I worked super hard during Cyber Monday and pulled in 20 million dollars in sales, only for my wife, Chelsea Abbott, to credit it to her childhood sweetheart, who had just returned from studying overseas.

I was so furious that I confronted her, but she clung to Donald Dixon's arm and said righteously, "Donald just got back, and he doesn't have a solid footing yet. What's wrong with my helping him establish some authority? Are you really going to argue with me over this?"

I swallowed it.

But at the year-end conference, Donald actually pointed right at my face in front of the entire company and yelled, "I produced these results myself. You're just a deadweight living off your wife. You don't even deserve to be here! Keeping parasites like you in the company is a total waste of resources!"

My performance was used to build his reputation, and this was how he repaid me?

I turned to look at Chelsea, but she didn't even spare me a glance. Instead, she announced to everyone, "Donald's right. The industry's moving fast, and Will really can't keep up anymore. Starting tomorrow, all of his responsibilities will be taken over by Donald!"

Faced with everyone's eager, gossipy stares, I didn't make a scene.

Last night, the industry leader the company had been desperate to flatter just sent me an offer letter.

Since Chelsea was determined to fight side by side with her childhood sweetheart, this was where we would end.

"See that, Will? I'm the top sales performer now! The company doesn't need you anymore."

Donald Dixon turned to my sales team, his eyes full of contempt.

"From today on, all of you report directly to me. I guarantee great benefits. Your bonuses will be way better than sticking with this loser!"

The 20 million dollars in sales I earned with blood and sweat became his bragging rights.

Even my own wife, Chelsea Abbott, was staring at Donald with complete focus.

My heart felt like it was being slowly crushed.

It took me a long time before I spoke to Chelsea.

"So you agree with this? I don't care about the numbers anymore. I won't argue over the profit share. I just want to ask. If you fire me, who's paying back the final 60 thousand dollars?"

Seven years ago, Chelsea's family business went under. Her father jumped from a building, leaving behind millions of dollars in debt.

I brought Chelsea into the company and used my own performance to push her into a vice president role with a seven-figure annual salary. I even handed over most of my paycheck and ate boxed lunches that cost a few dollars, all to help her pay off the debt.

The day the debt was reduced to just 60 thousand, Chelsea hugged me tightly in our rented apartment, crying until my collar was soaked.

She said that once the debt was paid off, we would go to Cratesisle and make up for our wedding.

Holding onto that promise, I worked myself to the bone and delivered a record 20 million sales, planning to clear the debt with the dividends.

Yet… Chelsea handed it all over to Donald instead.

She paused for a bit, then told me, "Once the year-end bonus comes in, it'll be covered."

Donald wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Her body stiffened for a split second, but she didn't push him away.

"I'm just sending you home for a while so you can rest. Don't overthink it," she went on. "And everyone can see it. Donald brought in 20 million. That's more than enough to take over…"

"That's nonsense!"

Tommy Foster, the hottest-tempered guy on the team, suddenly shot to his feet.

"Will achieved that 20-million-dollar sales, working day and night with us! How could you side with an outsider on this? Don't you have any shame?"

"Hey, Tommy," Roger Strickland cut in. "The numbers speak for themselves."

His eyes flicked back and forth as he took in Chelsea and Donald holding each other. His tone was smooth and ingratiating.

"Will just couldn't keep up with the market and got overtaken by Donald. Looks like we'll all be learning a few sales tricks from him going forward."

Tommy couldn't hold back his anger. "To hell with Donald! Roger, have you forgotten who's been cleaning up your messes at work? And now, you're turning on Will. How low can you get?"

Last quarter, Roger missed his targets, and I took the pressure to keep him around.

Now, he had completely betrayed me, eager to step on my back to pledge loyalty to Donald.

Roger snapped back at Tommy, "Who do you think you are? Work is about results! Will's finished. If you keep following him, you'll be starving in no time!"

It was hard to hear, but it was the truth nonetheless.

I appreciated Tommy standing up for me, but I didn't want to drag others down with me.

I patted Tommy's shoulder, trying to calm him down, then looked straight at Chelsea.

"Are you sure about this? Are you really going to push me out for Donald?"

Chelsea and I had been friends for two years before dating for another two.

We had been married for three years. To pay off her debt, we never held a wedding. Through it all, I never once complained.

Could she really throw away a seven-year relationship just for someone who had been back in the country for a few months?

I still held on to one last shred of hope.

Yet, Chelsea stayed silent for a long time. Then, she pulled a document out of her bag and handed it to me.

"I already wrote your resignation letter for you. Sign it and go home. When the year-end bonus comes in, I'll take you to Cratesisle."

Even after everything, Chelsea really wanted me to step aside for Donald.

"Do you really think this is what I've been killing myself for all these years at this company?" I clenched my fists, my voice rising despite myself.

Right then, Donald shoved my shoulder and shot me a challenging look.

"That's enough! For Chelsea's sake, get your people here and apologize to me. Then we'll let this slide. Otherwise, forget about bonuses for your entire team. And another thing. Your team's been way too dependent on your personal clients. That's unhealthy. We can't let you control all the resources. Organize all your client information ASAP. Before you leave, hand it over to my assistant. I'll decide who takes over."

He was stripping me of everything, even my last foundation.

"I don't agree!" I growled.

"I'm the owner of this company. Do what he says. Finish the handover by this afternoon at the latest," Chelsea shot back unhappily.

