Suddenly, I found the whole situation laughable.

A junior assistant who had only been with the company for three months had somehow earned the complete trust of the man I’d been married to for five years.

I couldn’t help but lift my head to look at Denver’s refined, handsome face and asked coldly, “Are you deaf? I told her to call me by my name. She’s the one who kept calling me ‘Madam’—how is that my fault?”

Without waiting for a response, I turned and slammed the office door behind me.

As soon as I got home, I contacted my lawyer to draft a divorce agreement.

While I waited, my best friend Lorelei messaged me a screenshot from Mallory’s social media post.

Lorelei had studied office administration. After graduation, she struggled to find a job, so I recommended her to Medina Corp. She now worked as the executive secretary to the president—Mallory’s direct superior.

The post read. [Got period cramps, and feeling moody. Thankfully, someone made me a warm peach gum and brown sugar drink. So comforting to be cared for like this.]

Below it was a photo: a man’s hand holding out a cup.

On his finger was the wedding band we exchanged when we got married.

There was no doubt about it—the hand belonged to Denver.

Just then, my phone pinged again with a new message.

[I heard from the housekeeper you’ve got a bit of a stuffy nose. Drink more warm water.]

So he made peach gum desserts for another woman, but when it came to me, it was just “drink more water”?

I stared at the screen, at the conversation that no longer lit up with new messages. My heart felt like it had sunk into ice.

I’ve known Denver since I was eighteen. I am twenty-eight now. I knew him inside and out.

He wasn’t the type to meddle in others’ business, especially not someone as indifferent as him. He would never go out of his way for a new assistant—unless he really liked her.

It hurt. God, it hurt more than I thought it would.

That kind of helpless pain—watching the person you love fell for someone else right in front of your eyes—was enough to tear me apart.

I barely slept that night. When I woke up the next morning, my pillow was damp, and my eyes were swollen like walnuts.

Letting out a sigh, I washed my face, put on sunglasses, and drove to the nursing home.

I wheeled my father out to the lawn to sit in the sun. For the first time in a long time, we had an honest conversation.

The old man sat in his wheelchair, puffing on a cigarette, giving me the occasional sideways glance.

“What’s with the sunglasses? Did Denver hit you?”

I shook my head and got straight to the point. “I’m divorcing him.”

My dad let out a scoffing laugh, took two hard drags of his cigarette, and said, “When? Want me to find someone to help you move?”

I shook my head again, pulled a bank card from my pocket, and stuffed it into his hand.

“Take this. I probably won’t be able to visit you for a while.”

He didn’t believe me until he felt the card in his palm. Then the look in his eyes changed. He stared at me in stunned silence.

Even when I was already walking away, I heard him shout after me.

“Wait—are you serious? You’re really leaving? Where are you going to find someone better than him?”

Yeah. Everyone thought Denver was the best I could ever get.

Top-tier education. Impressive family background. Good looks.

But they all seemed to forget—I wasn’t some damsel with a pitiful background, nor a soft-hearted, sweet-talking social climber.

I was a top graduate in a prestigious university’s elite program, once hailed as a genius in the AI field.

Back in my sophomore year at Stanford University, I’d independently applied for several AI patents. Before even graduating, I founded a leading AI tech company with a few senior classmates—and I still hold 60% of its shares.

Marrying into the Medina family’s so-called "upper class" had nothing to do with my crippled, gambling-addicted father—or any fake innocent persona I put on.

On the drive back home, Lorelei called.

“There’s a high school reunion tonight. Are you coming?”

We all attended high school here in our hometown.

Every year around this time, the closer classmates would organize a small reunion.

Since I’d made up my mind to leave, I figured it was time to say a proper goodbye—so I agreed to go.

At 8:30 p.m., I arrived at Suite 603 of “Winnie's Bar,” a local upscale karaoke and entertainment club, just as Lorelei had texted me.

As soon as I entered, my classmates started teasing me.

“Where’s Denver? He didn’t come with you?”

Someone laughed, “Come on, when has Mr. Medina ever shown up at a class reunion? He’s got a million things to deal with every day!”

But then a woman sitting in the corner let out a snort and said mockingly, “Who says Denver didn’t come? I just saw him in the private room next door—blocking drinks for some young girl.”

She looked right at me. “Michelle, don’t tell me your husband is cheating on you? Finally losing your grip, huh?”

I recognized her immediately—it was Colette.

Back in high school, she was always second-best, constantly trying and failing to beat me.

Before I got together with Denver, she had even confessed her feelings to him.

But he chose me. And ever since then, she’s held a grudge—convinced I stole him from her.

Now, finally catching wind of trouble in my marriage, she was seizing the chance to gloat.

The others quickly jumped in to defend me.

“No way. Denver loves Michelle to death. Even if every man on earth cheated, he wouldn’t.”

“I don’t buy it either. Remember how over-the-top he was when he chased her? And that time Michelle got in that car accident—he was crying like a baby!”

“His parents were so against them dating that they cut him off financially. And just to buy her a birthday gift, Denver worked a whole month at a burger joint after school.”

One by one, they recalled all the things Denver had done for me.

Their words triggered a flood of memories, flashing before my eyes like a reel of film.

