On our anniversary, my husband, James Marshall, purchased a painting as a gift for me with my secondary credit card.

When I got home, I went to my study to retrieve an urgent court document.

The door was slightly ajar. Inside, I could hear the flirtatious voice of my assistant, Julie Summers, mingled with my husband’s low murmurs.

“James, your wife is just a money-printing machine. What does she know about art? She could never appreciate you like I do.”

James sighed. Then, in an indulgent tone, he said, “Claire is too perfect—so perfect it’s suffocating. Not like you, full of life and warmth.”

Just then, my mother-in-law, Susan Marshall, called James. He put her on speakerphone. “James, you need to move faster. While Claire still trusts you, turn all her client contacts into yours. That Julie girl seems promising. She’s much easier to control than that iron-fisted career wife of yours.”

I gripped the cold doorknob, listening to the pair of shameless lovers in the study and the wretched woman on the phone, and immediately drafted a divorce agreement.

At the same time, I forwarded asset-protection filings for all my holdings to my legal team.

“I’ll see you all in court, parasites.”

On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband, James Marshall, presented me with a surprise at our gallery gala.

He had acquired an avant-garde art piece at an auction. It was a painting which he announced as his gift to me.

I watched as he elegantly explained the painting’s artistic value to the guests around him with his glass in hand. He was basking in their admiring glances.

Those guests were all connections I had introduced him to.

The black titanium credit card he had used to pay the seven-figure sum was mine.

I simply smiled and let him have the moment.

Back at home later that night, I planned to retrieve some case files for tomorrow’s hearing from my study. As I approached, I noticed the door was slightly ajar.

The voice that drifted out belonged to my personal assistant, Julie Summers.

“James, this evening’s gallery gala was a success. The wives of those company presidents were practically tripping over themselves praising you.”

I stopped in my tracks.

James chuckled, tinged with complacency. “Of course. Someone had to curate the whole thing. Sophia’s only contributions are a checkbook and a contacts list. She knows nothing about the work.”

“Exactly.” Julie’s voice was tinged with grievance. “Claire’s great at everything, but she’s so domineering. She’s like an emotionless work machine. Being with her must be suffocating, right?”

I froze.

Julie was an intern I had personally recruited out of law school, mentored for three years, and treated like my younger sister. I had entrusted her with authority and a salary far beyond her peers.

James was the man I had loved for ten years. The man I had turned from an unknown painter into the moderately celebrated “art curator” as he was, with my resources and fortune.

I had believed our marriage was a formidable union of complementary talents.

I finally realized at that moment that I was nothing more than a soulless ATM to them.

“Enough about her.” James’s tone turned impatient. “By the way, what about those client profiles I asked you to compile? How are they coming along?”

Julie immediately shifted into a tone eager to impress. Her voice dropped even lower.

“All done! I copied all of Sophia’s VIP client data, including their family backgrounds, asset portfolios, and personal preferences. Now you can approach them as an art investment advisor. I’ll handle the content strategy. We’ll turn them into your loyal clients in no time.”

“Good job.” James’ tone was filled with approval. “Julie, you’re so much more considerate than she ever was.”

A glacial chill seeped into my veins.

Those were not just client files. It was the backbone of my practice, the foundation of everything I had built, and the reason my name carried weight.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm.

As a top-tier attorney specializing in divorce and family law, I had seen far uglier betrayals.

I just never expected to one day find myself on the receiving end.

I pulled out my phone and pressed the record button.

Inside the study, their conversation went on.

“When are you going to tell her, James? I don’t want to keep sneaking around like this.”

“What’s the rush?” James soothed her. “She still has her uses. Once I’ve absorbed her entire network, I’ll dump her. After that, you’ll be the only woman in this house.”

“You’re so annoying.” Julie giggled softly. “But what if she finds out? She’s a lawyer.”

James let out a contemptuous snort. “What of it? She can be ruthless in court all she wants. At home, she’s still just a stupid woman desperate for a man’s affection. I’ve been toying with her for ten years. Breaking her will be effortless.”

So that was how he saw me. A joke.

We were not even divorced yet, and he was already plotting how to carve up my assets.

I sneered in anger. I had heard enough.

I soundlessly slipped back to the bedroom and locked the door.

Right there and then, I drafted a divorce agreement. Each clause was crafted with surgical precision, designed to ensure he would not get a single cent from the divorce.

Then, I attached the agreement and the recording and sent them via encrypted email to my most trusted partner in the firm.

