This was my so-called husband, who was the CEO of a company.

My father had been struggling on the brink of life and death, yet I failed to get 10 thousand dollars from my husband to save him..

His little assistant had only acted coy for a moment, and he decided to spend a million dollars on her.

I stared at the photos, my heart aching to the core.

After a long while, I finally heard the nurse urging me from the side. "Ms. Jackson, which type of stent are you choosing? If this drags on any longer, the patient may be in danger."

I raised my head and looked through the glass window at my father's body, curled up in pain.

"Let’s use the imported stents. I'll have the deposit in place immediately."

The moment I signed my name, I felt as though I was left with absolutely no dignity at all.

I let out a self-mocking, bitter smile.

Cameron, in three years of marriage, I had drawn hundreds of design plans for you—each one a cornerstone of the Lister Group's rise.

Yet to you, my father's life wasn’t even worth 10 thousand dollars.

Was my love and dedication really inferior to a little assistant who had only just appeared by your side?

My father's surgery hadn’t gone smoothly, and the post-transplant rejection had been severe. He was transferred to the ICU.

I kept vigil outside the doors all night without sleep.

Early the next morning, I dragged my stiff body back home.

When I pushed the door open, a pair of red-soled high heels lay in the hallway.

In the living room, Cameron was having breakfast.

A fried egg, black coffee, and a freshly delivered financial newspaper.

When he saw me, he furrowed his brows slightly. "Why do you look so disheveled? You're covered in the smell of disinfectant."

I did not change my shoes and walked straight over to sit across from him. "Dad was admitted to the ICU. Things were critical last night."

He continued eating. "People get sick when they're old. I'll have an assistant send a fruit basket over to the ICU. Oh right, you need to revise the design plans for the Summit Project and send them to me by tonight."

This was my husband.

My father's fate was still uncertain, yet all he cared about was my labor output.

"Cameron!" I stared into his eyes! "how much did Wendy's art exhibition cost?"

The knife and fork scraped across the plate with a sharp, grating sound.

He set down the cutlery and wiped his mouth gracefully. "That was a company brand PR activity, meant to establish an image of supporting young artists. The budget was approved by the marketing department. Why, are you auditing the accounts?"

"It was a million dollars," I said coldly. "Brand PR? Since when did the Lister Group start investing in abstract graffiti?"

Cameron's face darkened. "Nina, are you questioning me? Don't forget, you're the company's chief designer and the CEO's wife. Can't your perspective be a little broader? Don't keep staring at such small sums of money."

"Small sums?" I laughed, tears almost spilling out. "My dad was waiting for 10 thousand dollars to save his life. You said company funds were locked up, yet you turned around and gave a million dollars to your little lover for an art exhibition and you still say this is me being small-minded?"

"Nina, watch your mouth!" Cameron slammed the table. "Wendy is a talented newcomer. We need to cultivate her—"

"Talent?" I cut him off. "Drawing a few circles and irregular triangles counts as talent? Then what were all those design blueprints I worked on day and night? Waste paper?"

Cameron stood up and looked down at me from above, his eyes full of disappointment. "You’ve changed, Nina. You weren't this mercenary before. Is it because I've been too busy lately and didn't take the time to rein you in? That's enough. Take this card and go eat something nice to cool off. The limit is 100 dollars—don't max it out."

He pulled a card out of his wallet and tossed it onto the table as if giving alms.

The door slammed shut with a bang, and Cameron drove away.

I stood in the empty living room, staring at the shopping card with a spending limit of only 100 dollars.

I did not understand how things had come to this.

I had once been a renowned genius architectural designer in the industry, yet at some point I had ended up living like a parasitic vine that could only survive by clinging to him.

I was even subjected to his strict control when it came to spending the money I had earned through my own hard work.

I turned and walked into the study.

Cameron had been an extremely cautious person, and he had a safe at home where he kept the company's core secrets for the past few years.

He thought I didn’t know the password.

Because to him, I had been a foolish woman who only knew how to draw plans and understood nothing about numbers or corporate operations.

But he had forgotten that I was an architect.

My sensitivity to numbers had quickly allowed me to discover that the password was *#0826.

I had always thought the password would be our wedding anniversary, until I saw that Twitter post yesterday.

I saw the line. [Thank you, Cameron, for your indulgent love. The 1-million-dollar "Wendy Art Exhibition" was the best birthday gift I ever received!]

The symbols *# were Cameron's habit, and 0826 was Wendy's birthday.

I turned the dial, and the safe opened.

Inside lay a thick document, with the cover reading. Asset Transfer and Trust Establishment Plan.

The document was very thick and entirely in Spanish, but it posed no difficulty for me.

I flipped open the first page, and the blood in my body froze instantly.

This had been a meticulously designed trap.

