Rachel spun around, stunned. "Are you insane? Do you even hear yourself right now? We're just 300 deals away from hitting that $1 billion mark I promised you. Once those payments clear, we're done. If you screw this up now, don't expect a second chance!"

I didn't say a word.

I just walked out.

Back home, just as I was kicking off my shoes, my phone rang.

The second I picked up, my dad's voice exploded through the line. "Aaron, are you out of your mind? How dare you fight with Rachel?!

"Listen to me—right now, this minute—you go apologize to her! You're a grown man, and everything you have is thanks to her. Don't be ungrateful!"

His tone dropped, all weight and pressure. "Rachel's young and beautiful. A woman like that sticking with you for twelve years? That's a damn miracle. Now you've pissed her off—who else is gonna want you?

"It's better to be with someone capable than struggle alone. Go back, say sorry, and get that marriage locked down. Quit stirring up drama.

"Without Rachel, you're nothing!"

I held the phone, finding it all too ridiculous.

Since we started dating, Rachel always knew how to win him over—holiday gifts, cash slipped in here and there. My dad treated her like a saint and never missed a chance to lecture me about staying in line.

Clearly, she'd tossed him another favor, and he came running, barking her script without asking a single thing about what actually happened.

I didn't argue. Didn't explain. Just let him rant, then hung up.

The screen was still lit. I opened the client group chat and typed:

[Hi everyone. I'm planning to leave Sullivan Properties. If you have any real estate needs in the future, feel free to reach out anytime.]

Not even a minute later, the chat blew up:

[Wait—you're leaving?? What about our place? I only trust you. If it's someone else, I'm not signing.]

[Nooo way. We picked Sullivan because of your professionalism. If you're out, we're out too.]

[Wherever you go, just drop the name. We're following.]

[My deal's not final yet—don't move without me. Just tell me what to do.]

One message after another came pouring in—no doubts, just trust. Just support.

Twelve years of giving everything meant nothing to Rachel.

But the people I helped? They remembered.

Turns out, it's not that real effort always gets overlooked—it's that Rachel was never worth it.

I wiped my eyes and replied in the group:

[Thank you all for your understanding and support. Once I finalize my next move, I'll let you know right away.]

***

Reading those messages, the tightness in my chest finally started to ease.

Right then, a text popped up from an unknown number—tagged from a headhunting firm.

[Mr. Lawson, we've been following your reputation in the industry. We heard you're planning to leave your current role. We'd like to invite you to consider a position with one of our partner companies—twice your current salary, and you choose the role. Would you be open to a conversation?]

I replied:

[Let's talk later.]

Then shut off my phone.

I didn't sleep a second, but I wasn't even tired.

Next morning, I showed up right on time. Didn't bother with the stares—just headed straight to my desk to pack.

Victor strolled up, fake-concern mode activated.

"Aaron, can't you take a joke? It was just some toilet duty. Why'd you go and tell Ms. Sullivan you're quitting? No need to blow it up like that. Look, I'll even make it up to you. Outta my own pocket."

He held out an envelope like it was charity. "Here—$25," he said, dragging out the number with that smug little smile.

The company crushed its revenue goals this year. Everyone who joined the holiday raffle walked away with at least a grand—even the ones who barely showed up.

And me? Longtime employee. Top sales guy. I got $25—like I was some kind of charity case.

That hit hard.

Anger flared, and I smacked his hand away. Not soft, but not enough to knock him down either.

Victor blinked, stared at his hand, then eased back against my desk.

"Aaron, I was just trying to be nice. Give you a little cash gift," he said, voice all calm, eyes flicking around the room like he wanted an audience. "You didn't have to hit me."

Rachel rushed over and grabbed my arm. "Aaron Lawson, my patience has limits. Apologize to Victor right now or you're done here. You'll never step foot in Sullivan Properties again!"

I yanked my arm back. "Ms. Sullivan, did you forget? I quit yesterday. I'm just here to grab my stuff."

Her face tightened. She stepped in front of me, blocking my path like the box in my hands was contraband. "You can quit, but those 300 client files stay."

I looked at her, deadpan.

"Fine." I didn't flinch.

I bent down, pulled out a neatly stacked set of documents, and set them on a nearby desk. "Just remember—those 300 clients came here for me. Not the company. Not you. Not Victor."

Rachel let out a dry laugh, like I'd just told the best joke she'd ever heard. "Wow. You really think you're all that? Without this company's resources, who even are you? Don't flatter yourself."

Victor jumped in. "Yeah, seriously. You think we can't handle your clients? We'll be just fine."

I didn't say a word. Wasn't worth it.

I slid the files to the center of the desk, gave everything one last glance, then stood, grabbed my box, and walked off.

The elevator doors creaked open. I stepped in.

Then came the shout behind me—panicked, sharp.

"Ms. Sullivan! Mr. Grant! Something's wrong!"

An employee rushed over, pale and shaky. "Th-The front desk just got slammed with calls! Clients from earlier deals—they're all trying to cancel! We've already counted over a hundred, and the calls won't stop!"