I poured my heart and soul into securing a big deal for my wife's law firm.

But when I stepped out for a quick coffee break, she fired me on the spot, claiming I'd gone AWOL for too long.

"New company rule: ten minutes away from your desk, and you're out. You were gone for ten minutes and five seconds. Now grab your stuff and leave."

I sneered and flipped the script, turning over proof of her siphoning funds to buy her intern boy a Maybach to the police.

She thought she could burn bridges with me, but this bridge didn't crumble so easily.

...

I was boxing up my belongings when the office door flew open with a bang.

"Lester, you snake! Did you write that whistleblower letter?" Cassandra Lockhart stood in the doorway, her face a storm cloud of fury. "How low can you go? I fire you, and you try to burn my whole world down? Do you know how much of my savings I had to drain to clean up your mess?"

Before I could get a word in, she snatched the frame from my hands and smashed it onto the floor, shattering our only photo.

I stared at the wreckage, my voice flat. "That client signed the contract because of me. I'm just protecting their interests."

Cassandra's laugh was sharp enough to cut steel. "Don't flatter yourself. They came for Andrew's connections, so I used the profits to buy him a car. It's a fair reward for his pull."

"Andrew's connections?" I snorted.

I'd spent half a year kissing their asses before I secured the deal. Yet somehow, the credit landed with Andrew Sutton, an intern who'd barely been there a month.

I opened my mouth to set her straight, but Andrew sauntered in, clutching a box of his belongings. His face was a mask of fake shock. "Lester, you're still here?"

Not in the mood for his smug act, I fired back, "Barging in without knocking? That's the professionalism you bring as a rookie?"

"Cassandra said this is my private office now," he protested. "Why do I need to knock to enter my own space?"

I let out a bitter chuckle. "Private office? You two don't waste time, do you? What's next? That Maybach you got him wasn't enough for your little fling, so you're playing office romance games?"

Cassandra's hand flew faster than I could blink. A red handprint instantly bloomed on my face.

"Keep your filthy mouth shut!" she snapped. "Not everyone's got a mind as twisted as yours. Andrew and I are strictly professional. I back him because he brings profits to the firm, unlike you, who is too busy plotting revenge to own up to your screw-ups. I must've been out of my mind to marry a deadweight like you."

I tongued the inside of my cheek, tasting the coppery tang of betrayal. We had been married for five years, and this wasn't her first time cutting me down.

I knew she, the "Legal Queen" of the city, resented settling for an ordinary guy like me. So, I'd busted my ass, at home and at work, hoping that one day she'd see me as more than a consolation prize.

But the termination slip she issued that morning was a cold wake-up call. Some hearts were just too icy to thaw.

Before I could dwell on it, Andrew whined, "Maybe I should go back to the shared office. If Lester's bitter enough to rat you out, who knows what kind of lies he'll spread around the firm? I'll be a pariah."

Cassandra's expression softened for Andrew, but her anger at me intensified.

"Apologize to Andrew," she demanded. "Or we're through."

I met her gaze, my heart sinking like a stone in a well. For five years, I'd practically lived at the firm, taking all kinds of cases. Top firms across the country tossed me offers, but I shut them down without a second thought.

I did it all for her, and in return, she was ready to torch our marriage over a weaselly intern who thrived on drama.

Maybe I'd been chasing a ghost from the start, a love that was never mine to hold. My heart went numb, like a switch had flipped.

"Fine, through is through," I said.

...

Cassandra froze, then pointed a finger at my nose. "You've got someone on the side, don't you? That's why you snitched, and now you're pushing for a divorce. Let me make one thing crystal clear: you screwed up, so you'll walk away with nothing."

Her words clicked like a lock snapping shut. She'd been plotting to ditch me for a while. But with my heart already in the grave, her threats slid off me like rain on a windshield.

I nodded, calm as a summer lake. "Alright. I'll send you the divorce agreement tonight."

I scooped up my box of belongings and walked out, heading not to our shared home but to the apartment I'd bought before we married.