Cameron had been transferring the core assets of the Lister Group—including those parcels of land and my design patents—into the name of an offshore company registered in the Cayman Islands.

And the beneficiary of that offshore company had been listed as Wendy.

What shocked me even more was another document titled. Risk Assumption Agreement for the Summit Project.

In the column for the project's legal representative, the signature was my name.

The land for the Summit Project had serious ownership disputes and might even have involved illegal land use.

Once the scandal broke, I, as the legal representative, would have faced at least ten years in prison.

And he would have taken the assets and his new lover and fled far away.

I clutched the documents in my hands, my knuckles turning white.

So that was it.

No wonder he had kept urging me to produce the drawings, and no wonder he had insisted that I be the person in charge of this project.

It wasn’t that he trusted me—he had planned to squeeze out my last bit of value and then send me to prison.

Buzz—

My phone vibrated with a WhatsApp message from Cameron.

[Are the drawings finished? Wendy said she wants to look at your designs and learn from a senior's thinking. I'll bring her home for dinner tonight—prepare a few dishes.]

He still wanted to see my designs?

He wanted to bring the assistant home for dinner?

And expected me to cook for the woman who had taken a million dollars?

He must have been dreaming.

I took a deep breath, backed up all the documents, uploaded them to an encrypted cloud drive, and then restored the safe to its original state.

In the afternoon, I went to the hospital.

My father had not woken up yet, with many tubes inserted into his body, a sight that made my heart ache.

I sat by the bed, holding his withered hand. "Dad, I'm sorry. I’ve been stupid and failed to see Cameron’s true colors. Don't worry. Your medical expenses, and everything I earned through my own hard work, I’ll make sure he pays me back double."

I went online and sold some of the luxury handbags I had bought, earning more than 10 thousand dollars in total.

I transferred all of this money into the hospital's account and hired the best medical team and private caregivers.

After leaving the hospital, I dialed a number that had long been buried in my contacts.

James Grey, my senior from university, was now a partner at the largest law firm in Jelaston and also the legal advisor to a company that was Cameron's sworn rival.

He picked up almost immediately.

A surprised voice came from the other end of the line. "Nina? Is that you? Ever since you married Cameron, it's like you vanished from the world."

"James, I need a favor," I said, watching the streets streak past outside the car window, my gaze cold.

"Go on."

"Help me investigate an offshore company. Also, I want to initiate property preservation against all of Cameron's personal assets."

James was silent for a moment. "Are there problems in your marriage? This is a major move. Have you thought it through? Cameron is a rising star in the construction industry right now."

"A rising star?" I sneered. "He wouldn't be for much longer."

After hanging up, I drove to the supermarket to buy groceries.

I had decided that I would still cook the final dinner.

Some things needed to be settled face to face, by my own hands.

At seven o'clock in the evening, the doorbell rang right on time.

Cameron stood at the door with Wendy.

Wendy was wearing the haute couture dress I had seen in a magazine, and she carried the limited-edition handbag that I had just sold off at a cheap price.

"Sorry to disturb you, Nina," she said with an innocent smile, though her eyes were full of provocation. "Cameron said your cooking is amazing, even better than a housekeeper's, and insisted on bringing me to have a try it."

Cameron had his arm around her waist, looking completely justified. "Wendy's been exhausted preparing for her art exhibition and needs some nourishment. Is dinner ready?"

I glanced at their intertwined hands and stepped aside. "It's ready. It's all on the table."

The dining room lights were bright.

The dishes were laid out on the table.

Wendy's smile froze. "This..."

"What? You don't like it?" I untied my apron and casually tossed it onto a chair.

"These dishes are filled with the nutrients you need to keep your game up."

The atmosphere immediately became awkward, and Cameron's face darkened. "Nina, have you lost your mind?"

"Lost my mind?"

I pulled out a chair and sat down, pouring myself a glass of plain water.

"Mr. Lister, where was that coming from? Didn't you ask me to prepare the meal? This is what I can offer. If you don’t like it, then you’re free to leave."

Wendy's eyes reddened immediately as she shrank into Cameron's arms. "Cameron, did I do something wrong? Nina seems to hate me... Is it because of that 1 million? I can give the money back..."

It was obvious what Wendy was trying to do.

Cameron patted her back affectionately, then turned to glare at me. "Nina! Apologize to Wendy right now! That 1 million was a company strategic investment. As a senior executive, how can you be so narrow-minded?"

"Strategic investment?"

I took out my phone, opened the screenshot of Wendy's Twitter post, and held it up in front of him.

"Mr. Lister, since when does a strategic investment involve funding an intern's personal art exhibition? And this intern—she's employed for three months, clocked in fewer than 20 days, and her only 'achievement' was grinding coffee and giving you massages in the CEO's office?"