My five years of marriage to Elliot Kline turned out to be a cruel joke.

"For tomorrow's monthly report meeting, I'd like Yvette to present your branding plan," Elliot said, not looking up from his desk.

I put down the files I was organizing, certain I had misheard. "What?"

"Yvette just joined the company. She needs a chance to prove herself. Your plan is perfect for that." He lifted his head, his tone brooking no argument.

"But that's my entry for the Veriania Creative Competition," I protested.

"You win awards every year. What's the harm in letting her have it this time?" He shrugged, adding, "We need to nurture new talent."

I stared at the man with whom I had shared a bed for five years. His face suddenly felt so unfamiliar to me.

"Do you know how many sleepless nights I poured into that plan? And you're giving it to a new intern?"

"Don't be so petty. It's just a plan. My decision is made."

My fists clenched, anger surging through me.

I never imagined my husband of five years would hand my painstakingly crafted branding plan to an intern who'd been with the company for just two weeks.

I had poured my heart and soul into that plan, but Elliot Kline didn't see it.

Watching Yvette Atkins present my work at the monthly meeting felt like ice water dousing me. Betrayal stung deep.

The colleagues below the stage looked at her with admiration, while the supervisor nodded in approval.

Some even whispered about how extraordinary Yvette's creative talent was.

From the back of the room, I looked at the girl seven years younger than me.

Dressed in a neat suit, she gracefully pointed to the projection screen and explained "her" creative ideas to everyone.

Elliot sat at the front, beaming with pride, as if he'd discovered a prodigy. He even praised her publicly, calling her a rare creative star everyone should emulate.

My fists clenched under the table, my nails nearly digging into my palms.

After the meeting, I stormed into Elliot's office.

His face still glowed with excitement. He was oblivious to the gravity of his actions.

"You saw that? Yvette has got real talent. That plan was incredible," he said, his eyes sparkling.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "That was my plan."

He froze, then waved it off. "About that. Look, Yvette is new. She needed a chance to prove herself, so I gave her your plan to practice with."

His indifference grated on my nerves.

That plan took me three days and nights of hard work. He just turned it into a practice run for an intern.

"Do you have any idea what this plan means to me?" I asked sharply. "It was for the Veriania Creative Competition."

His smile froze, but he soon regained his usual nonchalance.

"You win awards every year, so what's the big deal letting her have it once?" he said. "Besides, that was just an internal presentation, not the actual competition."

A fire burned in my chest, and my blood boiled in my veins. I snapped, "What do you take me for?"

My sharp tone startled him, and a flicker of unease crossed his face. "Come on. Yvette is just a girl fresh out of the irony tower. I'm doing this to help her grow."

I turned around and left, unwilling to hear his excuses. He called after me, but I didn't turn back.

...

The next morning, I avoided leaving at the same time as Elliot.

Once at the company, I headed straight to my personal studio, a space Elliot had set up for me to showcase my creative works and awards.

When I opened the studio door, I froze.

My trophies and certificates were gone from the display cabinet. Even the posters I designed had been taken down from the wall. In its place were some decorative paintings I had never seen before.

What made me even angrier was finding Yvette sitting in my chair.

A pile of design drafts spread out in front of her, with a cup of coffee beside them. She acted as if she owned the place.

She glanced up, a flash of panic in her eyes before she masked it with innocence. "Mrs. Kline, you're here. Elliot said I could work here since it's quieter. The open office is too distracting."

The way she called Elliot and me unnerved me.

"Where is my stuff?" I demanded.

Her eyes darting away, she pretended not to understand. "What stuff?"

"My trophies, my certificates, and my works."

"Oh, those. Elliot asked me to pack them away. He thought they might make me feel pressured," she replied innocently.

I stared at her for a while, then left to confront Elliot.

He was in a meeting with a few clients. His brow furrowed when I walked in.

"Elliot, we need to talk."

"Can it wait until I'm done with the meeting?"

"Now."

The clients, sensing the tension, excused themselves one after another.

Once we were alone in the meeting room, Elliot grumbled, "What is this about? We talked yesterday."

"Why is everything in my studio gone?" I asked, getting straight to the point.

His face burned with guilt, but he refused to admit it. "Yvette needs a quiet environment to create. Those trophies intimidated her."

"That's my studio," I emphasized.

"This is my company," he snapped. "I decide how things are arranged."