She paused, her gaze flickering away.

"Donald's doing this for the company's good. Stop forming cliques. Quit thinking only about your own gains and losses."

Those words slowly made my heart go cold.

And they instantly ignited the anger of the entire sales department.

"Is this a joke?! Clients are a salesperson's lifeblood! Forcing Will to hand over everything he's built to Donald is basically cutting us off at the knees," Tommy snarled.

He had just sat down, but he shot back to his feet, his eyes red now.

"We followed him because he taught us how to make money, not like some clueless parachute hire who doesn't know a damn thing!" he roared.

"Watch your mouth when you talk about Donald!" Roger snapped.

Barely containing his frustration, he finally seized the chance to strike back. He stood up, pointed at Tommy, and began to shout.

"You ungrateful idiot! That wine-and-gifts approach is ancient history. This is the age of data, analytics, and precision marketing. That's Donald's game. I've known for a while that Will's approach was the real problem. That's why my numbers never went up, and I was almost fired. If you morons want to keep clinging to him, then be my guest and go down with him!"

The truth was, Roger was lazy and sloppy. He talked down to people and drove off several female clients, ruining his own reputation.

I had to keep swallowing my pride, apologizing over and over, and lowering myself to beg just to keep those clients from jumping to competitors.

And now, somehow, it became my fault that he nearly got fired.

"Who the hell do you think you are, telling Will to get lost?" Tommy snapped.

Blood rushed to his head, and he finally couldn't hold back. He swung a punch straight at Roger's face.

Roger fought back immediately. The two of them tangled together, and the scene spiraled out of control.

Documents, keyboards, and coffee cups were knocked off desks, scattering everywhere.

The guys from Team A rushed over to break it up, but Donald's people boxed them in, shoving and shouting. The entire floor erupted in chaos.

"Enough! Stop it right now!" I yelled.

Without thinking, I rushed straight into the middle of the fight, trying to pull Tommy and Roger apart.

I couldn't let my friends take the fall because of me.

But in the chaos, Roger's eyes went wild. He grabbed a heavy-duty stapler off the desk and swung it at Tommy's head with everything he had.

"Watch out!"

My vision narrowed. Instinct kicked in, and I threw myself forward, raising my arm to shield Tommy. The metal prongs of the stapler drove straight into my forearm.

Roger yanked it back. Blood immediately soaked through my sleeve.

The pain was blinding. Cold sweat broke out all over me. My arm went numb, as if it wasn't even part of my body anymore.

The fight stopped instantly. Everyone stared at my arm in horror.

Chelsea froze as well. She looked at the wound, panic flickering across her face.

For a second, I thought she would say something. Anything.

But she didn't.

"Will, do you really have to take it this far?"

Her cold, disappointed gaze cut deeper than the metal ever did.

"It's Donald's first day as sales director, and you lead your people into a group fight just to send him a message? Are you trying to turn the company upside down?"

My guys only snapped because they were furious that I was being shortchanged. But to her, I was the one deliberately stirring things up and starting a brawl.

"Donald provoked us first," I said. "Chelsea, you only see who threw the first punch. Didn't you see Roger grabbing office equipment and trying to hurt someone with it?"

I stared at her, disbelief setting in.

But Donald leaned against her shoulder, his face full of grievance.

"Chels, this is on me," he said softly. "I just stepped into the sales director role and wanted to tighten things up a little. I didn't expect everyone to be so used to listening to your husband that they'd resent me this much. I guess that's why things got out of hand…"

His voice trailed off, but my mind snagged on one word.

Chels.

She once told me that once her debt was finally paid off, she would give herself to me.

I respected her boundaries and never pushed. We treated each other with careful restraint.

Even at the office, we addressed each other formally. Even when we ate together in the cafeteria, we kept our distance.

And now Donald was calling her Chels, leaning against her shoulder.

Meanwhile, I stood there bleeding, a complete wreck.

"Will, you're being too impulsive," Chelsea said, frowning at me. "Donald has a stronger educational background and overseas experience. He understands the market better than you. Out of jealousy, you caused all this trouble and slowed down my ability to make money. The handover's delayed again. Go get your arm treated. When you're back, send him all the materials he asked for."

Blood dripped from my fingertips onto the floor. Yet, it still didn't come close to the pain in my chest.

Seven years.

To pay off her debt, I hadn't had a meal that cost more than ten dollars in years.

My newest clothes were five years old, worn again and again, just to make do.

And in the end, all she cared about was whether Donald's work was running smoothly. For his sake, she even wanted me out of the way.

Watching how firmly she protected him, I suddenly laughed.

So the Cratesisle sunshine and the wedding plans were nothing but a fantasy.

Now, that fantasy was over.

It was time for me to leave.

"Alright," I said hoarsely. "I'll do everything exactly the way you want."

-

By the time my arm was treated at the hospital, it was already late at night.

On impulse, I didn't go home. I drove back to the office instead.

On my desk sat the photo of myself and Chelsea, crying with happiness, the day she accepted my proposal. I wanted to take it with me, to bury these ridiculous seven years for good.

The office was pitch-dark, except for the light still on in the CEO's office.

Wanting to say a final goodbye to Chelsea, I walked up to the door and reached for the handle.

That was when I heard her voice, trembling with tears and something indistinct underneath.

"Donald, don't. We can't do this…"

My hand froze in midair.