They didn’t believe he could ever cheat, and their disbelief only made Colette angrier.

She slapped the table and stood up. “You don’t believe me? Fine! Come with me and see for yourselves!”

“Sure, let’s go. Who’s afraid of you?”

“Come on, Michelle. Let’s go shut her up!”

Someone tugged on my arm, trying to pull me along to publicly slap Colette in the face with the truth.

But I hesitated.

Because deep down... I was afraid she might be telling the truth.

Just as Lorelei was about to step in to change the subject and smooth things over, Colette folded her arms, eyes gleaming with triumph.

“What’s wrong, Michelle? Don’t tell me you’re scared?”

“I told you long ago—women like you, who fight and claw for everything, always end up with nothing. One day, you’ll be tossed aside like a stray dog.”

Just as her voice fell, the door to the room suddenly opened from the outside.

Standing at the entrance—was Denver.

And right behind him was his assistant, Mallory.

“I heard you guys were having a reunion next door, so I thought I’d drop by and say hello,” he said casually.

“Wife, enjoy yourself tonight. Put everything on my tab.”

I glanced sideways at Lorelei. She gave me a subtle wave of her phone—clearly, she was the one who’d messaged Denver to come and defuse the situation.

Our classmates were thrilled.

“Someone said Michelle got dumped? Open your eyes—this is what happiness looks like!”

Colette froze. Her lips parted, but no words came out.

But just then, Mallory gently tugged on Denver’s sleeve and spoke in a soft, delicate voice, “Mr. Medina, are these all your high school classmates? I really want to get to know them!”

The next moment, without the slightest hesitation, Denver wrapped an arm around her shoulders—and began introducing each person in the room by name.

Instantly, the entire suite fell into stunned silence.

It was as if someone had slapped me across the face—hard.

I stood there frozen, humiliated, caught between leaving and staying, with nowhere to go.

Colette, who had been momentarily silenced, suddenly smirked. She leaned closer to my ear and whispered with a mocking tone.

“I’ve never seen a boss so eager to please his assistant before.”

“And introducing his high school friends to her—right in front of his own wife?”

“Looks like that ‘Mrs. Medina’ title of yours is about to be snatched away.”

I didn’t want to stay and continue being humiliated, so I turned to leave.

But before I could walk away, Mallory, eyes red with tears, looked up at Denver and asked softly, “Is Madam upset? I really just wanted to meet your old classmates... I didn’t mean anything by it...”

The next second, Denver called after me sharply, “Michelle, stop making a scene!”

I froze—but didn’t turn around.

Mallory quickly grabbed a bottle of wine from the table, poured herself a glass, and walked over to me.

“Please, Madam. Don’t be angry. If I’ve done anything wrong, I’ll punish myself with a drink—okay?”

She tilted her head back and downed the wine in one gulp, then reached out to hold my hand.

“Now that I’ve drunk, can you stay?” she asked gently. “Otherwise people will really think I’m Mr. Medina’s mistress. Even if you don’t care about me, you should at least save some face for him, right?”

I jerked my hand away—but to my surprise, Mallory staggered backward and fell hard onto the floor.

She crashed into the table behind her, knocking dishes everywhere. Porcelain shattered across the floor, soup splattered up the wall.

She landed on her palms—and a shard of broken porcelain sliced deep into her hand.

Blood spilled instantly.

“Ah!”

Denver’s eyes narrowed, and without a second thought for our classmates watching, he rushed over to her side, pulling out a handkerchief to wrap her hand, his face full of concern.

Then he turned and barked at me, furious. “Michelle, when did your temper get this out of control?”

“This is what I get for spoiling you too much. It’s time you learned a proper lesson!”

He pulled out his phone and immediately called his most trusted assistant. “Freeze all of Michelle's cards. I don’t care how—don’t leave her a single cent!”

The assistant responded with a respectful tone, “Yes, sir.”

Just then, the manager and a few staff members came in. They looked at the mess, then handed over the bill.

“Altogether, including the broken dishes and the room repairs, that’ll be two hundred eighty thousand. May I ask who will be settling the bill?”

Denver curled his lips into a cold smile and pointed at me. “She did it. Let her pay.”

Everyone knew I had stepped away from my career after marrying Denver.

And now that he had frozen all my accounts, there was no way I could come up with two hundred eighty thousand on the spot.

Lorelei instinctively reached into her purse to help, but Denver caught on immediately.

“Secretary Phillips,” he said in a warning tone, “jobs are hard to come by these days. I’d hate to see you lose yours.”

Lorelei froze, trapped in an impossible situation.

Denver looked back at me with a smug challenge in his eyes. “Have a little backbone, Michelle. Don’t drag your friends down with you.”

The implication was clear.

The room went quiet. No one dared speak or step in.

Colette, who had been waiting all night for this moment, finally burst into applause.

“Well, well. The so-called genius girl from high school—can’t even pay for a broken table without her husband, huh?”

“Guess you’re no different from those women who live off men after all.”

I raised my head and stared at Denver, suddenly seeing him for exactly what he was.

He wanted me to beg.

To surrender. To bow my head and come crawling back to him.

But instead, I smiled coldly and pulled a card from my purse, handing it to the server.

“Here. Charge it.”