Which Hand Really Feeds

I returned to my office, ready to submit my resignation, but Steve followed me inside.

He was frowning anxiously, reaching for my hand as he said, "Look, Ellen—we've been together for eight years, and you're not a child. Divorce is no joke, alright? And the company's IPO is approaching. Don't throw away everything you've worked so hard to build."

So he knew I'd worked so hard to build this company but decided to hand it over to another woman anyway.

My heart was filled with bitterness, and I looked up into his eyes and said, "These are working hours, Mr. Lahm. Don't get touchy with an employee, and you can hand over anything you want to Millie since I won't be following up."

He was stunned, and his eyes soon flashed with rage and exasperation. "Why can't you learn for once?!"

I sighed—he would always think of me as the unreasonable one.

Ignoring him, I clicked into my email app and sent my resignation letter to him and HR. "Can you approve my resignation? I'm sure you're not stopping me because of personal reasons, are you?"

I knew he hated mixing personal life with work, which was why he had never told anyone else in the company that we were married because it would set a bad precedent.

Whenever I suffered from period cramps, he would only send medicine through his assistant.

I thought that was fine, until his childhood friend, Millie Quess, returned after studying abroad and started working at our company.

He was always gentle with her, telling everyone that she was his best friend and asking them to support her, even buying champagne towers to celebrate her insignificant achievements.

Whenever she made a mistake, he would snap at the company executives to bail her out.

And now, he was making me hand over my position as marketing manager to Millie after I had worked three years for it.

But this time, I was really sick of it.

Refusing to budge, I looked Steve in the eye and said coolly, "Please sign my resignation letter, Mr. Lahm."

He scowled as he took the physical copy, his fingers trembling as he shook his head. "Ellen, I'm just—"

That was when Millie blinked at me innocently. "Oh, please! Just stop it already—you just want Steve to suck up to you! But where can you go without him?"

Steve scowled further.

After another long look at me, he suddenly signed the resignation letter and growled, "I've really spoiled you too much all these years, but my patience has limits, Ellen."

And with those words, he turned to leave with Millie.

I was left staring at the resignation letter and suddenly laughed—he really didn't understand that I was honestly refusing to stay with him.

My father was Don Jakos, the most powerful godfather in all of Sicily.

And I was his only successor.

Eight years ago, no one would know who I was without my last name.

It left me wondering if anyone could love me as I was, with my family taken out of the equation.

That was why I left the family and traveled alone, penniless and anonymous, to find true love on my own strength.

But now, I no longer cared about Steve and decided that it was time to go home.

As for the company that I had helped build through my business acumen, I had a feeling it would simply fall apart once I was gone.

My father texted me just then.

[Finally coming home? Everything will be ready for your return, Principessa.]

I replied: [Okay.]

Then, I looked up at the photo on my desk.

It was a photo of Steve and me at the amusement park when we first started dating.

I stood up and picked it up, throwing it into the bin.

I wouldn't be seeing him ever again after three days anyway.