Chapter 2

The long hallway was brightly lit and empty.

Jessica's cloying perfume still lingered in the air, a sharp, unpleasant sting.

Arriving at the elevators, I pressed the call button.

The doors slid open, revealing my reflection.

No tears. No rage. Not even a trace of sorrow.

My face was a placid surface, but beneath it lay an abyss already frozen solid.

The elevator chimed, announcing the ground floor.

As I stepped into the lobby and passed the reception desk, the two girls who were whispering fell instantly silent.

Their eyes held a complex mixture of curiosity, pity, and poorly concealed glee.

For Richard's company, I had authored the industry's strictest rules and had fired countless underperforming employees.

To many, I was the heartless corporate ice queen.

Now the queen had been dethroned.

Their satisfaction was palpable.

Without a glance in their direction, I walked past.

The sharp click of my heels echoed through the vacant lobby.

Behind me, their hushed voices, no longer restrained, carried clearly.

"Oh my god, they actually threw her out."

"Serves her right. All that arrogance, thinking she was practically the boss' wife."

"Look at her, still pretending to be composed. She'll be sobbing her heart out the moment she gets home."

I didn't turn back. Instead, a faint smile touched my lips.

I was mocking their naivety and the foolishness of Richard and Jessica.

Did they truly believe they had won this war?

I stepped out of the front doors.

Outside the main doors, the security guard, who once would rush over to open my car door, now leaned lazily against his booth, surveying me with naked contempt.

His gaze stripped me of any remaining dignity, reducing me to a discarded trophy wife.

The stark reality of human nature was on full, vivid display.

A black Porsche pulled up smoothly.

The window rolled down to reveal Aaron Watson, Richard's driver, his face etched with awkward sympathy. "Mrs. Summers, Mr. Summers asked me to drive you home."

I shook my head. "That won't be necessary."

Pulling out my phone, I ordered an Uber.

Aaron opened his mouth as if to protest, but one look at my icy expression made him swallow his words.

He was just the driver, in no position to defy his new boss' orders.

My phone vibrated with a new message from Jessica: [Claire, home yet? Oh, I almost forgot. Richard won't be back tonight. He says the sight of your fake, brave little face makes him sick.]

Below the text was a photo.

The background was the master bedroom from the house Richard and I used to share.

Jessica wore my silk robe, reclining on our bed with her slender legs crossed in a deliberately provocative pose.

Richard sat on the edge of the bed, his back to the camera, seemingly gazing down at her with tenderness.

This was the final, most ruthless blow.

What they really wanted was to see me break down, lose my composure, and cry, begging them to reconsider.

I stared at the image for a full ten seconds.

Then, with deliberate calm, I typed a two-word reply: [Got it.]

I switched to another notification, a transaction confirmation from the bank.

The message ended with a string of digits.

Seventeen point five billion. Not a cent more, not a cent less.

I powered off the device and dropped it into my bag.

In the distance, the headlights of the car I'd ordered lit up, driving toward me.

Lifting my gaze, I took one last look at the illuminated tower of Summers Group.

It had been my life's work and my gilded cage.

From tonight onward, none of it concerned me anymore.

Their celebration was just beginning. But so was the end of it.