Everyone assumed I married Julian for fame and profit. But in reality, the firm’s startup capital was the inheritance my parents left me. He claimed his funds were needed to expand his network, so for the past few years, every mortgage payment and household expense came from my savings and salary.

I firmly believed marriage was a partnership and shouldn't be about keeping score, so I never held it against him.

Until recently, when I noticed something was off. Although the firm was highly profitable, my account balance was shrinking.

I checked the family trust statements, only to discover that Julian had been using company funds and my private account to pay for Chloe.

He bought her limited-edition handbags and paid the rent for her expensive luxury apartment. He even booked an entire winery to celebrate her one-year work anniversary—squandering fifty thousand dollars in a single night.

Meanwhile, he made excuses whenever I needed a new computer. Even for office supplies costing slightly over fifty dollars, he would take half a day to approve the request. Instead, he would send me a long email lecturing me on the need to conserve cash flow for the “firm’s IPO plan.”

At the time, I couldn't hold back and confronted him. Julian flew into a rage, yelling that I didn't understand business operations, giving me the cold shoulder, and swearing he would never touch a cent from the family account again.

Thinking of this, I still wanted to call Julian. I dialed five times; he didn't answer once.

Since that was the case, I hesitated no longer. I opened my banking app and froze that supplementary card and all joint accounts. Less than a minute after the cards were frozen, Julian called.

“I was talking to the gallery owner just now and didn’t see your call. What is it?” he asked, his tone feigning busyness.

I spoke calmly: “It’s nothing now.”

“Oh. By the way, there seems to be a problem with the magnetic strip on that card; it won’t go through,” he said.

“I know.” I didn't hide it, telling him bluntly, “I froze it.”

“Are you crazy? Why would you freeze the card at a critical moment like this?”

“Think what you want. But didn’t you say before that you would never use my card again?”

Julian paused. After all, I had never haggled with him over money before.

When the firm was just starting, we needed to buy expensive drafting software licenses, costing about twenty thousand dollars. Right then, he went behind my back and used our remaining liquid capital to buy a second-hand sports car to keep up appearances.

He thought I would explode, apologizing to me with red eyes. But I simply sold the jewelry my mother left me to fill the hole.

I thought that as long as I supported him fully, he would cherish our relationship. I didn't expect it would only make him see me as an inexhaustible ATM.

However, Julian didn't seem to reflect much on this. After two seconds of silence, he sighed. It sounded like resignation, but his words remained tough.

“Fine, I get it. You’re still angry I didn’t take you to Paris, so you’re throwing a tantrum.

“Elena, I thought you were a professional partner, but you’re still so emotional. I promise you—once we win this museum project, I’ll take you to the Venice Biennale, okay?

“I didn’t bring any other cards today. Go unfreeze it immediately; don’t be so unreasonable. This dinner concerns the future of the firm.

“I’ll give you ten minutes. Otherwise, I will have to re-evaluate your qualification as Chief Architect.”

Fearing I wouldn't cooperate, Julian added this final threat before hanging up. In the past, whenever he used his position to pressure me, I would always compromise.

But what he didn't know was—I never cared about that hollow title. I stayed only because those design drafts were like my children.

Only now did I realize that the work I fought so hard to protect was, in his eyes, merely a tool for making money and chasing women. If so, why should I continue to sew the wedding dress for another?

“If you didn’t bring a card, you can ask your assistant, Chloe. This trip was for her inspiration anyway; it’s not excessive to ask her to front the costs,” I replied.

After sending the message, I turned off my phone, drove home, and started packing.

This penthouse was bought with full payment by me before the marriage, and I designed the interior myself. Back then, I had intended to add his name to the deed. But in that split second—as if warned by some intuition—I decided to put only my name.

Looking back, I was grateful for that decision. after packing, I contacted a real estate agent to list the property.

The next day, I went to a law firm and mailed the signed divorce agreement to Julian.

When I signed it, I was still wondering how to explain it to Julian. As it turned out, he was in such a rush to pick Chloe up from the airport that day that he didn't even read the document carefully; he just flipped to the last page and signed.

“Aren’t you going to look at the terms first?” I had asked tentatively.

“No need. You’re my wife—would you scam me?” he replied, his eyes glued to his phone screen.

I smiled bitterly. His so-called trust was simply because he was certain I couldn't leave him.

I mailed the documents. The lawyer told me that since it involved the division of company shares, it would be best to have Julian’s reconfirmation.

Helpless, I turned my phone back on. The moment it booted up, countless missed calls and voicemails from Julian flooded the screen.

Because I hadn't unfrozen the bank card, he had said everything imaginable in the voicemails—from fake concern to vicious cursing. The last message was a furious roar, threatening to make me leave with nothing.

I saved these recordings and sent them to the lawyer, but the lawyer suggested a phone call to confirm intent was still necessary. I had no choice but to dial his number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up.

“Julian, about our marriage—”

“We are done! It’s useless for you to say anything now. Unless you apologize to Chloe and compensate her for emotional distress, I am absolutely divorcing you this time!” he shouted coldly, thinking I was trying to win him back like before.

He hung up immediately. The lawyer nodded, indicating this was sufficient evidence.

I knew Julian didn't really want a divorce. He was just using it as a control tactic.

Whenever I didn't go along with his wishes, this was his killer move. And every time, I was the one humbly begging for reconciliation.

He was certain I didn't dare leave the firm, didn't dare leave him. So this became his ultimate weapon.

But he seemed to forget that patience is like a load-bearing wall. If you keep drilling holes in it, one day it will come crashing down.

Because my listing price was reasonable, the apartment found a buyer in less than a week. I signed the papers, agreed on a handover date with the buyer, and went home for a final cleanup.

However, the moment I pushed the door open, I heard the sound of laughter coming from inside.