Too Late, Mr. CEO: You Lost Her

Eliana POV

"You need to stop listening to your paranoid friends," Dustin said, meticulously adjusting his tie in the mirror.

He looked fresh, rested, the very picture of corporate success.

I, on the other hand, hadn't slept in twenty-four hours.

"Paranoid?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe of our walk-in closet, my arms crossed to hold myself together. "Jami sent me photos of you two in our car. She left her nail polish on your desk. She's wearing the bracelet you claimed you lost."

Dustin sighed, the sound of a man burdened by a nagging child.

"Jami is young. She's enthusiastic. She looks up to me as a mentor. The photos? Probably Photoshop or you misinterpreting a joke. And the bracelet... I found it. I didn't realize she had one like it."

"She's pregnant, Dustin."

His hands froze on the silk knot of his tie.

The silence stretched, tight and suffocating, sucking the air out of the small room.

He turned to face me slowly.

"Who told you that?"

"She did."

"She's lying," he said, but his eyes shifted to the left before meeting mine. "Or maybe she is, but it has nothing to do with me."

"She says it's yours. She says you're going to buy her a condo in the Marina district."

"That is a business expense!" he snapped, his face flushing red. "It's corporate housing. For talent retention. You don't understand the logistics, Eliana."

"I understood the logistics when I balanced your books for five years. I understood business when I pitched your startup to my father's friends."

"That was a long time ago," he sneered, turning back to the mirror. "Things are different now. We operate on a different level."

"We?"

"Me. The company."

He checked his watch.

"Look, if this is about money, just say it. You want a new car? A vacation? Go to Paris. Shop. Do whatever it is you do all day."

He pulled a checkbook from his jacket pocket.

He scribbled a number and ripped the page out, holding it toward me between two fingers.

It was for fifty thousand dollars.

"Go buy yourself something pretty and stop making up stories."

I looked at the check.

Then I looked at him.

I saw the man I had loved for half my life, and I realized that man was dead.

The man standing in front of me was a stranger wearing my husband's skin like a costume.

"I don't want your money," I said quietly.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want a divorce."

Dustin laughed.

It was a short, sharp bark of amusement.

"Divorce? Over what? A few text messages? You're being dramatic. You're not going to leave me, Eliana. You have nowhere to go. You haven't worked in a decade."

"I built this life with you."

"You watched me build it," he corrected.

The cruelty of his words hit me like a physical slap, but I didn't flinch.

"I'm serious, Dustin."

"Fine," he said, shoving the check into my hand. "Take the money. Calm down. We'll talk about this when you're not being hysterical."

He walked out of the closet.

I followed him to the living room.

Jami was there.

She was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the city as if she already owned it.

She turned when we entered.

She was wearing a tight white dress that showed off her figure.

On her finger was a diamond ring.

It wasn't an engagement ring, but it was a promise ring-a placeholder.

I knew because I had seen the receipt in Dustin's email trash folder.

"Oh, hi Eliana," she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Dustin, are you ready? The investors are waiting."

She flashed the ring as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Nice place," she added, her eyes scanning the room. "Dustin said he bought the furniture for the new condo from the same designer."

She was marking her territory.

She might as well have been urinating on my rug and daring me to clean it up.

"Let's go," Dustin said, putting a possessive hand on the small of her back.

He guided her toward the door, not even looking at me.

"Wait," I said.

They stopped.

"You think this is a game?" I asked, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. "You think you can just replace me like I'm an outdated server?"

Dustin turned, his face dark.

"Stop it, Eliana. You're embarrassing yourself."

"You are sleeping with your assistant in my bed, missing my birthday to be with her, and lying to my face. This isn't a marriage. It's a farce. You're not a CEO, Dustin. You're a cliché. You're the middle-aged man terrified of getting old, chasing a girl who only loves your wallet."

Jami gasped, clutching her stomach theatrically.

"Dustin, she's stressing me out. The baby..."

Dustin's eyes widened.

He turned on me, pointing a finger in my face.

"One more word," he hissed. "One more word, and you get nothing. No alimony. No settlement. Nothing."

I looked at his finger, then at his eyes.

"I don't want your money," I repeated. "I want out."

"You're crazy," he muttered.

He steered Jami out the door and slammed it shut.

The sound echoed through the empty apartment like a gunshot.

I looked down at the check in my hand.

I tore it into tiny pieces and let them fall to the floor like worthless confetti.