[Subject: Initiate maximum asset protection.]

[Target: My husband, James Marshall.]

The next morning, I got up as usual.

James was already seated at the breakfast table, eating with effortless elegance.

When he saw me, he set his knife and fork aside. He stood and pulled me into a warm embrace. With a gentle tone, he said, “Honey, did you sleep well? I’m sorry for coming back late last night. I got caught up discussing some work stuff with Julie after you had gone to bed.”

I calmly watched his performance. “It’s fine. You work so hard.”

I carried our daughter for ten months. When she was born, I bled heavily on the operating table and barely made it out alive.

To give her the best education possible, I worked relentlessly and clawed my way from an ordinary associate to a named partner at my firm.

James always said he would give our family a life filled with art and romance, while I would provide the financial foundation that made it all possible.

I believed it to be a perfect division of labor.

So when he said his gallery needed seed funding, I sold the old house my parents had left me without hesitation.

When he said he needed access to high-end circles, I brought him to every client’s dinner.

I thought my sacrifices would buy me love and respect.

I worked hard for this family for ten years, only to pave the way for a pair of shameless lovers.

One hour later, the call came from the firm.

“Ms. Sophia, asset preservation procedures are now in effect. All company shares, real estate, vehicles, and bank accounts under James’ name that were funded by you have been frozen. In addition, we found out that over the past year, Julie repeatedly used your authorization credentials to extract confidential client data from the firm and forward it in batches to James’s personal email account.”

As I listened to the report, a sharp, rhythmic ache pulsed in my chest.

My most trusted assistant and my most intimate partner had joined forces to orchestrate the most devastating betrayal imaginable.

An attorney, of all people, had been blindsided by a scheme orchestrated right under her own roof.

I ended the call before my temper erupted.

The moment I set the phone down, a new message from James flashed on the screen.

[Claire, why is my card frozen? I’m meeting a few collectors today. I can’t move any funds. This will sink the entire deal.]

I felt my scalp prickle with rage.

For our so-called “artistic family,” I had poured my soul and fortune into him. The capital I had invested could have outright purchased multiple galleries.

To spare him any embarrassment, I had given him a black card with no preset limit.

Did he really believe I cared about the money in those deals?

I ignored him. Instead, I printed out the investigation report that the firm had just sent me.

Ten minutes later, James called again. He sounded furious as he said, “Claire, what’s going on with you? I have projects worth millions waiting on funding, and you froze my accounts? Are you trying to destroy my career?”

Good God. He was the one who stole my confidential files and betrayed me.

Where did he find the audacity to call and accuse me?

Had he lost his darn mind?

My grip tightened around the phone. I could not hold it in any longer.

I said, “Go away. I have nothing to say to a corporate spy.”

And with that, I hung up on him.

Hearing the commotion, my mother-in-law, Susan Marshall, who had been arranging flowers in the living room, came over and asked me what had happened.

I gave her a brief summary of what had happened.

Susan’s brow furrowed instantly. Her expression was one of utter disbelief. “James would never do such a thing! Claire, there must be some misunderstanding. He’s an artist. What does an artist know about these corporate schemes?”

I looked at her with a cold gaze. “Are you saying that I’m framing him?”

Susan sighed and took my hand. With a patient and earnest tone, she said, “Claire, I know your job is stressful. But James is your husband. Men sometimes make foolish choices to save face in front of others. As a wife, you should be more understanding, instead of freezing his accounts and burning bridges.”

Half an hour later, James stormed through the front door in a rage.

“Claire, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Susan immediately stepped forward and feigned reproach. “James, is that any way to speak to your wife? Do you know you almost broke the law?”

James cut her off with a furious wave of his hand. “Mom, stay out of it! Because of this stupid mess, Julie was so worried that she even cried! She thinks I’m the one who got her into this!”

As soon as he said that, the room went dead silent.

A beat later, James turned to me. His voice was sharp with reproach. “Claire, can’t you think about my career for once? Julie says that if you unfreeze the accounts and leave her alone, she’ll pretend nothing ever happened.”

Hearing this, Susan turned her gaze on me as well. She tried to persuade me.

“Claire, maybe you should unfreeze the accounts first? James’s career is finally taking off. You know things haven’t been easy for him.”

I stared at them intensely. Then, I laughed.

“So, let me get this straight. Instead of apologizing, you’re both asking me to forgive a thief and a traitor?”