Chapter 3
Your invoices did that.”
Patricia looked at Daniel desperately.
“Tell her she can’t.”
Daniel’s voice was weak.
“Emily… I’m your husband.
I have rights in the company.”
I shook my head.
“No, you don’t.”
He froze.
“I founded Westbridge four years before we married.
My grandmother’s trust funded the expansion.
You signed a prenuptial agreement confirming it as separate property.”
His lips parted.
He had forgotten.
I hadn’t.
“And there’s one more envelope.”
I slid it toward him.
Divorce papers.
Patricia gasped.
Daniel stared down at them.
“This is insane.”
“No.
Throwing things at your wife because she helps her parents is insane.”
His arrogance finally cracked.
“I was angry.”
“You were revealing.”
He sank into a chair.
For years, I had wondered whether Daniel loved me or simply loved the life my money created around him.
That night answered the question.
Within three months, the divorce was underway.
Westbridge recovered a significant portion of the fraudulent vendor payments through settlement agreemenTS. Kyle lost his contract and later closed his company.
Megan’s agency collapsed after two other clients reviewed their billing practices.
Daniel’s father had to sell his new truck and refinance his warehouse to repay Westbridge.
Patricia stopped calling me greedy.
Mostly because my lawyer told her to stop calling me altogether.
Daniel moved into a small rented condo and discovered that his salary, while respectable, could not support the lifestyle he had mistaken for his own success.
Six months later, I bought my parents plane tickets to Italy for their fortieth anniversary.
My father protested when he saw the itinerary.
“Honey, this is too much.”
I smiled.
“No.”
I looked out at the morning sun filling my new apartment.
“It’s exactly what I want to do with my money.”
For the first time in years, nobody was throwing anything.
Nobody was keeping score.
Nobody was telling me who deserved my generosity.
Daniel had wanted separate finances.
In the end, he got something even more separate.
A separate account.
A separate home.
A separate life.
And every time I remembered his words—Mine is mine—I smiled.
Because sometimes the most satisfying revenge is simply giving someone exactly what they demanded.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes.
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Any resemblance to real persons, events, or places is coincidental.
