"I'm not in the office," I said, my voice flat.

"Not in the office?" A chill crept into Brodie's tone. "It's the middle of the workday, Aurelia De Rossi. Neglecting your duties makes the family look weak. You know the rules."

"I know, but I've already—"

I was about to say I had quit when Bianca's cloyingly sweet voice oozed through the phone.

"Brodie, darling, if Lia doesn't want to do it, don't force her. I can handle it."

Brodie’s tone instantly shifted, dripping with honey. "No, darling. You were up so late. You need to rest and enjoy the vacation."

Bianca feigned a protest. "But I'm not tired—"

Brodie cut her off. "I'm the Don. When I say you enjoy yourself, you enjoy yourself. Are you going to defy me?"

Bianca giggled. "I just feel bad for Lia. This must be so much work for her."

Brodie scoffed. "Her? Work harder than you? Darling, you're out there conquering territory for the family while she just pushes paper in an office. As the Donna, she’s supposed to be half the leadership of this family. It's her duty to pull her weight."

And just like that, my contributions were erased.

No anger. No jealousy. No heartbreak. Just… a dull, familiar numbness. I’d been down this road too many times.

Brodie took my silence for acquiescence, and his voice softened into a placating drone.

"Lia, you don't really think I'm just dumping work on you, do you? I'm training you. You're my wife; you should feel a stronger sense of belonging to the family. Try to learn from Bianca—she was up working for the family until four in the morning. I've never seen a woman so dedicated and talented."

Bianca chimed in with false sincerity, "I think Lia is wonderful, too."

The words were praise, but her tone screamed, She’s so pathetic.

Brodie, oblivious, chuckled. "I'd be grateful if she were half as capable as you. All the new territories this year were your wins."

Their usual song and dance.

I held my tongue. It wasn't worth the energy.

Those so-called new territories had been my victories—until he stripped them from me and handed them to Bianca on a silver platter. Brodie knew. He just pretended he didn’t. After five years, he was convinced I would silently endure anything for the sake of the family's honor.

"Anyway," he said breezily, "Bianca and I have an important dinner tonight. Get it done and send it over as soon as you can."

Click. He hung up before I could utter another word.

Two minutes later, my phone buzzed.

Another post from Bianca.

A candlelight dinner at a Michelin three-star restaurant, her head tilted sweetly on Brodie's shoulder. On the table sat a signature red velvet box from a top Fifth Avenue jeweler—just the right size for a diamond necklace.

I scrolled down to her post from the previous night. Her "working until four in the morning" was actually her partying at a rival family's club. Fine wine, raucous laughter, a scene of flirtatious chaos.

So, her "fighting for the family" was a party.

And that "important dinner" was their date.

A short, hollow laugh escaped me. I couldn't even summon the energy to be angry.

What was the point? He always had an excuse. Confronting him would only be met with more lies, followed by his favorite punishment: the silent treatment.

And in the end, I would still be the one left to clean up the mess.

Looking back, I should have only ever chased power.

Feelings fade. Power never betrays you.

With that thought, I walked out of the office building, my next moves already taking shape in my mind.

Just then, my phone buzzed twice.

Brodie had just wired two hundred thousand dollars from our joint account in some offshore tax haven.

Everyone assumed I married Brodie for his money and power.

The irony was suffocating. It was he who had been draining me dry, bleeding my personal assets.

He always claimed the family funds were "tied up in investments," so every bill, every indulgence, was paid for with the inheritance protected by our prenuptial agreement.

I once believed a marriage was a partnership, that we shouldn't keep score. So I said nothing.

Until the numbers stopped adding up. I earned a fortune, but my accounts were always lean.

So I pulled the statements.

And there it was. Brodie had been using this account as a personal slush fund for Bianca.

Thousands on luxury goods. Tens of thousands on designer jewelry. For her birthday, he spent hundreds of thousands to book a private ski resort in Switzerland.

Meanwhile, I was still wearing clothes from two seasons ago. Anything over a thousand dollars was "too extravagant," he'd say, handing me a secondary card while fobbing me off with cheap excuses about "saving for our future."

When I confronted him, he twisted it, calling me petty and paranoid before shutting me out with the silent treatment. Eventually, he swore he’d never touch my money again. A promise as empty as all the others.

Thinking of it all, I called him.

I redialed over ten times. No answer.

So I contacted my private banker directly and initiated the highest security protocol, citing a "suspected major theft" to freeze the account.

Less than sixty seconds later, Brodie’s call came through.

"Sorry, I was busy, didn't see your calls. What's up?" he asked, his voice a mask of casual indifference.

"It's nothing now," I said, my own voice perfectly level.

"That's strange. Your banker just called me. Said the account was frozen."

"I know," I said. "I locked it."

"What the hell are you playing at?" he snapped. "Don't you think I have enough on my plate?"

"Think whatever you want. But didn't you promise me you'd never touch this account again?"

Silence.

I had never fought with him about money.

Years ago, when the family was still on shaky ground, my brother took the fall for one of Brodie’s disastrous turf wars. We needed a million in cash to buy everyone's silence.

Brodie had squandered the family funds. Without a word of complaint, I used the trust fund my mother left me. I didn't ask a single question.

I thought my loyalty would earn his trust.

Instead, it just taught him he could take from me without consequence.

Brodie was silent for a beat, then heaved a sigh, casting himself as the victim. "Okay, I get it. You're still mad about the trip, and this is how you're punishing me," he said. "Honestly, Lia, I thought you were more mature than this. I guess I was wrong."

He sighed again, a true martyr. "Fine. I'll drop everything and take you to the French Riviera. Happy now?"

"Look, I need some emergency funds to grease some palms with a key player. Unfreeze the account and stop making things so complicated. Tonight's dinner is crucial for the family."