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!"