My Wife Chose Her Assistant Over Our Family Legacy

Nina Sullivan released ten rare gold-tipped fish into the company pond—for her assistant, Brandon Quinn.

When I found out, I was furious.

She didn’t even flinch. Rolling her eyes, she snapped, “Brandon’s parents are seriously ill. We just released a few rare gold-tipped fish to pray for blessings. Do you really have to be so petty?”

I let out a bitter laugh and tossed the divorce papers onto the table.

Her eyes widened. “Michael, are you out of your mind?”

“All this over a few stupid fish? They weren’t even that expensive! You’re divorcing me because of that?”

My voice turned to ice. “This marriage is over.”

——

“You’re unbelievable!” she shot back. “I’m on my way to visit Brandon’s parents in the hospital. If you have something to say, save it for when I get back.”

She hung up.

No apology.

No remorse.

I stood before the massive office aquarium—now empty. My chest tightened.

I had only been gone for a few days on business. And this—this was the welcome I came home to.

Ten rare gold-tipped fish. Gone. Each one rare. Irreplaceable.

The security footage nearly made me nauseous. Nina and Brandon, laughing as they scooped them out and released them into the river like it was some kind of romantic outing.

I called her more than ten times. She didn’t answer a single one.

Then, Brandon updated his Instagram.

Two photos.

One: him and Nina at the riverside, hands intertwined as they released the rare gold-tipped fish.

Two: the two of them standing beside a hospital bed, smiling softly, fingers still laced together.

To the outside world, they looked like lovers.

His caption:

“Grateful for you. May this moment last forever.”

I commented:

“Lovers finally get married—congratulations.”

And added:

“Tell Nina to come sign the divorce papers. I’ll be waiting at the office.”

Minutes later, my phone rang.

“Michael, are you insane?” Her voice was sharp with fury. “What the hell did you comment on Brandon’s Instagram? Delete it right now or I swear—”

“I’ve drafted the divorce agreement,” I cut her off. “Come sign it.”

Then I ended the call.

Half an hour later, Nina stormed into my office, face dark with rage. Brandon trailed behind, playing the wounded saint.

The staff pretended not to stare.

She marched straight to my desk and slammed her palm down. “Enough, Michael!” she hissed. “Do you know how much trouble your stupid comment caused Brandon? Apologize to him. Now.”

Brandon gave me a look—half meek, half smug.

“Mr. Sterling,” he said gently, “I never meant to cause any misunderstandings. My parents have been urging me to settle down. Miss Sullivan was just trying to cheer them up, that’s all.”

“She only pretended to be with me so they wouldn’t worry. I’m truly sorry if—”

Before he could finish, Nina turned to him and smiled tenderly.

“Why are you apologizing? You did nothing wrong.”

Then her expression hardened as she looked back at me.

“I’m so done with your jealousy, Michael. You’ve always been this way—petty, insecure, controlling.”