Chapter 2
I stood there with the phone still in my hand, holding it to my ear long after the call had ended.
Oh? Leave?
He had told me to leave.
It was our fifth wedding anniversary. On Christmas Eve, when every other family in the city was sitting down to dinner together, he chose another woman and told his wife to leave.
I looked at the cold food covering the table and at the occasional fireworks blooming outside the window, bright and indifferent against the night sky. Then I started to laugh.
I laughed until tears slid down my face.
That was fine.
For five years, I had cooked for him, supported him, and quietly stepped back from my own career so he could focus on building his. I had handled everything at home so he could move forward without distraction.
When we first met, he had nothing—no connections, no capital, no future anyone would have bet on. I had helped him build NovaTech from the ground up. I had introduced him to the right investors, structured the early deals, and stood behind him until people started calling him a visionary.
I had believed we were partners.
Apparently, in his mind, I had been nothing more than a difficult wife who asked for too much and could be replaced at any time.
As for his success and his company, NovaTech had never been a miracle. It had been a stage I built for him, carefully and deliberately, so he could feel like a self-made man.
It was just a game. And I was done playing.
I stood up calmly and began clearing the table. One by one, I scraped the cold food into the trash—the baked cod, the popcorn chicken, and the club sandwiches I had spent so much time perfecting. I threw them all away.
Then I took out my second phone and sent a message to my assistant and lawyer, Robert Evans.
I texted: [Activate Plan A3.]
He replied almost immediately: [Ms. Sterling, are you certain? Once Plan A3 is activated, it cannot be reversed.]
I looked at the empty table and typed back the words: [I'm certain.]
After that, I walked into the dressing room and pulled out a suitcase from the back of the closet, its surface coated in a thin layer of dust.
When I opened it, several tailored suits lay neatly folded inside, along with a stack of documents that carried a name and identity I had almost stopped using.
I ran my fingers over a document stamped with the Eclat Group logo. It was an equity inheritance agreement, and my father's name, Richard Sterling, was printed clearly across the top.
Henry would never know.
The largest angel investor in NovaTech had never been some mysterious overseas fund.
It had been me.
The core technology patents his company relied on were not registered under his name. They were held by another corporation, a shell company I controlled.
His biggest clients and most critical suppliers all traced back, one way or another, to the Sterling family.
The empire he was so proud of had been something I built around him. What he called his life's work had been a carefully constructed illusion.
It had been a dream. And it was time for him to wake up.
The game was over, and the man who had lived off my support was about to walk out of my life for good.
*****
On Christmas morning, I had not slept at all. I sat on the living room sofa with a printed copy of the divorce agreement lying neatly on the coffee table in front of me.
I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.
Henry was home.
He carried the sharp scent of hospital disinfectant mixed with women's perfume. There was a bright lipstick stain on the collar of his shirt.
When he saw me sitting there, he paused for a second, then his expression shifted into irritation.
"Why are you sitting there looking like that first thing in the morning?" he said as he shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto the sofa. "Anyone would think something terrible happened."
I ignored the comment and slid the divorce papers toward him. "Sign it."
Henry glanced down at the bold words "Divorce Agreement" at the top of the page. Surprise flickered across his face, but it quickly turned into a short, dismissive laugh.
"Eva, are we really doing this again?" he said. "Is this supposed to scare me? Every anniversary, you start some kind of drama. Aren't you tired of it?"
He looked at me with open contempt. "Don't threaten me with divorce. That doesn't work on me."
He assumed I was still angry about the night before.
In his mind, I was the kind of woman who could not live without him.
Every time we argued, he either softened for a few minutes or simply ignored me, and I eventually gave in.
"I'm not threatening you," I said calmly. "I'm serious. Henry, I want a divorce."