"I'm not at the office," I said, my voice level.

"Not at the office?" Julian's voice dropped. "It's the middle of the workday, Blair. Where the hell are you? An unauthorized absence means a pay deduction. That's policy."

"I know, but I've already—"

I was about to say I'd quit when Savannah's sickly-sweet voice chirped through the phone.

"Julian, honey, don't be so hard on her. If Blair doesn't feel up to it, I can take care of it."

Julian's tone softened instantly, the venom he’d used with me just seconds before completely gone. "Absolutely not. you were up late working. You need to rest today."

Savannah feigned politeness. "I'm not tired—"

Julian cut her off. "I'm the boss. I order you to rest. End of discussion."

Savannah let out a delicate giggle. "I just feel so bad for Blair. It must be a lot for her to handle."

Julian scoffed. "You think she works harder than you? You're out there winning contracts while she's just pushing paper. Besides, she's my wife—practically a co-owner. It's her duty to pull her weight."

And just like that, with one casual remark, he erased years of my hard work.

No anger, no jealousy, no heartbreak.

Just a profound numbness.

I had been through this too many times to count.

Julian took my silence as agreement, and his voice softened again.

"Blair, do you really think I'm just piling on tasks? I'm trying to develop you. You're my wife; you should have a stronger sense of ownership in this company. Learn from Savannah—she worked until four in the morning last night. I've never met a woman with so much drive and talent."

Savannah let out a practiced little laugh. "I think Blair is brilliant, too."

She said the words, but the pity in her tone was unmistakable.

Julian, completely oblivious, chuckled along with her. "I'd be grateful if she were half as brilliant as you. You've handled all the major projects this year."

They played their parts perfectly, a well-rehearsed duet.

I remained silent. It wasn't worth the breath.

Every single one of those so-called "major projects" had been mine before he handed them off to Savannah. Julian knew it, but he pretended he didn't. After five years of marriage, he truly believed I would tolerate anything.

"Anyway," he said dismissively, "Savannah and I have an important dinner tonight. Get this done and send it over as soon as possible."

Click. He hung up before I could utter another word.

Two minutes later, my phone buzzed with a notification.

Another new post from Savannah.

A Michelin-starred restaurant in Florence. Her head rested sweetly on Julian's shoulder. In front of them sat an exquisite little blue box from Tiffany's, just the right size for a ring.

I scrolled down to her post from the night before—four in the morning at a winery in Tuscany. Fine wine, hazy laughter, an intimate atmosphere.

So that was her "hard work"—a five-star vacation.

And that "important dinner"?

A date.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I didn't have the energy for anger anymore. It was pointless.

What was the point in questioning him? He always had a ready-made excuse. If I confronted him with proof, all I'd get was silence—no apology, no guilt, just the cold shoulder he wielded like a weapon.

And every single time, I was the one left to pick up the pieces.

Looking back, I should have just focused on my career.

Love? A joke. A career would never betray me.

With that thought, I walked out of the office building, already planning my next move.

Just then, my phone buzzed twice. A notification for a twenty-thousand-dollar charge on my supplementary card. From Julian.

Everyone thought I'd married a rich man for his money.

The irony was laughable, considering he was the one draining my accounts dry while holding onto all my credit cards.

He always claimed his funds were "tied up in the company," so every bill, every extravagant purchase, was paid with my salary and investment income.

I once believed marriage was a team effort, not a ledger of who paid for what. I never kept score.

Until the numbers stopped adding up. I earned a good income, but my accounts were always stretched thin.

So I checked the statements.

And then I found it. Julian had been using my money to rent a luxury penthouse apartment for Savannah downtown.

A penthouse with a monthly rent in the five figures. Expensive organic food deliveries. For her birthday, he'd spent fifty thousand dollars to rent out the entire terrace of a seaside restaurant.

Meanwhile, I was still wearing last year's clothes. Anything over a thousand dollars? "Too expensive," he'd say, handing me one of my own cards while placating me with cheap excuses about "saving for our future."

When I confronted him, he turned it back on me, calling me paranoid. Then came the silent treatment, as usual, and a hollow promise that he'd never touch my money again.

Thinking of the penthouse, the lies, the sheer audacity of it all—I called him.

I redialed over a dozen times. No answer.

Done waiting, I marched straight into a bank and had the card frozen.

Less than sixty seconds later, Julian's call finally came through.

"Sorry, I was busy, didn't see your calls. What's up?" he asked, his tone infuriatingly casual.

"It's nothing now," I said, keeping my voice level.

"That's weird. Your card was just declined."

"I know," I said. "I froze it."

"What the hell are you doing?" he snapped. "Are you really going to make a scene over this?"

"Think what you want. But didn't you promise you would never touch my cards again?"

Silence.

I had never fought with him about money before.

Back when the company was just starting out, I had acute appendicitis. The surgery cost twenty thousand dollars, and Julian had just sunk all his funds into a failed project.

He’d expected tears, maybe even a fight over the cost. Instead, I just held him and told him the money didn't matter, that he could use mine without a single question.

I thought baring my heart would bring us closer. Instead, it just taught him how much he could take from me.

Julian was silent for a beat before letting out a theatrical sigh, his voice dripping with the false martyrdom of a long-suffering victim.

"Alright, I get it. You're still mad I didn't take you on the anniversary trip. This is you getting back at me," he said. "Honestly, Blair, I thought you were more mature than this."

"Fine. I'll drop everything right now and fly you to Italy. Is that what you want? Are you happy now?"

"I don't have any other cards with me. Unfreeze yours, and don't make this ugly. Tonight's event is important."