Alec, all smiles.

"You like it? Then take it. It's useless to me anyway."

The second he slipped it into his bag, I lost it.

I marched over, yanked it from his hands, and punched him—hard. Right in the face.

Then I walked out. Didn't say a word. Didn't need to.

I couldn't spend another second in that house.

I slammed the door behind me, and through it, I heard Donna trying to soothe Alec.

"You can probably tell—he's got a crush on me. He just couldn't handle me giving you something. I've spoiled him too much. I'll fire him tomorrow, promise."

Fuming, I headed back to the office. Then my phone buzzed. Donna.

"Hector, you're so petty. It was just a WATCH. Did you really have to upset my client over that? Do you even KNOW he works at Leandro Corp?

"You're just some broke, low-class rich guy. The people there are elite.

"Of all the people to tick off, you pick HIM? I spent two hours fixing this so they wouldn't pull the contract."

Before, I'd probably say sorry—even when it wasn't my fault.

Now? I just laughed. Cold and quiet.

Leandro Corp had a deal with her company?

Oh right... that contract.

The one expiring tomorrow.

I called my assistant.

"Pull all investment from Donna's company. I'll handle the final meeting myself. And starting now, scale down everything in Fremora. Shift operations back to Carmoria."

Leandro Corp had always been Carmoria-focused. But eight years ago, I dragged the whole company back to Fremora—our home country—just to stay close to her.

Now, I was heading back to Carmoria. For good. Out of Donna's life, permanently.

Then another text popped up.

[Let's get divorced. I'm tired.]

This time, I didn't stop her.

I replied with one word:

[Okay.]

Next morning, I woke up at eight. From my office, I heard yelling outside.

I cracked the door and glanced down—some woman in a wedding dress was proposing to a guy.

I'd stopped believing in love a long time ago. Gave it a glance and turned to head back in.

Then I heard her voice.

I was on the 31st floor. Alec's office was on 29. The three floors had been merged, but still—her voice cut through like glass.

I turned back.

Donna, decked out in white, was down on one knee, holding out a ring.

"Will you marry me?"