"Is that all you do? Stare at me and pick fights because you have nothing better to do?"
I loosened my tie, the silk feeling like a noose. Nothing to do? I barely had time to eat between saving her family's legacy and managing the chaos she created. Yet in her eyes, I was just a nuisance.
"You're mistaken," I said flatly. "I'm not looking for a fight. I'm simply done. I've reached my limit. Consider this your freedom—now you can flaunt your affection for that pretty boy without guilt."
"Divorce?" She scoffed. "That's your only threat?"
"I don't make threats. I make decisions."
Her face twisted. Without a word, she snatched the crystal ashtray from the desk and hurled it at me.
I didn't dodge. Didn't flinch.
Thud.
Crystal met forehead. Pain exploded behind my eyes, followed by warm blood trickling down my face.
Silence. We stared at each other—her chest heaving, my expression frozen.
Seven years ago, Galloway had been on the brink of collapse. Theodore Galloway, desperate and out of options, had practically begged me to marry his daughter and inject capital into the company.
Back then, Mila was breathtaking—the unreachable star of our university days. I agreed, driven by a foolish, lingering crush.
The reality was a cold awakening. She rarely smiled at me. Refused intimacy, citing severe germaphobia. One rule: I was never allowed to kiss her.
I respected her boundaries. Thought it was genuine. Until I saw her at the mall one afternoon—walking hand-in-hand with Ryan, laughing, hugging, kissing him with a passion she'd never shown me.
That was when the illusion shattered. Ryan was the one she'd always wanted. Her "germaphobia" had a specific trigger: me.
I pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from my brow. Mila stood frozen, eyes widening at the red stain on white cloth. Perhaps she hadn't expected her tantrum to draw blood.
Not that it mattered anymore.
Ryan seized the moment. He grabbed her hand, his face twisting into practiced martyrdom.
"Mila, please, don't fight because of me." His voice dripped with fake guilt. "If my presence is causing problems between you and your husband, maybe I should just resign."
"No!" She gripped his hand tighter. "I'm sorry, David. It's all my fault. Don't blame—"
"Shut your mouth."
The command tore from my throat, low and dangerous. I glared at Ryan. His voice was nails on a chalkboard.
"You have no intention of leaving," I said coldly. "Stop the performance."
Ryan shrank back, playing victim perfectly. Mila immediately stepped in front of him, shielding him like precious treasure.
"Ryan isn't the one in the wrong! Why should he apologize?" She turned her glare on me. "David, apologize to him. Now."
Her voice carried the imperious tone of an heiress used to getting her way. She'd forgotten who held the real power here.
Before I could respond, shrill voices erupted from the doorway. Mila's clique had arrived.
"Mila, why are you begging him?" one sneered. "Just fire him! Kick him out!"
"Exactly," another chimed in. "He thinks marrying you gives him rights to everything. If Galloway hadn't been in trouble, a man like him would never have touched the hem of your dress. He's the one who broke you and Ryan apart."
The gallery of hypocrites. These women spent their days burning through their husbands' money and sneering at me, riding Mila's coattails to feel superior.
Usually, I ignored them for her sake. Today, the blood on my face made me less charitable.
"Broke them apart?" I turned to face the group, a humorless smile forming. "When Galloway was bankrupt and drowning in debt, Theodore came to me. Where were you loyal friends then?"
They quieted, exchanging nervous glances.
"Let me refresh your memory." I stepped closer. "You all ghosted her. Blocked her number because you were terrified she'd ask to borrow money. I saved this family while you hid."
My gaze swept over them, sharp as a blade. They stammered, faces flushing, unable to form a coherent response.
"Enough, David!" Mila's voice turned shrill. "If you're angry, take it out on me. Don't humiliate my friends."
I looked at her one last time. The woman I'd spent seven years protecting now looked like a stranger.
"My lawyer will deliver the divorce papers."
"David Weiss!!"
I didn't look back. I walked out of the office, blood drying on my forehead, ignoring the stunned stares of employees as I left the building—and my past—behind.