His words hit me like a slap to the face, but it was true. He built Kline Creative from the ground up.

I was just the glorified creative director, and in reality, a free contributor.

I joined the company with my skills, but my stake was small. Most of the decision-making power was in his hands.

I had thought we'd moved past the purely business relationship we had at the start and that we'd built love and trust.

Now I saw I was just a subordinate for him to boss around.

"You've changed," I sighed.

Something flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly covered up by stubbornness.

"I haven't," he said. "You're overreacting. She is just borrowing a place. Why make such a big deal out of it?"

I left the room, my decision clear. If he didn't value my feelings, I wouldn't bend anymore.

Over the next few days, I avoided Elliot, leaving early and returning late to dodge him.

To my surprise, Yvette came to me, knocking on the door of my temporary office with a smile that looked almost sincere.

"Mrs. Kline, I understand you're upset, but I just want to learn from you," she said.

I kept my eyes on my screen. "Learning doesn’t mean taking someone’s workspace."

She sat down in a chair opposite me, her tone sickeningly sweet. "I've always admired your work. It's an honor to be here."

"If you truly admired me, you wouldn't claim my designs as your own," I retorted, unimpressed.

Yvette's expression shifted, but she quickly regained her innocent look. "You misunderstood. Elliot said that the design was a team effort. He asked me to use it to improve my presentation skills."

Finally, I looked up to study her expressions.

She was pretty, with fair skin and delicate features.

When Yvette smiled, her eyes lit up like crescent moons, a look that effortlessly won people's affection.

But in them, I detected a hint of smugness and calculation.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"23," she replied.

"Then you’re old enough to know what honesty is," I said sharply.

Her smile wavered. "I don't understand what you mean."

"It's clear. The whole plan was done by me, from start to finish," I said. "You knew that, yet you still presented it as your own. It's called shameless."

Her face flushed, but she quickly hid her discomfort. "You're being unfair. I was just following Elliot's instructions."

She stormed out, but I knew this wasn’t over.

Sure enough, Elliot confronted me in the afternoon. "What's with you? Why did you talk to Yvette like that?"

I set my pen down, meeting his gaze calmly. "What did I say?"

"You called her shameless and accused her of stealing your plan. She's just a fresh graduate. How could you humiliate her?" he sulked.

I couldn't help but laugh, but there was no warmth in it.

"She's humiliated?" I scoffed. "What about me? Who cares about how I feel?"

Elliot froze, surprised by my sarcastic tone.

"Grow up and be more tolerant. Yvette didn't mean any harm."

"Didn't she? Then why did she claim my plan as her idea?"

"She’s not great at presenting. Maybe she phrased it wrong."

No matter what I said, he defended her. His bias cut deeper than I’d expected.

"Do you have a crush on her?" I blurted out.

My blunt question ignited his anger. He snapped, "What nonsense are you talking about? She is my employee!"

"An employee needs you to defend her like this? Who gets to use my studio and take credit for my work?" I countered.

Elliot pressed his lips into a thin line, unable to come up with a response.

Finally, he managed, "You're being extreme."

Then he stormed out of my office.

...

The next day, I found several critical files deleted from my computer, and the Recycle Bin emptied. These were proposals for major clients, each one taking great chunks of my time and energy.

Worse, one of them was the entry I'd prepared for the International Advertising Festival. That award meant a lot to me.

I immediately went to the IT department for help in recovering the files.

After checking, a technician told me the files had been deleted manually at around 11 PM the previous night.

I had already been home by then. Only the security guards and some employees working late would have been in the office.

I pulled up the surveillance footage and saw that Yvette had stayed late in the office. She had even entered my office.

When I told Elliot about this discovery, his response crushed me.

"Maybe she was studying your work and deleted them by mistake," he said. "Don't jump to conclusions."

"By mistake?" I retorted. "The Recycle Bin was cleared. Does that look like an accident to you?"

"Maybe she was just trying to help you clear out some unnecessary files," he stammered.

The ferocious way he defended Yvette made me feel like an outsider in their relationship.

"Fine, let's say it was an accident," I sighed. "Why didn't she tell me? Why hide it?"

"Maybe she was afraid you'd blame her," Elliot mumbled.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions in check. "Last question, Elliot. If you had to choose between me and Yvette, who would it be?"

He froze, unprepared for the ultimatum.