Who Do You Think You Are?
Vesper's POV
I had originally installed the pinhole camera on the tie clip to document Rhys's business negotiations — a precaution after the intellectual property lawsuit that had nearly derailed the company the previous year. It never occurred to me that I would one day use it to watch footage of his affair. It never occurred to me, either, that he would defend that woman the way he did.
"Grandfather, please show some respect for Blythe. She is a great deal cleaner than certain women who claw their way to the top by any means necessary."
Blythe didn't look back as she walked out of the dining room. The front door closed behind her, and the sound rang through the empty space long after she was gone.
Grandfather let out a slow breath. "Vesper, I'm sorry you had to endure that."
I shook my head. "There's nothing to endure, Grandfather."
I had already stopped loving Rhys. There was nothing left to hurt.
By the time I returned to the villa we shared, it was well past midnight. A single wall sconce burned in the living room. The housekeeper was on the sofa, a bag of snacks in her lap, eyes fixed on the television. She didn't look up when I came in.
"Ma'am is back," she said, with the flat indifference of someone reciting a line they had long since stopped meaning.
I stepped out of my shoes, feeling the deep ache in my lower back that had been building all evening. "Bring me a glass of warm water, please."
The housekeeper brushed the crumbs from her hands and rose with deliberate slowness. "Ma'am, is the mister not coming home again tonight? A man whose heart isn't in the house — carrying his child won't do you a bit of good, you know."
"Water," I said again.
She rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchen. A minute later she came back and set the glass down hard on the coffee table. Water sloshed over the rim and spread across the surface.
"Ma'am, don't take this the wrong way." She crossed her arms and looked down at me. "If you had any real ability, you'd keep your husband's attention. Sitting around the house all day with that belly of yours, eating and doing nothing — no wonder he can't stand the sight of you."
I picked up the glass. The water was cold — not lukewarm, but genuinely cold, sharp against my fingers.
"How many years have you worked in this household?" I asked, keeping my voice even.
She blinked. "Five years. Why?"
I set the glass back down. "Five years, and you still can't manage a glass of warm water." I held her gaze. "Go to payroll tomorrow and collect what you're owed. You're dismissed."
Her eyes went wide. "You can't fire me. The mister hired me. He hasn't said a word — who do you think you are?"
"I am still Rhys's wife," I said, standing. "Get out."
She was shaking with anger, one finger leveled at my face. "Fine! Just you wait! When the mister gets home, he'll deal with you himself!"
I shrugged, walked to the bedroom, and sat down at the desk. The screen glowed with an unread email from my academic advisor — a fellowship offer from the Milan Academy of Advanced Design, full scholarship, one spot available. It was the opportunity I had once wanted more than anything else in the world, the one I had quietly surrendered for Rhys, choosing instead to spend years as an unremarkable assistant beneath him.
It was time to take my life back.
I typed my acceptance, hit send, then opened a new document and wrote my resignation letter.
The next morning I carried the letter to my department head's office. Milo was leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk, phone pressed to his ear. When he saw me, he ended the call.
"Vesper? Why aren't you at your desk?"
I held out the resignation letter. "Milo, I'm resigning."
He glanced at it and let out a short, contemptuous laugh. "Resigning? You think this company runs on your schedule — come when you feel like it, leave when you feel like it? What about the acquisition assessment report? Have you handed it off?"
"I sent that report to you last Friday."
He slammed his hand on the desk. "Bullshit!" He yanked a document from his drawer and flung it at my face. The edge of the paper caught my cheek, leaving a thin red mark. "Look at it yourself. You expect me to present this garbage to the board this afternoon?"
I picked it up off the floor. One glance was enough to know it wasn't mine. "This isn't my report," I said. "My report put the acquisition premium at fifteen percent. This one says thirty."
Milo sneered. "Your computer, your work. Unless you've got a better excuse — though I doubt it. Did you really think carrying Rhys's baby was going to make him think more of you? You just wait."
That afternoon, Rhys sat at the head of the boardroom table, his expression cold and composed. Milo stood at the projector and walked the room through the falsified report, letting each error land with careful emphasis.
"This is the assessment Vesper submitted," he said, drawing out her name. "A complete disaster."
Murmurs moved through the room. Every face turned toward me, and none of them were kind.
Rhys looked at me the way he might look at something he had found stuck to his shoe. "Is this what you call competence, Vesper?" His fingers drummed slowly on the table. "If all you know how to do is sleep your way into a position, do everyone a favor and get out of this company."
"That is not my report," I said, rising to my feet and meeting his eyes directly. "The original is in my cloud backup. I can pull it up right now." I took out my phone and reached for the projector cable.
"Enough." His voice cut across the room. "I don't have time to watch you perform."
At that moment the boardroom door swung open. Blythe walked in carrying an elegant pastry box, seemingly unaware of — or unbothered by — the tension she had walked into.
"Rhys, I brought your favorite macarons." She smiled at him, then let her gaze drift to me with an expression of bright, studied sympathy. "Oh, Vesper, you're here too. Did something go wrong with your work? Don't be so stressed — I'll put in a good word for you with Rhys. Honestly, it's fine. Pregnancy brain is a real thing."
I looked at them — at this man I had loved for eight years, who was now grinding what remained of my dignity into the floor in front of a room full of people.
"Rhys." I set my phone down. "I already submitted my resignation this morning." I picked up my bag. "I quit."
He gave a cold smile. "You think it's that simple?"
His eyes stayed on me. "You've caused material losses to this company. Legal will be in touch."
