Chapter 2

Next day.

The resignation form takes three signatures and one electronic stamp.

HR processes it in seven minutes flat. The approval notification pings on my phone before I've even left the office.

That fast.

Arthur probably didn't even read it. Just saw my name and clicked "approve" while thinking about something else. Someone else.

"Well." Jessica from accounting leans against the cubicle wall, arms crossed. "That was quick."

I don't look up from my phone.

"Guess we know who really runs this place," she continues. "Must be nice having that kind of... access."

Three of Chloe's friends cluster near the printer. Watching. Waiting.

"Five years," Melissa chimes in. She's holding a coffee mug, the commemorative one from the Emerald Tech campaign. My campaign. The one that put this company on the map. "Five years of coasting on someone else's name. That's got to be some kind of record."

My jaw tightens.

"I mean, we've all worked late." Jessica again. "We've all sacrificed. But some of us actually earned our positions instead of—"

"Instead of what?" The words come out flat.

She blinks. Recovers. "I'm just saying. Chloe's been carrying this team for months. She stays until midnight. She doesn't complain. She doesn't throw tantrums when someone else gets recognition for once."

For once.

I built this company. I wrote the pitches. I closed the deals. I trained half the people in this office, including the ones standing here erasing my existence like I'm a typo they're correcting.

"At least now she'll finally get the credit she deserves," Melissa says. "Instead of someone who clearly can't handle the pressure anymore."

My hand moves before my brain catches up.

The mug—that stupid commemorative mug with the Emerald Tech logo, shatters against the edge of her desk.

Silence.

Five faces freeze. Eyes wide. Mouths open.

"I earned that," I say quietly. "Every single one of those campaigns. Every late night. Every impossible deadline. I earned all of it."

Nobody moves.

"And when you're still here in five years, doing Chloe's work while she takes credit—" I grab my bag. "—remember this moment."

I walk to my office. Close the door.

My hands shake.

The office looks smaller when you're leaving it.

Five years of my life packed into two cardboard boxes. Awards. Notebooks. A plant someone gave me three birthdays ago that I somehow kept alive. The framed photo of the original team, eight of us crammed into that garage, exhausted and hopeful and convinced we were building something that mattered.

Arthur's in the center. Arms around my shoulders.

I set the frame face-down in the box.

My throat tightens. Not from sadness. From the weight of understanding something I should've seen years ago.

He never needed me to build the company. He needed me to build it for him. There's a difference. One I'm finally getting.

I tape the boxes closed.

The office door clicks shut behind me for the last time.

I'm halfway across the parking lot when my phone rings.

Arthur.

"Where are you?" No greeting. Just accusation. "I need the Stella Coffee revised deck in an hour."

I stop walking. "What?"

"The revised deck. Chloe said you were handling the technical specs. She needs them formatted by three."

Of course she does.

"I'm not—"

"Riley, I don't have time for this. Just get it done."

My pulse hammers. "That's Chloe's project now. Remember? You assigned it to her yesterday."

"And you're still on the team. That's how collaboration works. Or did you forget?"

Collaboration. That's what he calls it when I do the work and someone else gets the credit.

Six months ago, I would've argued. Would've explained—again—that this isn't collaboration. It's exploitation.

But I learned something during those six months.

Some people don't want to understand. They want you to stop talking so they can go back to pretending they don't know exactly what they're doing.

"Arthur—"

"Actually, you know what? Never mind. I'll just dock your pay for today. Since apparently you have better things to do than your actual job."

Chloe's voice filters through the phone. Soft. Gentle. "Arthur, don't be too hard on her. Maybe she's having a rough day?"

The shift is immediate.

"You're right." His tone warms instantly.

"Riley," he says, voice cooling again. "If you could manage even half of Chloe's work ethic, I'd be the happiest man alive."

My chest hollows out.

Not from hurt. From the clinical precision of finally understanding someone completely. He knows exactly what he's doing. He's counting on me not calling him on it because we're married. Because I'm supposed to forgive him. Because five years means something.

"I have a client dinner tonight," he continues. "Chloe's coming since she's been handling the account. We'll talk about your performance issues when I get home."

He hangs up.

I stand in the parking lot.

My phone buzzes.

A notification.

Chloe's post: A photo of Arthur at what looks like an auction house. He's holding up a bidding paddle, grinning. The caption reads: Just mentioned I liked this necklace and he insisted on winning it for me ❤️ Best boss ever!

I stare at the screen.

I dial the bank.

"Yes, I need to freeze a supplementary card immediately..."

Then I end the call.

Get in my car.

Drive home.

I'm pulling into my driveway when my phone rings again.

Arthur.

I let it ring once. Twice.

Then I answer.

"Riley." His voice is furious. "Are you fucking kidding me? Why the hell did my Amex Black Card get declined?!"