I stepped out of the company building into the biting cold, the wind cutting through my coat like shards of glass.

Five hours. I waited under the flickering streetlights, frozen in place until the last office light dimmed.

Finally, Tristan emerged. The moment his gaze landed on me, he whispered something to Zara, who stood beside him, then turned and walked toward me.

My heart twisted painfully as he wrapped me in a warm embrace. “When did you get here? Why didn’t you come inside?”

“I’m fine,” I forced a smile. “I just wanted to bring you dinner, but your secretary said you’d already eaten.”

His brow furrowed in gentle concern. “You’re not well—don’t do that again. I’d feel awful if you wore yourself out.”

He pulled a small bottle from his pocket. “By the way, Marco dropped off your medicine. You’re almost out, right?”

I took the pills wordlessly, slipping them into my bag. Winter’s embrace was still warm, but his touch had turned cold.

When we arrived home, Tristan wasted no time pulling me down onto the couch. His hands moved with urgency, his lips hovering over my neck. I placed a firm hand against his chest, stopping him.

A flicker of irritation crossed his face, but he forced a smile. “What’s wrong? Haven’t you always wanted a child?”

“I’m not feeling well today. Maybe next time.”

His desire evaporated instantly. Without a word, he stood and disappeared into the bathroom to shower.

Moments later, his phone buzzed on the table. Zara’s syrupy voice filled the room, each word grating on my nerves. I unlocked his phone effortlessly using her birthday as the passcode.

The screen sprang to life, revealing only one social app. Inside, there was a single contact labeled Hot Kitten.

Her profile picture was of Zara dressed provocatively as a cat girl. I scrolled through their messages, my stomach twisting with nausea. The chat history was filled with flirtatious exchanges that pierced through me like knives.

[Mr. Muller, rooftop date?]

[Goblin, wait for me.]

[Mr. Muller, how about tonight in the car? It’s parked right under your house. I’ve never tried it before.]

[Not afraid of getting caught? Guess I’ll have to risk it for the princess.]

[Mr. Muller, I really want to be part of that new foreign project…]

[No problem. Impress me tonight and it’s yours.]

I clenched my jaw and opened the company's project records. Every major deal from the past five years had Zara’s name attached to it.

To appease her, he’d handpicked a popular celebrity as the project spokesperson. The final payment date? Her birthday.

There were countless auction receipts for luxury jewelry, all gifted to her under the guise of company prizes.

Tristan’s so-called hidden love wasn’t hidden at all. It was blatant, etched into every detail of his life. The brands of jewelry he’d bought for Zara were ones I recognized—the same ones he claimed were gifts for me.

I had believed him, thinking they were rewards from auction sponsors. My frugality, my loyalty, my sacrifices—everything had become weapons he used to wound me.

I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and cold. I didn’t need to read any further. Instead, I contacted a lawyer online to discuss the terms of our divorce. What was mine would remain mine. No one would take it from me.

The night passed without sleep. At dawn, I got up and washed, ready to face the day. My phone rang just as I stepped out of the bathroom. Tristan’s voice was tinged with confusion.

“Linda, what did you book?”

I moved the phone away from my ear, keeping my tone indifferent. “Nothing, just a beauty appointment. Didn’t you say I should dress up more?”

He chuckled, seemingly pleased by my answer.

“There’s a meeting at the company today. I better get going,” I added.

He pulled me into his arms, nuzzling against my neck. “My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world, even without trying. Marrying you was the best decision I ever made.”

I smiled faintly but said nothing. Some lies no longer hurt—because I had already decided to leave.

“As a reward, will my husband give me a big gift today?” I asked playfully.

“Of course,” Tristan promised with a confident smile. “I’ll make sure it’s worth the wait. See you at home.”

The moment he left, the driver arrived with a beautifully arranged breakfast.

Five years ago, I would’ve been touched by the gesture. Tristan had faithfully ordered my favorite breakfast from the same luxury hotel every single day of our marriage.

Back then, I thought it was his way of showing love. Now, it felt like empty routine—perfunctory and soulless.

If he truly cared, wouldn’t he have learned to cook even a single dish for me in all these years? He had gone to extraordinary lengths to keep me from clashing with Zara. I dumped the meal into the trash without hesitation, grabbed my coat and walked out the door. It was time to end this five-year charade.

***

At the lawyer’s office, I discussed the division of assets.

“The longer the marriage, the more complex the property entanglements,” the lawyer explained. “It’ll take a couple of days to finalize the agreement.”

I nodded and handed over evidence of the countless luxury gifts Tristan had given Zara under the guise of company expenses.

“Let’s meet in three days to review the finalized terms.”

With that, I left the law firm without looking back.

On the way home, a notification popped up on my phone—Tristan’s company had just released a celebratory video.

The screen showed champagne spraying into the air as employees cheered wildly. Tristan stood at the center of the chaos, soaked in champagne, laughing with pride. I recognized the suit he was wearing. It was the anniversary gift I had given him last year—the one he had cherished so dearly back then.

This year’s gift? He had returned it without a second thought.

***

I arrived at the company just as the atmosphere reached its climax. Standing on stage before the entire office, Tristan made a shocking announcement.

“I’m officially transferring half of my shares to Zara,” he declared, his voice steady and triumphant. “Additionally, there’s a bonus of 13.14 million dollars.”

Gasps filled the room. The employees broke into murmurs.

“Wow, half the shares? Zara’s basically the boss’s wife now!”

“Careful what you say. Mr. Muller is married. If Mrs. Muller hears this, you’ll be in trouble.”

“Oh please, everyone knows Mrs. Muller is like a ghost—never seen at events. Zara is young and beautiful; no man can resist that. Poor Mr. Muller.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the company changes its name to Swan someday.”

