On the second day of Julian Thorpe and his personal assistant Chloe Bennett’s “business trip” to Paris, I finalized the archiving of all my projects and submitted my formal resignation to Human Resources.

Less than ten minutes later, I received a curt email reply from Julian: “Approved.”

“It seems Mr. Thorpe has long wanted to rid himself of that trophy. At least she had the self-awareness to leave on her own.”

“Right? Her hanging around the firm all day was just a distraction for Mr. Thorpe. I honestly don’t know what she can do without him.”

“Why should we draftsmen, scraping by on meager salaries, worry about her? She is the boss’s wife, after all. Even if they divorce, the alimony she’d get would be more than we’d earn drawing blueprints in a lifetime.”

As I cleared my desk, the assistant designers around me whispered without attempting to hide their voices. I was long numb to it.

Everyone in the firm knew that Chloe and I didn’t get along. Even as my husband, Julian always sided with her without limit—to protect his “muse,” he wouldn’t hesitate to belittle my professional competence in front of clients.

Because of this, these people scrambled to ostracize me, solely to pledge their loyalty to Chloe. At the thought, I merely let out a cold laugh.

“I’m sorry to shatter your fantasies, but I’m not going home to weep; I’m changing jobs. Another top-tier architectural firm has offered me a partnership, with a salary three times what I make here.”

Leaving them with expressions of shock and jealousy, I picked up the cardboard box filled with my personal belongings and walked straight out the main entrance. However, the moment I stepped out of the elevator, Julian called.

I debated whether to answer. The moment I connected, his characteristic arrogance came through the line: “I just sent you a set of drawings. Finish the structural corrections and send them back to me within half an hour.”

It seemed he hadn’t even read the content of my resignation email. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I casually opened the file.

It was the museum bidding project I had handed over to Chloe just last week. As always, he had listed Chloe as the lead creator but left the tedious technical corrections to me. And if any structural issues arose, the blame would fall entirely on my shoulders.

Initially, I had tried to resist, but Julian always used the same rhetoric. When I stood firm, he would give me the silent treatment, or even cut off the internet at home.

Before marriage, my mother often warned me that managing a marriage requires tolerance. I didn’t want the firm we had worked so hard to establish to fall apart due to internal strife, so in the end, it was usually I who compromised, silently patching up those design plans riddled with holes.

I once naively thought Julian would see my talent and dedication. But this time, when he lied about a business trip to take Chloe shopping in Paris, leaving me alone at home to handle a tax audit, my heart finally went cold.

Even when I was hospitalized with a gastric hemorrhage from overwork, he didn’t send a single text. His only concern was forcing me to hand over the rendering I had pulled three all-nighters to finish—just so Chloe could shine at the press conference.

In that moment, I woke up completely.

“I am not at the firm right now,” I replied calmly.

“Not at the firm?”

Julian’s voice instantly turned cold. “If I’m not misreading the time, it is two in the afternoon on a workday, is it not, Elena? Are you aware that according to the employee handbook, unauthorized absence results in a deduction of the quarterly bonus?”

“I know, but I have already—”

Just as I was about to tell him I had quit, Chloe’s cloying voice drifted over from the other end of the line, accompanied by the sound of clinking champagne glasses in the background.

“Julian, since Elena doesn’t want to do it, don’t force her. I’ll just go back to the hotel tonight and stay up late to revise it.”

“No. You were out entertaining clients until very late last night; you must relax today.”

Julian’s tone instantly became tender as water, a stark contrast to how he had just spoken to me. Chloe tried to act coquettish, insisting she could push through, but Julian was firm.

“I am your boss, and your mentor. I am ordering you to rest. Do you want to disobey me?”

Chloe let out a light laugh. “I just feel bad for Elena. These structural drawings might be too complex for her.”

“She’s only good for this kind of basic grunt work. You are on the front lines expanding your horizons, while she just lazes around the office all day.

“Besides, she is my wife; she has a responsibility to the firm. Isn’t it only right for her to do some menial chores?” Julian scoffed.

With a single sentence, he negated my entire value as a licensed First Class Architect. I no longer felt anger as I had in the past—only a sense of liberating relief.

Seeing my silence, Julian assumed I had submitted, and his tone softened slightly. “Elena, do you really think I’m making things difficult for you?

“I am honing you. After all, you are my wife; you should have a better grasp of the big picture.

“You really should learn from Chloe. To find inspiration, she spent the entire day at the Louvre yesterday. I have never seen a girl with such artistic intuition.”

Chloe chimed in with a laugh, “I think Elena works hard too, though talent is indeed something you can’t force.”

There was a barely perceptible superiority hidden in her tone.

Julian did not stop her. He chuckled softly and said, “If she had half your spiritual aura, I wouldn’t have to worry so much.

“Don’t forget, we secured that landmark project this year thanks to your concept.”

The two of them sang in harmony, a seamless duet. I remained silent, too lazy to expose that the “concept” was actually a page torn from my sketchbook.

“Alright, Chloe and I have to meet an important gallery owner tonight. Hurry up and finish the drawings.”

Without waiting for my response, Julian hung up. Less than two minutes later, my phone buzzed twice—a new update on Chloe’s social media account.

In the photo, the two were sitting on the terrace of a three-star Michelin restaurant in Paris. She was intimately holding Julian’s arm, and in front of her sat a blue velvet jewelry box.

The caption read: “A reward for hard work. Thank you to the best boss.”

I scrolled down and saw her post from the previous night. Two in the morning, her and Julian on a yacht on the Seine.

So, the so-called “entertaining clients” Julian spoke of... was a yacht party? And the so-called meeting with a gallery owner tonight was nothing more than a date.

I let out a cold laugh, too weary to even question Julian. What was the point? He would always have countless grandiose excuses.

Moreover, even if I threw the evidence in his face, I wouldn’t get guilt in return, only angry accusations born of embarrassment.

Every time, it was I who tried to mend the relationship. Looking back now, if I had spent the energy used to sustain this marriage on managing my own reputation, I would have been a strong contender for the Pritzker Prize by now.

After all, human hearts are fickle, but talent and wealth belong to you forever. With that thought, I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat and started the car.

However, the moment my car pulled out of the parking lot, the phone buzzed twice. I tapped it open to see a bank transaction notification.

Julian had just swiped my supplementary card for thirty thousand euros. Here we go again.