Chapter 3

3

I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles popped, my entire body shaking with fury.

"Janelle, when did you become so shameless? Would you climb into his bed just to save your pathetic business?!"

Janelle stared at me, her eyes filled with nothing but resentment and disgust.

"Dirty-minded people see dirt everywhere! I break my back working out there every single day while you do nothing but stir up drama!"

"Clayton was right about you. You're nothing more than a useless freeloader living off my hard work!"

"I spent years building this company from the ground up! Caleb, are you trying to ruin me?!"

"We're facing a massive cash flow crisis, and I'm out there busting my ass to secure contracts! Not only can't you help me, but you throw childish tantrums instead! Look in the mirror―are you even a real man?!"

It was true what they said: only the person who knows you best knows where to plunge the knife the deepest.

I thought hearing those vicious words would tear my heart apart.

Instead, my chest felt like a pool of stagnant, frozen water.

I didn't even have the energy left to argue with her.

I pushed past her toward the front door, my voice deadly calm.

"Let's get a divorce."

Janelle froze, staring at me in shock.

"You want a divorce over something this trivial?"

"Yes. A divorce. I'm done."

She let out a cold, mocking laugh.

"Fine, Caleb! Walk out that door tonight, and don't you dare ever come crawling back!"

I grabbed my coat and shut the door gently behind me.

The crisp night air was refreshing, a thousand times better than the suffocating toxicity inside that apartment.

I took a deep breath, though an unavoidable sting burned behind my eyes.

Janelle called me a freeloader, echoing Clayton's insults.

Yet she seemed to have forgotten that when she first started her business, I handed her three million dollars in seed capital.

I worked day and night writing proposals, securing clients, and drinking until I developed stomach ulcers just to keep her dream alive.

Once the company took off and she became the celebrated CEO, she begged me to stay home and rest, promising she could handle the rest.

I never cared for fame or corporate power, so I agreed to step back and take care of our home.

And now, after years of cooking, cleaning, and caring for her every need, all I got was the label of a useless freeloader.

With a cold expression, I dialed Marcus Reed, the most prominent corporate attorney in the city.

Despite the late hour, Marcus answered on the second ring, his tone deeply respectful.

"Mr. Mercer, how can I assist you?"

I stood under the streetlamp, watching the bedroom lights in our apartment click off.

She had already gone to sleep without a care in the world.

"Draft a divorce agreement immediately. She can keep the apartment and the car. I only want my three million dollars back."