My CEO mate: Divorce made me his

THEA

Since when did my success become something I want to hide?

How do you celebrate a victory when the one person who should be proud of you will see it as betrayal?

I stare at the letter in my hand, my promotion to the post of managing director printed in bold print at the top. It should have been announcing a victory. It was everything I'd worked for – the late nights, the endless shifts, the sacrifices I told myself were worth it. I run my fingers on the logo and all I can feel is… dread.

The answer is pretty clear.

To him, my success isn't ours. It's mine alone.

And in that house, our home, that makes it a threat.

“Quit that job! You are only fucking your way up the ranks!” His voice when I was promoted to my current position rings in my head and I would be honest, it still stings like the first time he said it.

I shake my head. I can't show this to him, I can't tell him.

I fold the paper carefully and dip it into my bag before standing up.

I force a breath, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. Tomorrow is Finn's birthday and I'd gotten a day off. I can hear doors shutting, and laughter drifting in the air. The office is nearly empty now, the last few employees trickling out.

I'm so tired.

I should leave too. I should go home.

But my feet don't move.

Instead, I stare at my reflection in the glass window of my soon to be old office, at the reflection of a woman who used to be.

The elevator dings in the distance. Someone laughs. Life moves on.

And, I… I hesitate before exhaling.

With one last glance, I turn off the lights and grab my car key before walking out.

I won't show him and we'll get to be happy for a few more months before he finds out.

The drive home was silent. My windows are rolled up, the radio is turned off and the AC is at its highest.

A few minutes later, I pull up into the parking lot of our little duplex and switch off the engine. I grab my bag and a brown envelope before shutting the car and staggering to the door.

It's a few hours to midnight. Finn should be asleep upstairs — his nanny would have tucked him in — but Sebastian should be awake, probably watching TV or on his laptop.

I scan my fingerprint and turn the knob before stepping in.

“Sebastian?” I call tiredly. My voice echoes through the dimly lit living room but there's no answer.

The TV plays on a low hum in the background, casting flickering lights across the empty couch. I rub my tired eyes, my eyes taking in the half-empty glass of whiskey sitting on the coffee table, the ice long melted.

I sigh, slipping out of my heels as I walk towards the stairs.

“Sebastian?” I call again.

Maybe he's in the study or he's just avoiding me. Either way, I don't have the energy to deal with it tonight.

I just want to see Finn before I sleep. And maybe Sebastian too.

My fingers trail along the wooden railing as I ascend, the familiar creak of the third step greeting me.

But as I reach the fourth step, a faint noise stops me.

My head snaps back as the door to the Nanny's room creaks open and he steps out.

I rub my tired eyes, “Sebastian? Is that you?”

“Yes honey.” He says, walking towards me.

“What are you doing there?” I ask softly.

“She had a problem with a leaking pipe. I went to help.” He says as he walks closer and engulfs me in a hug.

I don't dwell much on it as I melt into the hug until he pulls away. I kiss his cheek goodnight and continue on my way to Finn's room.

I open the door and slip in. The soft rug mutes my footsteps as I approach his bed. And like I'd expected, he's already asleep.

I take his tiny little hand in mine and squeeze it softly, running my thumb over his soft skin. Even in sleep, his fingers twitch slightly, instinctively holding on.

He still reaches for me.

A lump rises in my throat as I kneel beside his bed, drinking in his peaceful expression. He doesn’t know how much of my world revolves around him. How every late night, every exhausting day, every sacrifice — I do it for him.

“Mommy is now a managing director.” I whisper. And I know he can't hear me but I said it because of that.

I brush a stray curl from his forehead. Seven. It feels like just yesterday he was taking his first steps, giggling as he wobbled toward me, his little arms outstretched. Now, I blink, and he’s growing too fast, slipping through my fingers like sand.

I should be here more.

But I can’t be.

Not when everything rests on me.

Sebastian used to carry that weight too. Before the accusations. Before the trial. Before the shame of embezzlement — whether true or not — made every job interview a dead end. It has been four years now.

I tried. God knows I tried. I combed through listings, pulled every string I had, but he wouldn’t take anything that felt like a step down. Wouldn’t swallow his pride.

And so, the weight fell on me.

The bills, the mortgage, the school fees. The nanny’s paycheck so Finn wouldn’t feel the absence of two parents instead of one.

It sucks.

But I’m not complaining.

This is what you do for the people you love. You hold everything together, even when it’s breaking you.

I dip my hand into my purse and bring out a wrap of chocolate which I place on his palm.

Then, I spare his peaceful form a last glance and slip out of his room to make my way towards our room down the hall.

I want to be good as new for his seventh birthday.

My angel.