Sign the divorce papers, Maya, or I’ll make sure you walk out of this

“You want me to sign,” I said softly, “before you even know what you’re signing away.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “Spare me the drama. The prenup’s airtight. You get the Honda and whatever’s in your checking account. Be grateful.” I opened my purse and laid down a single business card. Cream cardstock. Navy lettering. *Maya Chen, CFO — Halberd River Capital.* His face didn’t move. It couldn’t. Halberd River was the parent fund that had quietly acquired his firm eight months ago. The same acquisition that had given him his big promotion. The same acquisition he’d bragged about at every dinner while I nodded and refilled his wine. “Remember the consultant your CEO kept mentioning?” I said. “The one who restructured your compensation tier? The one your boss calls before every board meeting?” His mouth opened. Nothing came out. “I kept my maiden name on the paperwork, Ethan. You never once asked what I actually did all day. You were too busy telling people I balanced checkbooks.” Brielle had stopped pretending to scroll. I slid the envelope back across the table, unsigned. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I will sign these papers. Tomorrow. In my office. After I finish reviewing the internal audit that flagged three personal expenses you ran through the firm’s corporate card — including the Santorini trip on the receipt sticking out of your jacket pocket.” His hand flew to his blazer. Too late. “Compliance already has copies. HR will call you Monday. The prenup protects your assets in a divorce, sweetheart. It does not protect your job, your bonus, or your vesting schedule. All of which I personally approved last quarter.” I stood, buttoned my coat, and dropped a twenty on the table for my tea. “And Brielle?” She froze. “The Chanel’s lovely. Enjoy it while the credit line lasts.” I walked out into the rain without looking back. For the first time in three years, the silence behind me sounded like applause.