Their laughter echoed around me, but I simply clapped my hands and smiled. The room fell silent as Tristan spotted me in the crowd. His face paled instantly. “Linda… Why are you here?” he stammered. “It’s not what it looks like. I was just handing out bonuses—nothing more.”

Zara stepped forward with a smug smile, waving the share transfer agreement in her hand.

“Mr. Muller really is a generous boss,” she purred mockingly. “Thanks to his ‘care,’ I can now afford a lovely river-view villa.”

A few employees snickered, eager to witness the drama unfold. I met Tristan’s panicked gaze calmly.

“Giving out bonuses is perfectly normal,” I said lightly. “Employees deserve their rewards—make sure they get every penny.”

“You’re not upset?” he asked, bewildered.

“Why would I be?” I shrugged. “I just stopped by to take a look. You’re busy—carry on.”

Relieved, he followed me outside, trying to explain himself. “Linda, it’s not what you think,” he insisted. “I was only rewarding the team. Please don’t misunderstand.”

I almost laughed at the irony of it all. This was the same man who had sacrificed our three children to please Zara.

Now that he had everything he wanted, who was he pretending to convince?

I kept my expression composed. “Don’t worry, I’m not unreasonable. I don’t understand business matters anyway. Just do what you think is right.”

He exhaled audibly, visibly relieved. Before I left, he gently took my hand.

“There’s a celebration banquet coming up,” he said earnestly. “I’ll bring you this time. I have a big surprise for you.”

I nodded without a word and walked away. But inside, I sneered bitterly. He had already given me more than enough surprises.

I hadn’t even made my first move yet, but Zara had already struck. Two hours after I finished packing, my phone rang sharply. It was Tristan, his voice thick with anger.

“Linda,” he barked, “all I did was reward my employees with bonuses and you just had to send a message scolding them?”

He paused, seething before continuing, “I’m the owner of this company—do I not even have the right to manage my own employees? You’re always saying you understand me. Is this what you call understanding?”

In the background, I could hear Zara’s exaggerated sobbing and the hushed voices of employees offering comfort.

I rubbed my tired eyes, feeling a wave of bitter exhaustion wash over me.

“You’re overthinking it,” I said calmly. “It’s only ten million dollars. That’s pocket change—I couldn’t care less about it.”

“What Zara chooses to say is her business. If you believe her, that’s on you. Don’t bother calling me.”

Before he could respond, I hung up and immediately deleted his follow-up messages demanding that I apologize to Zara.

***

Later that evening, I heard the hum of his car outside. When I stepped out in casual, comfortable clothes, Tristan’s face darkened immediately.

“Tonight is the company's celebration banquet,” he scolded, eyeing my outfit critically. “And you're wearing this?”

Before I could respond, the passenger-side window rolled down, revealing Zara’s youthful, delicate face. She stuck out her tongue playfully.

“Oops! Sorry, Mr. Muller,” she said with a sweet giggle. “I totally forgot to remind Mrs. Linda about the dress code.”

I gave her a polite, indifferent smile.

“When you get older,” I said lightly, “it’s hard to compete with a little girl when it comes to dressing up.”

I turned to Tristan, my tone sharp yet calm.

“With a secretary as beautiful as yours, there’s no need for me to bother keeping up appearances, right?”

His intended scolding caught in his throat and he stayed silent. Since Zara made no move to switch seats, I opened the back door and settled in without hesitation.

***

On the drive to the hotel, Zara prattled on endlessly, bragging about the lavish gifts she had received over the years—river-view villas, extravagant jewelry and more. Every word was a dagger wrapped in honey.

I could see the discomfort etched on Tristan’s face as he attempted to interject, probably hoping to smooth things over. But I effortlessly steered the conversation in different directions, making it impossible for him to say anything meaningful.

When we arrived, a hotel valet greeted Zara with a respectful bow.

“Mrs. Muller,” he said smoothly, clearly mistaking her for the boss’s wife.

Before I could react, Tristan grabbed my arm and hurried me toward the corridor, his tone frantic.

“Don’t overthink it,” he pleaded. “Zara is just a subordinate—nothing more.”

His voice softened. “Today is our five-year wedding anniversary. I didn’t forget. I brought you here to celebrate and cheer you up.”

I studied the desperation flickering in his eyes and suddenly found myself laughing. “I’m not upset,” I assured him, keeping my tone light. “Don’t overthink it either.”

“You go ahead. I need to make a quick phone call.”

Relieved, he nodded and disappeared into the banquet hall. The moment he was gone, I dialed my lawyer.

“Please expedite the divorce agreement,” I said firmly. The lawyer requested several details about the division of assets.

I provided every answer without hesitation.

***

When I finally entered the private room half an hour later, the scene before me was both predictable and nauseating.

Young female employees surrounded Tristan, giggling as they raised their glasses in toast after toast. He accepted each one with a forced smile, clearly struggling to maintain composure.

At the sound of my footsteps, the women froze, their faces flushed with embarrassment. One of them hurriedly spoke up.

“We’re just thanking Mr. Muller with a toast, Mrs. Linda,” she explained nervously. “Nothing else—please, have a seat...”

Before I could respond, Zara waved dismissively, her tone syrupy sweet.

“Oh, come on,” she chimed. “Mrs. Linda isn’t some insecure twenty-year-old, right? She’s far too gracious for that.”

She turned to Tristan, her smile bright and fake.

“Mr. Muller always says Mrs. Linda is generous and kind!”

With a playful laugh, she added, “But honestly, Mr. Muller is just as generous! Look at all the bonuses he’s given me over the years. My girlfriends are so jealous—they want to quit their jobs and join our company!”

I didn’t flinch. Not anymore. Because soon, neither Zara nor Tristan would be my concern.