4

I folded my hands and watched him check the screen. The moment he saw the caller ID, his whole expression softened, like someone had turned on a light inside him, a light I hadn’t seen in months.

He answered immediately.

A female voice came through, shaky and dramatic. “Max… I think I sprained my ankle. Are you coming tonight? I’m so scared.”

Selene.

My throat tightened so fast I couldn’t breathe.

Maxwell didn’t respond right away. He looked at me first, and in that look I saw it clearly: he wasn’t guilty, or ashamed, or even sorry. He looked annoyed. My presence was an inconvenience, a problem standing between him and the woman he actually wanted.

Then he turned away and spoke into the phone, his voice instantly gentle.

“Stay where you are,” he said softly. “I’ll be there now.”

The words hit me like a slap.

I didn’t understand why it hurt so much. I should have been used to it by now. I should have been numb. But watching him care for her, hearing the tenderness in his voice the same tenderness he once reserved for me, made something inside my chest crack.

I turned my face away, blinking hard, forcing the tears back. I refused to cry in front of him. I refused to give him that satisfaction.

When he ended the call, he reached for his coat as if he were already halfway out the door.

“Selene is hurt,” he said, as though issuing an instruction. “She needs me.”

I stared at him, disbelief rising like fire. “And you think I should just accept that?”

His face tightened. “Don’t be unreasonable, Ariana.”

Unreasonable.

That word again. The word men use when women stop tolerating disrespect.

He sighed as though I were exhausting him. “Why are you being so heartless?”

Heartless?

The word struck me so hard I almost laughed. My hands trembled, but my voice came out steady. “Heartless?” I repeated slowly. “If anyone is heartless here, it’s you.”

He frowned, anger building behind his eyes. “She’s hurt. She needs help.”

I slammed my palm against the desk. “If I were heartless,” I said through clenched teeth, “I wouldn’t have stayed in this marriage. I wouldn’t have tried to make it work while you were out there humiliating me.”

His face twisted with rage, and he raised a finger as though I were the one who had sinned. “Where is this attitude coming from? Who the hell do you think you are?”

My lips curled. I didn’t even recognize my own voice when I replied, sharp and bitter:

“Go to hell, you cheating ass.”

His eyes widened. “What did you just say?”

I didn’t answer. I turned and stormed up the stairs, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear anything else.

“What the hell does that mean, Ariana?” he shouted after me.

I stopped halfway up, my body shaking with anger and pain. Slowly, I turned back. He stood there holding his coat, still playing the victim.

“And don’t forget to transfer the billion before you go,” I said calmly, even though my chest was burning. “Unless you want to wake up tomorrow and see your infidelity all over the media.”

His mouth fell open. “Are you threatening me?”

I didn’t give him an answer. I didn’t give him the satisfaction.

I ran into my room, slammed the door, and the moment it closed, all the strength left my body like a pulled plug. I collapsed onto the bed and broke down, sobs tearing out of me before I could stop them.

This is supposed to hurt, so why am I crying like I’m the one who did wrong?

I buried my face in the pillow and cried until my throat burned. I cursed him. I cursed Selene. I cursed this marriage that had eaten me alive.

Finally, I sat up slowly, wiping my face with the back of my hand. My reflection stared back from the mirror across the room, mascara streaked, eyes swollen, hair a mess.

I looked destroyed. And I was done looking like this.

My phone buzzed beside me on the bed. I grabbed it and opened my banking app. The notification was already there.

One billion.

I stared at the screen, something cold and sharp settling in my chest. If he could pay a billion just to keep me quiet for one night, then he had more to lose than I thought.

And I had more power than I realized.

I stood up, walked to the bathroom, and washed my face. The cold water stung, but it cleared my head. When I looked in the mirror again, I didn’t see a victim anymore.

I saw someone who was about to take everything he thought he owned.

Over the following days, he ignored me completely, returning to the house only when he needed a change of clothes.

His life now revolved entirely around Selene. I swallowed the pain in my chest. I’d already promised myself not to cry. Instead, I made a choice: every one of his excuses became an invoice.

A doctor’s appointment Selene needed. A panic attack she claimed she had at midnight. A lonely night she didn’t want to spend alone. A business dinner she insisted he attend with her.

Each time he chose her, I smiled and named a price.

A commercial building downtown. Ten percent of the shares in one of his subsidiary companies. Debit alerts. Asset transfers. Legal confirmations.

His phone kept lighting up.

At first, he tried to hide it, turning the screen away, silencing notifications, pretending it wasn’t happening. After a while, Selene noticed.

“Is everything okay?” she asked softly, sitting beside him in the hotel bed, her voice full of concern.

He forced a smile. “It’s just work stuff.”

But rage boiled underneath his skin. I could feel it even from miles away.

That night, my phone rang.

"What do you actually want?" he snapped the moment I answered. "This isn't about money anymore."