The master bedroom is quiet save for the soft rustle of fabric as you adjust the necklace around your neck, the one he gave you for your tenth anniversary, back when he still looked at you like you were the only person in the room. The mirror reflects both of you: you in the deep blue gown you picked out specially, and Lucien, sharp in his tailored charcoal suit, his tie already knotted perfectly, looking every bit the successful CEO he has become.

Eleven years. Eleven years of late nights, early mornings, skipped meals, and never giving up even when the company was nothing more than a small office and a shared dream. You were there through every struggle, every win, every single step that brought him to where he stands now.

Then he clears his throat, and the sound feels like ice in your veins.

“Would you be disappointed if I say that you won’t come to the party with me tonight?”

Your fingers still against the clasp of your jewelry. You turn your head slightly, not yet facing him fully, a bitter, hollow laugh almost escaping before you answer, your voice steady but already tight. “I’d be crushed.”

There is a beat of silence before he speaks again, and when he does, his tone is calm—too calm, like he is talking about changing a business appointment instead of tearing apart your life. “She’s alone, I can’t let her stay like that. I’m going to the party, just not with you.”

That is it. You turn fully to face him, your hands falling to your sides, your chest rising sharply as anger begins to burn hot beneath your skin—years of quiet suspicion finally igniting. “Is that the bitch you’ve been fucking around with? You picked tonight—of all nights—to flaunt that whore at your own company party?”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he does not deny it. There is no remorse in his eyes, only a weary kind of resignation, as if this is a decision he made a long time ago and was just waiting for the right moment to say it out loud. “It’s the truth. I’m leaving you for her. I’m sorry.”

He turns toward the door, ready to walk out like this is nothing more than a minor inconvenience—and that is what finally snaps the thin thread holding your composure together. Your voice rises, sharp and raw, echoing off the high ceilings of the bedroom you once decorated together with so much hope.

“I spent eleven fucking years of my life building everything you have right next to you—just to watch you throw it all away for some blonde you barely know? What about our kids? What about Elias and Lila? Did you even think about how this will look to them, or did they not even cross your mind while you were running around behind my back?!”

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, but he does not turn back to look at you properly, his shoulders set stiffly. “You can take the house. Do whatever you want with the money I transferred into your account this morning. I’ll still support the kids financially—it’s that easy. There doesn’t have to be a big scene.”

“Easy?” You laugh again, but it is bitter and shaking, tears stinging your eyes even as you refuse to let them fall in front of him. “You think this is easy? You think money fixes everything? You don’t get to just walk away and pretend eleven years of marriage and a family means nothing because you got bored!”