That night, my phone pinged with a message from Andrew. A photo loaded, showing him and Cassandra in that Maybach. Her blouse was half-buttoned, her cheeks flushed like she'd just run a marathon. His neck was a canvas of hickeys, bold as a neon sign.

I let out a dry laugh, then posted the photo to my social media, captioned, [Divorce party. Cheers to a new chapter.]

Then I collapsed onto the bed, letting sleep swallow me whole.

The next morning, pounding on my door jolted me awake. Groggy, I stumbled over and opened it, only to catch a stinging slap across the face. The pain snapped me awake, sharp and bright.

I glared at Cassandra. "What's wrong with you? It's barely dawn."

She shook with rage. "You disgusting, low-life creep! Why did you post that photo? Because of your jealous stunt, Andrew nearly killed himself last night. You'd better post a retraction right now, admit you photoshopped that picture, and beg for his forgiveness."

I looked at her twisted face, snorting, "That photo? He sent it to me. I figured he wanted me to spread the word about your steamy little affair. If nothing filthy is going on, why are you losing your mind over it?"

She raised her hand again, but I caught her wrist and flung it aside. "That's strike three. Don't test me."

She glared, her eyes blazing with hate. "Is there no depth you won't sink to? Andrew and I were dining with clients last night, and I drank too much. He sent you that photo so you wouldn't worry. But you're eaten up with spite, trying to ruin our reputation and push Andrew to the edge. Why don't you drop dead?"

Her tirade disgusted me to no end. I slammed the door in her face, blocked every number she'd ever used, and booked a flight out of the city.

After five years of slaving for Cassandra's firm, I figured I'd earned a break.

As I was tossing clothes into a duffel bag, an unknown number buzzed my phone. I answered, and Cassandra's voice exploded through the speaker.

I hung up before she could rant, blocking that number, too.

At the airport, as I handed my passport to the clerk, two policemen stepped in front of me. "Lester Esposito, you're under arrest for stealing trade secrets. Come with us."

Before I could process the words, cold cuffs snapped onto my wrists.

...

They marched me through the terminal.

At the police station, I spotted Cassandra and Andrew in the lobby, whispering to each other.

Andrew's eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction when he saw me cuffed. "Lester, I get that you're sore about getting fired, but stealing client data is a crime."

I ignored him and locked eyes with Cassandra. "When did I ever steal anything?"

She folded her arms. "Don't play dumb. That flash drive you took has our top clients' info. That's theft."

My temples throbbed. "Have you got no shame left? Those clients are personal networks I've built over five years. They're loyal to me, not your firm."

Her face darkened. "Who is the shameless one here? Without Lockhart Lawfirm propping you up, you're just a nobody from nowhere. Hand the drive to Andrew, or you'll rot in prison."

I realized that she was trying to funnel my hard-earned clients to Andrew, paving his path to glory.

Back in the day, when I'd asked her advice on a tough client, she had torn me to shreds, calling me a talentless hack.

Now I saw why. She just didn't like me.

I took a deep breath, my voice cutting like a blade. "Forget my occupation? Throwing me in jail is a tall order."

She leaned close, whispering in my ear, "Maybe I don't have ironclad proof to lock you up, but what if I let it slip that you're selling client data? Think you'll still have a career? Think any client will touch you with a ten-foot pole?"

Then her tone softened. "If you love me, stop this nonsense. Drop the divorce talk, and I'll get you back at the firm."

I almost laughed out loud at her gall. She was delusional to think I'd crawl back to her and slave away again.

I'd been lovesick, but I wasn't brain-dead or spineless.

I stepped back, putting distance between us. "If Andrew wants my clients, let him try to take them."

When both hard and soft tactics failed, her gaze turned venomous. "You'll regret this."

She grabbed Andrew's arm and stormed out.

As I'd figured, they had no real evidence. After 48 hours in a holding cell, I was cut loose.

But as I signed out, the female officer shot me a look of pure disgust.

I powered on my phone, and a tidal wave of missed calls and texts flooded in. Ignoring them, I checked the city's lawyer forum.