My husband never knew that I was the anonymous billionaire behind the company he was celebrating that night. To him, I was only his “plain, tired” wife who had “wrecked her body” after delivering twins. At his promotion gala, I stood holding the babies when he sh0ved me toward the exit.
“You’re bloated. You’re ruining my image. Go disappear,” he said.
I did not raise my voice, and I did not cry, because I simply turned away from the party and from him as if something inside me had already made the decision long before this moment arrived.
Hours later, my phone lit up in the quiet of the night, and the message on the screen felt almost surreal after everything that had just happened.
“My cards don’t work. Why won’t the door open?”
“What is wrong with you?” Brandon Hayes whispered angrily as he gripped my arm and pulled me into the dim corner near the emergency exit, where the smell of garbage from the alley mixed harshly with expensive champagne and perfume drifting from the ballroom.
“He threw up, Brandon, he is an infant, and you could help instead of standing there judging,” I replied while trying to keep my voice steady despite the exhaustion pressing down on me.
“Help?” Brandon scoffed as he looked at me with open disgust, as if I had become something beneath him. “I am the CEO, Olivia, and I do not clean spit, because that is your responsibility, and you are clearly failing at it.”
He reached out and tugged at my messy hair with irritation while his eyes flicked toward the crowd. “Look at Vanessa from Marketing, she had one child and she still runs marathons, because she knows how to keep herself presentable, and you are standing here four months later still looking swollen and sloppy.”
My chest tightened painfully as I tried to hold my ground. “I take care of two babies alone every single day, and I do not have night nurses or personal trainers like those women you admire.”
