After Alan finished talking, he paused again and looked at me seriously.

"Don't worry. This time, I'll introduce you properly and won't let Larissa stir anything up."

I lifted my head and glanced calmly at him. I knew very well this was his attempt to make up for last night.

Fine by me. Terminating the Westarken contract would take a few days of paperwork, anyway.

Announcing it on the day of the press conference would be perfect.

That evening, like always, I arrived early at the restaurant to wait for him.

After ten years together, it had become a habit.

While I waited, I got a call from overseas.

It was from Joe Meskill, the representative of the other party during the last negotiation. He was also an old friend from college.

Joe sounded relaxed as he laughed and asked, "Myra, have you thought about my offer to bring you into Dominex Corp? Holt Enterprise is too small for someone with your talent."

This was the third time he had tried to recruit me.

The first time was seven years ago, when I turned down a high-paying job at a foreign firm and joined Alan's tiny company instead, earning only 2,500 dollars a month.

And out of that, I still had to pay 1,000 dollars toward the rent for the place Alan and I shared.

Joe nearly lost his mind trying to persuade me back then, but nothing he said changed my decision.

The second time was just a few days ago at the negotiation table. I had pressured him so hard during the talks that he could barely hold his ground.

When it ended, he was half impressed and half nervous as he told me, "Myra, I heard you only make 5,000 a month at Holt Enterprise. Come work for me. Don't let your talent go to waste on people who don't appreciate it."

I turned him down with a smile. How could my talent be wasted?

It was Alan's company. It was the empire that the two of us had built together over seven years.

And now, here came his third attempt.

I only hesitated for three seconds. Then, I told the waiter to bring a bottle of red wine and said yes without another thought.

"Send me the address. I'll start next Tuesday."

Joe froze for two seconds, then burst into loud, excited laughter.

Afraid I would take it back, he quickly said, "Great!" and hung up.

I was smiling and about to put my phone down when a notification popped up.

It was from Alan.

[Change of plans. Larissa couldn't wait, so I'm taking her on the first flight out. Get dinner on your own. I'll bring you a surprise when I'm back.]

A moment later, Larissa posted something on social media that was only visible to me.

[Thanks to my Prince Charming for making my dream come true. I'll buy him a big dinner as a reward tomorrow!]

The picture showed Larissa holding Alan's hand, the two of them standing under the Presian Tower.

It was the exact same pose as the photo Alan and I took seven years ago.

I stared at the photo for two seconds, then calmly opened my chat with Joe.

[I'll bring you a gift when I start. Want the Westarken contract worth 200 million?]

My phone was silent for a moment. A second later, it started vibrating nonstop.

[Yes! Yes! Yes! You're seriously the best! Yesterday was your birthday, right? The gift I sent should have arrived. Don't forget to pick it up!]

I froze, then a small laugh slipped out of my throat and slowly grew louder.

Right. Yesterday was my birthday.

When Alan watched me drink that mango juice, did he remember what day it was?

When he was putting a bandage on Larissa's hand while I lay alone in a hospital bed, did he think about getting his wife of five years a birthday gift?

Probably not.

But it didn't matter anymore. We were getting divorced.

Who would want a birthday gift from an ex-husband, anyway?

After I finished my dinner, I didn't rest at all. I threw myself completely into the Westarken contract.

Since I was handing this project over to my new employer, I couldn't afford even the smallest mistake.

I practically lived at the office. The lights in my workspace stayed on all night.

Everyone at work noticed. In the group chat that didn't include me, they whispered among themselves.

[I told you. Ms. Mendez only makes 5,000 a month and depends on Mr. Holt for everything. What right does she have to throw a tantrum?]

[If she weren't relying on her relationship with Mr. Holt, the company wouldn't even need her. It's only doing well because of him.]

[I heard she dragged Mr. Holt down when he first started his company. Otherwise, we would've gone public a long time ago.]

Without exception, Larissa screenshotted every one of those messages and sent them to me privately, then recorded a voice message, pretending to comfort me.

"Hey, Myra, being married to someone as capable and powerful as Alan must make you feel insecure. I completely understand. But I should tell you, men don't like older women who only know how to work. They prefer girls like me who are young, pretty, and feminine."

Listening to her fake, overly sweet voice, I actually laughed.

"Great. I'll have HR fire you tomorrow, so you won't have any trouble attracting men."

Then, I blocked her without another thought.

Ten minutes later, Alan called, full of righteous fury.

He barked through the phone, "What did Larissa ever do to you? I worked so damn hard to bring her to Presia and convince her to forgive your behavior at the celebration dinner. Now you've made her cry again. Do you have to make trouble every single day?"

