Chapter 1
Every year, my husband, Charles Stanton, gave me and his mistress, Sophie Young, two choices. Whatever Sophie didn't want was handed down to me.
The first year, she picked the luxury penthouse downtown over some "worthless" old estate on the outskirts of the city.
I quietly accepted the rundown property that everyone said had bad feng shui and sat so far out in the sticks that even the birds avoided it.
Ten years later, Sophie showed up at my door with a bankrupt Charles hanging off her arm. I was stretched out in my 600 million estate, calling out orders to the housekeeper as she used a carbon fiber fishing rod to hook pomegranates off the trees.
*****
It had been ten years since I signed the divorce agreement with Charles. Today was the last day.
We met in Charles' corner office. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched behind him, framing the glittering skyline of Metropolis City's financial district.
He sat behind a massive ebony desk, leaning back in his chair with an air of casual indifference.
Sophie was tucked against his side, right where she'd been for the past decade. His one and only.
"Julia, it's been ten years." Charles' voice was flat and unreadable, laced with that effortless arrogance he was born with. "After today, we're done."
Sophie pulled away from him and walked toward me, a victor's smile plastered across her face. "This is the last time, Julia. After this, you're on your own."
She slid two documents across the desk.
"Option A. Ten percent of Stanton Holdings' original shares. The company's about to go public, so I'm sure you understand what that means."
Her voice dripped with smugness, as if she could already see her net worth skyrocketing.
"Option B." She let out a mocking laugh and gestured toward a long velvet case on the table. "Charles' favorite fishing rod. Supposedly passed down from his grandfather. Sentimental value and all that."
Charles' gaze drifted to the case. Something flickered behind his eyes, but it vanished just as quickly, replaced by that familiar coldness.
He said, "Sophie. Let her choose."
"Does she even need to?" Sophie threw her head back and laughed. "Julia's never cared about money. She's practically a saint. A hot asset like these shares would only burn her hands, so let me do her a favor and take them off the table."
She was already pulling the stock agreement into her arms before she finished talking, clutching it like someone might snatch it away.
She grabbed a pen and was seconds from signing her name.
"Wait." I finally spoke.
Ten years of silence and restraint had left my voice rough and dry.
Sophie froze, her eyes snapping to me with suspicion. "What, you changed your mind? You want to fight me for it?"
Charles frowned too, visibly irritated by what he saw as my inability to read the room.
He sneered, "Julia, don't make me lose what little respect I have left for you."
I ignored him and kept my eyes on Sophie, every word deliberate. "You're sure that's what you want?"
Sophie laughed like I'd said the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard.
She said, "Obviously! Julia, have you lost your mind? Pre-IPO shares that could set someone up for life on one side, and a fishing rod on the other. Even an idiot would know which one to pick!"
She finished and shot me a look of pure contempt, the kind you'd give someone too stupid to bother with.
"Charles, look at her." Sophie shook her head. "Ten years, and she's still the same clueless airhead."
A mocking smile tugged at the corner of Charles' mouth. "Let it go. She made her choice."
He didn't argue. Sophie's pick stood.
I nodded and said nothing more. I picked up my copy of the documents and, in steady, unhurried strokes, signed my name: [Julia Evans.]
Then I closed the case lid and held it against my chest. Not once did I spare another glance at the two of them.
I turned and walked toward the heavy office door.
Behind me, Sophie's shrill squeal of excitement rang out, followed by the unmistakable sound of her kissing Charles. "Baby, we're rich! I told you, Julia's a complete idiot!"
"Enough. She's nobody." Charles' voice carried the lazy satisfaction of a man who believed he'd won. "From now on, it's just you and me."
The heavy door swung shut behind me, sealing off everything inside.
Stanton Holdings was a hollow shell propped up by lies and illegal fundraising, and the whole thing was days away from collapsing. Those shares would be worth less than the paper they were printed on.
The fishing rod, on the other hand, was one of only three ever made. Handcrafted, full carbon fiber, and valued at tens of millions.
But none of that mattered. What mattered was that after ten years, I was finally free.
The elevator reached the first floor, and the doors opened.