The Achievements Of Kamala Harris

On the one thousand and ninety-fourth day of being Mrs. Harris, I asked James Harris for a divorce. His face showed a hint of confusion, but it quickly shifted to his usual, composed expression. "As you wish," he said, his tone as flat as if we were discussing whether to replace the milk on the breakfast table. He did not even bother to ask why. On the one thousand and ninety-fifth day, I gently saw him and the children off, acting as if nothing had happened, and then completely left the Harris family behind.

[Is it wrong to fall in love with someone who already belongs to another?] One day, a post I stumbled upon caught my eye. The most liked comment was a brazen boast from a self-proclaimed mistress: [Dating isn't marriage. If you can steal the heart of someone taken, you deserve to keep it. If they don't love their partner enough to stay loyal, their partner is the real outsider in the relationship.] [I took my husband from another woman. He was just a broke college student back then, but I knew who he really was. He's the only son of the country's wealthiest man!] [His ex only knew how to study and work. She had no idea how to keep a man. How unfortunate! I heard she never even got her diploma. Her life must be miserable now.] I stared at the comment for a long time because I recognized the woman who wrote it. Her name was Camila. She was talking about me. Miserable? I was now a famous attorney, renowned for never having lost a case, and I had also adopted a sweet daughter. My life was anything but 'miserable'. I blocked the author of the comment and assumed our paths would never cross again. However, fate had other ideas. While taking my daughter for her passport application, I ran into some people from my past in the most dramatic way possible. Camila used her position to make things difficult for me. My ex-boyfriend Alexander stood by her side and even threatened me, phone in hand. "Apologize to my wife, or I'll have my father hire that so-called 'Victory Queen'. We'll sue you until you lose everything!" I smiled and said, "Go ahead and call that lawyer." The next second, my phone rang.

I did three years in prison for my wife, Lilian Parson. The day I got out, she handed me an envelope for her company's grand opening. Inside was a single dollar bill. For a second, I thought it was a mistake. Then I saw her colleague, Nathan Ramsey, holding his envelope—his also contained a single dollar. Relieved, I pushed my doubts aside. I smiled, stood by Lilian's side through the entire ceremony, the picture of a proud, supportive husband. That night, scrolling through Instagram, I saw Nathan's latest post. A photo of a check. [Congratulations to Lilian Parson on the grand opening! So generous—100 million as a gift!] The comments section exploded with envy and blessings, congratulating him and "the boss" on finally becoming a couple. Lilian offered no explanation. Instead, she hurried to draw a line between us. "You just got out of prison," she said coolly. "It's not a good look to go public right now. Let's keep our marriage a secret. In front of others, just call me your boss." Then she turned around and liked Nathan's post. I wiped the tears from my eyes, picked up my phone, and dialed the number of her greatest rival. "From now on, I work for you," I said.

On my second day after transferring to City Hall, I took over one of my coworker's cases. A young woman had come in for a certified copy of her marriage certificate. My coworker chuckled. "This is her ninety-ninth time requesting it. We already have all her paperwork on file, so it'll only take a minute." I blinked. "Ninety-nine times?" She laughed. "Yep. She married a wealthy older man, and every time they get into a fight, they tear up their marriage certificate. That's how they vent. "Only an older husband would tolerate that kind of childish behavior. I heard her husband is from the Hayes family, the wealthiest family in Havenbrook." I frowned at once. "Anyone from the Hayes family should know better than to behave like that. Are you sure her husband isn't an impostor?" My coworker immediately clapped a hand over my mouth, looking horrified. "For heaven's sake, keep your voice down. He's the real deal. Hunter Hayes, the head of the Hayes family." I froze. My phone slipped from my hand and landed on the desk. The screen lit up with a photo of me leaning against Hunter. The young woman in front of me suddenly went pale. She snatched my phone off the desk. "Who are you?" she demanded. "Why do you have a picture with my husband?"

The night before the annual gala, my wife promised me a big surprise. But the very next day, she publicly quintupled the marketing manager's bonus. To me, she just gave a curt nod and a half-hearted "keep up the good work". When I questioned her decision, she brushed it off casually. "You've racked up some impressive wins in court. I'll give you that, but let's be real. Without Kevin hyping you up, you'd never have hit top-tier status. Plus, what's mine is yours. Why nitpick over a bonus?" The room buzzed with anticipation of my explosion. But I held my tongue till the gala ended. The next morning, I marched into her office and slapped my resignation letter down on her desk. "Might as well tack my salary onto Kevin's. Consider it my wedding present to you." She erupted, branding me as narrow-minded and dooming me to the unemployment line. She conveniently overlooked my track record as a powerhouse attorney. For that alone, elite firms were lining up to recruit me.

My husband, Samuel Crawford, made an excuse about attending a company business meeting and refused to participate in our daughter's school activity. He also suggested that we should not participate either. Seeing my daughter's disappointment, I decided to take her myself. As soon as we entered the school, I spotted Samuel sitting on the stage with his ex-girlfriend, Monica Sterling, and her son. They looked intimate, appearing every bit like a perfect family of three. Samuel spoke confidently into the microphone about achieving family harmony and career success. Throughout his speech, he occasionally exchanged glances and smiles with Monica. The audience applauded enthusiastically. Samuel's expression grew increasingly smug, and even the little boy beside him wore an arrogant look. Soon the Q&A session came. I then grabbed the microphone and asked, "Mr. Crawford, when did you have a son? Does your wife know about this?"