Suddenly, I found the whole situation laughable.
A junior assistant who had only been with the company for three months had somehow earned the complete trust of the man I’d been married to for five years.
I couldn’t help but lift my head to look at Denver’s refined, handsome face and asked coldly, “Are you deaf? I told her to call me by my name. She’s the one who kept calling me ‘Madam’—how is that my fault?”
Without waiting for a response, I turned and slammed the office door behind me.
As soon as I got home, I contacted my lawyer to draft a divorce agreement.
While I waited, my best friend Lorelei messaged me a screenshot from Mallory’s social media post.
Lorelei had studied office administration. After graduation, she struggled to find a job, so I recommended her to Medina Corp. She now worked as the executive secretary to the president—Mallory’s direct superior.
The post read. [Got period cramps, and feeling moody. Thankfully, someone made me a warm peach gum and brown sugar drink. So comforting to be cared for like this.]
Below it was a photo: a man’s hand holding out a cup.
On his finger was the wedding band we exchanged when we got married.
There was no doubt about it—the hand belonged to Denver.
Just then, my phone pinged again with a new message.
[I heard from the housekeeper you’ve got a bit of a stuffy nose. Drink more warm water.]
So he made peach gum desserts for another woman, but when it came to me, it was just “drink more water”?
I stared at the screen, at the conversation that no longer lit up with new messages. My heart felt like it had sunk into ice.
I’ve known Denver since I was eighteen. I am twenty-eight now. I knew him inside and out.
He wasn’t the type to meddle in others’ business, especially not someone as indifferent as him. He would never go out of his way for a new assistant—unless he really liked her.
It hurt. God, it hurt more than I thought it would.
That kind of helpless pain—watching the person you love fell for someone else right in front of your eyes—was enough to tear me apart.
I barely slept that night. When I woke up the next morning, my pillow was damp, and my eyes were swollen like walnuts.
Letting out a sigh, I washed my face, put on sunglasses, and drove to the nursing home.
I wheeled my father out to the lawn to sit in the sun. For the first time in a long time, we had an honest conversation.
The old man sat in his wheelchair, puffing on a cigarette, giving me the occasional sideways glance.
“What’s with the sunglasses? Did Denver hit you?”
I shook my head and got straight to the point. “I’m divorcing him.”
My dad let out a scoffing laugh, took two hard drags of his cigarette, and said, “When? Want me to find someone to help you move?”
I shook my head again, pulled a bank card from my pocket, and stuffed it into his hand.
“Take this. I probably won’t be able to visit you for a while.”
He didn’t believe me until he felt the card in his palm. Then the look in his eyes changed. He stared at me in stunned silence.
Even when I was already walking away, I heard him shout after me.
“Wait—are you serious? You’re really leaving? Where are you going to find someone better than him?”
Yeah. Everyone thought Denver was the best I could ever get.
Top-tier education. Impressive family background. Good looks.
But they all seemed to forget—I wasn’t some damsel with a pitiful background, nor a soft-hearted, sweet-talking social climber.
I was a top graduate in a prestigious university’s elite program, once hailed as a genius in the AI field.
Back in my sophomore year at Stanford University, I’d independently applied for several AI patents. Before even graduating, I founded a leading AI tech company with a few senior classmates—and I still hold 60% of its shares.
Marrying into the Medina family’s so-called "upper class" had nothing to do with my crippled, gambling-addicted father—or any fake innocent persona I put on.
On the drive back home, Lorelei called.
“There’s a high school reunion tonight. Are you coming?”
