"I'm not at the office," I said, cool as ever.
"Not at the office?" Eric's voice dropped ten degrees. "It's work hours, Hayley Henderson. You do realize leaving your post means losing a full day's pay, right? Company policy."
"I know, but I already—"
I was just about to say I'd resigned when Vivien's voice slid in, all soft and fake sweet.
"Eric, if Hayley doesn't want to, don't push her. I can handle it."
Eric turned syrupy in a blink. A total 180 from how he'd just snapped at me. "No, you were up late last night. You should rest today."
Vivien tried to play humble—"I'm not tired"—but Eric shut her down.
"I'm the boss. If I say rest, you rest. You gonna disobey me now?"
Vivien giggled. "I just feel bad for Hayley. It's a lot for her."
Eric snorted. "You think she works harder than you? You're out there locking down contracts. She's at the office doing nothing. And don't forget—she's my wife. Part-owner. It's literally her job to step up."
Just like that, everything I'd done? Wiped away with a shrug.
No anger, no jealousy, no heartbreak.
Just numb.
I'd been through it too many times.
Eric took my silence as a green light, his voice softening.
"Hayley, you really think I'm just dumping work on you? I'm training you. You're my wife. You should feel more invested in the company. Learn from Vivien—she was up till 4 a.m. last night. I've never seen a girl so driven and talented."
Vivien threw in a fake little laugh. "I think Hayley's great too."
Her words said one thing. Her tone said 'bless her heart.'
Eric, oblivious, laughed along. "If she were half as good as you, I'd be over the moon. You've handled every major project this year."
Perfectly in sync. Like always.
I stayed quiet. Not worth the energy.
Every single one of those "major projects" had been mine—until he handed them to Vivien. Eric knew it. Pretended he didn't. Five years of marriage, and he really thought I'd just swallow it.
"Anyway," he said, all casual, "Vivien and I have a dinner event tonight. Finish this and send it over soon."
Click. Hung up before I could even breathe.
Two minutes later, my phone buzzed.
Vivien had posted again.
Candlelit dinner. Her head tilted all sweet against Eric's shoulder. Right in front of them? A sleek little gift box—perfect ring size.
Scrolled down to last night's post—4 a.m. at a bar. Drinks, laughter, the whole flirty mess.
So her "hard work"? Partying.
And that "business dinner"?
A date.
I let out a short laugh. Wasn't even mad enough to call him out.
What was the point? He always had some excuse locked and loaded. And if I hit him with actual facts, all I'd get was silence—no apology, no guilt. Just that cold freeze he loved to use as punishment.
And every single time?
I was the one left cleaning up the mess.
