As she spoke, she lunged for my phone, as if ready to type out my resignation email herself.
I sidestepped, dodging her grasp.
Looking at the two people who were supposed to be closest to me, who now looked like two greedy beasts, I felt suffocated.
A chill settled deep in my heart.
Franklin wasn't like this before we were married.
He would play the piano for me at Lincoln Center and whisper gently that he would always support my career and my dreams.
But after we got married, especially after my career took off and completely overshadowed his, everything changed.
He became sensitive, paranoid, and increasingly unable to tolerate the fact that I was more successful than him.
"Enough!"
Franklin grabbed his hysterical mother, his chilling gaze fixed on me.
"Ava, I'm giving you one last chance."
He spoke each word slowly, as if forcing them through his teeth.
"Resign voluntarily by this Friday."
"Otherwise, don't blame me for what I do next."
With that, he dragged the still-sputtering Sharon into the bedroom and slammed the door.
I was left alone in the living room.
Alone with the shattered, now-dull trophy on the floor.
So much for our love.
Fine. I was curious to see what he'd do.
For the next few days, a strange calm settled over the house.
Franklin and Sharon no longer mentioned my resignation, nor did they pressure me to stop taking my pills.
They even offered me smiles I hadn't seen in a long time.
Sharon prepared elaborate, exquisite meals every day, fussing over me with questions about my well-being.
Franklin started coming home from work earlier than usual to embrace me and even help with some chores.
But I knew that beneath this placid surface, a massive storm was brewing.
On Thursday afternoon, I was in my office, putting the final touches on the proposal for the city art museum's final bid.
This was the firm's most important project of the year, and I was in complete charge of it.
Franklin walked in carrying a latte, an obsequious smile on his face.
"Darling, you're working so hard. Have a latte and take a break."
He placed the coffee next to my hand, his gaze sweeping over my laptop screen as if by accident.
"Is this your design for the art museum? It looks like an absolutely stunning piece of work."
I instinctively moved the mouse, switching away from the half-rendered image of the core structure.
"Mm, it's almost done."
"Don't work too hard, baby."
He leaned down and kissed my cheek, but as he pulled away, his hand "trembled," and the entire latte spilled across my laptop.
"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed.
I shot up from my seat, while he made a great show of grabbing tissues and fumbling to clean up the mess.
"You go get some dry paper towels from the breakroom! I've got this!" he urged.
Alarm bells went off in my head, but I pretended to be anxious and hurried towards the breakroom. I stopped at the doorway, however, watching him in the reflection of the frosted glass.
I saw him sit down in my chair, making no effort to wipe the computer at all.
Instead, he quickly took out his own phone and, using the brief window of my unlocked screen, Airdropped an encrypted design folder to his device.
The entire process was seamless, taking less than thirty seconds.
He deftly deleted the transfer history, restored my screen to its previous state, and only then did he pick up a tissue and start nonchalantly wiping the desk.
My stomach plummeted.
So he really was plotting against me.
I immediately returned to my desk and carefully checked my computer, but I couldn't find anything out of the ordinary.
No files had been moved, and there were no strange transfer logs.
What on earth was he planning to do?
A deep sense of unease washed over me.
Before I could sort out my thoughts, the internal line rang.
It was the voice of the president's secretary, her tone grave.
"Ava, Mr. Davies would like to see you in his office immediately."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
The trap was about to spring.
