Chapter 4

“One more thing,” Grant said. “Harbor Point is officially moving forward. Vanessa has done a good job, so I’m promoting her to Director of Development.”

He watched me, waiting for a reaction.

“What do you think?”

It sounded like a question.

But the announcement had probably already been written.

“I have no objection.”

Grant visibly paused.

In the past, every time he handed one of my projects to Vanessa, I fought back with budgets, data, and risk reports.

This time, I said nothing.

His shoulders relaxed.

“Good. Because you haven’t brought in any new projects lately. I’m moving you to Records Review for now.”

The Director of Development controlled the company’s biggest projects.

Records Review organized old contracts and checked archived files.

This wasn’t a transfer.

He was removing me from senior management and burying me at the bottom of the company.

First, Grant took away my project.

Then he used my lack of results as an excuse to punish me.

“It’s temporary,” he added. “Once you get yourself together, I’ll move you back.”

“Fine.”

He stared at me for several seconds.

“You really agree?”

“Yes.”

My resignation had already been submitted to the board.

It would take effect automatically in two days.

He could put me anywhere he wanted.

It no longer mattered.

Grant had no idea.

He mistook my silence for surrender.

He thought I had finally accepted that loving him meant obeying him.

“Then it’s settled,” he said. “Move downstairs tomorrow. Vanessa needs a larger office to meet with investors.”

I had chosen that office myself during the first year I helped Grant build the company.

Now one sentence from him gave it to Vanessa.

“Fine.”

As Grant stood, his eyes moved to my bookshelf.

“Where’s the ceramic house?”

He had given it to me after we closed our first development deal.

The base was engraved with one line:

Grant and Evelyn. It started here.

I had kept it in the most visible place in my office.

Every time Grant disappointed me, I looked at it and reminded myself that we had once survived the hardest years together.

Grant used to make fun of me for caring about it.

He said it was a cheap gift from a developer and that I was childish for treating it like something precious.

Now that it was gone, he noticed immediately.

“It fell and broke,” I said.

His eyes dropped to the floor.

“Did you clean up the pieces?”

“Yes.”

“Have the cleaning staff check again. If they missed anything, someone could get cut.”

My obedience had put him in a better mood. His voice had lost some of its edge.

It almost sounded like concern.

But Vanessa was moving into this office tomorrow.

He wasn’t worried about me.

After Grant left, I opened the bottom drawer.

The ceramic house wasn’t broken.

I had placed it beside my wedding ring.

In two days, I would leave both behind.

I used to believe that if nothing else, the company was one place that belonged to Grant and me.

Then, a month earlier, I came home unexpectedly and found oat milk in our refrigerator.

I was allergic to oats.

Vanessa drank it every morning.

The refrigerator in my own home was being stocked for another woman.

Grant told me Vanessa occasionally came over for meetings.

So I checked the smart-lock history.

She had entered our home eleven times in the past two months.

Seven of those times, I hadn’t been there.