He asked her to forgive me?

I found it ridiculous. As I printed out the finalized divorce papers, I casually asked, "When are you and Larissa coming back? We need to talk about the divorce."

There was a sharp pause on the other end; then, Alan's angry breathing crackled through the phone.

"Are you done yet? You've got to stop with the sulking and jealousy at some point. If you keep this up, I'm seriously going to get angry."

I froze for a second, then couldn't help laughing out loud.

I already had the divorce papers printed in black and white. Why would I care if he got angry?

"I'll leave the signed divorce papers on your desk. Check them when you're back."

There was a loud crash. Alan must have kicked a chair.

He growled through the phone, "Fine. Don't regret it."

Then, he hung up.

I shrugged and signed the papers.

When I woke up the next morning and checked my phone, Alan's messages were the first thing I saw. He seemed to have stayed up all night.

At 4 a.m., he even posted a public social update. He and Larissa were standing in front of their hotel's floor-to-ceiling window, fingers intertwined.

The caption read, [Seven years through thick and thin. Thank God for you.]

Below it were tens of thousands of comments.

[You're finally making it official! Is this the woman you've been hiding for seven years?]

Alan didn't reply, but he pinned a "shh" emoji to the top.

He even made an announcement in the company's main group chat.

[Effective immediately, Myra Mendez's position will be replaced by Larissa Fennimore. The Westarken contract will be transferred to Ms. Fennimore. Tonight's press conference will also be handled by Ms. Fennimore instead of Ms. Mendez.]

He knew I had worked overseas for 39 days straight to secure that contract.

He knew I spent my days organizing documents and my nights drinking with clients until I felt sick, all to lock down that partnership.

And yet, Alan still chose to do all this just to force me to give in.

My phone buzzed with a new notification. It was Alan.

[If you apologize now, you still have a chance.]

I didn't reply. I tossed my phone aside and went to wash up.

He must have forgotten that the Westarken contract existed because of me alone. Their team didn't trust the company; they trusted me.

After washing up, I went downstairs to grab breakfast from a café.

When I came back, I found all my things thrown out of my office.

I found my water bottle and documents tossed aside. Even the signed divorce papers had been ripped clean down the middle.

The only thing left untouched was our wedding photo. Someone had placed it carefully on the balcony.

Larissa was sitting in my chair, radiant and smug.

"Sorry, Myra," she said, her smile full of challenge. "Alan already gave me this office. From now on, you'll be sitting over there."

She pointed proudly toward the leaking, tiny storage room next to the bathroom.

I couldn't be bothered with her. I turned instead to Alan, who had been silent the entire time.

He looked like he hadn't slept all night, and his eyes were bloodshot, but there was a twisted smirk on his face.

"Larissa's right. I gave her the office. But if you take back the divorce, I might consider…"

"No need."

I cut him off, grabbed the wedding photo from the balcony, and tossed it straight into the trash, right under Alan's slightly triumphant gaze.

"I don't want this, either. You can throw it out."

I picked up my laptop and walked out, pretending not to notice Alan's eyes turning red with anger.

It was Monday. I would start my new job the next day, so I still had packing to do.

I didn't attend the evening press conference.

Instead, I stayed home and finalized the project with the Westarken partners, now as a manager of Dominex Corp.

Right when everything was confirmed, a message from Alan appeared.

[I invited the media to livestream tonight's event. If you don't apologize, you'll have nothing to do with the Westarken contract.]

I glanced at the message and immediately turned on "Do Not Disturb" mode.

It was about time for me to head to the airport.

At 7 p.m., reporters began arriving at the press conference. The event was being streamed across the whole city.

Larissa had hired an expensive celebrity makeup artist and was dressed to perfection, clinging to Alan's arm with a bright smile.

Alan looked sharp as always in a gray suit, but his eyes kept sweeping over the crowd restlessly. He wondered where I was, and the excitement he had felt earlier slowly turned into unease.

Even so, the press conference had to continue.

Alan tightened his lips and took the microphone.

"Good evening. I'm Alan Holt, president of Holt Enterprise. Today's event is to announce our partnership with Galken Group on the Vespera project in Westarken. This project…"

"Hold on!"

A reporter wearing an International Finance Network badge suddenly stood up.

"Mr. Holt, are you sure you're talking about the Vespera project?"

Alan froze.

"Of course. This is our company's…"

Before he could finish, his assistant rushed onto the stage, leaned in close to his ear, and uttered in panic, "Bad news, Mr. Holt! One minute ago, Dominex Corp released an official statement. They've taken over the Vespera project. Ms. Mendez has jumped ship!"