Wife and Intern’s Game, Their Shared Debt

“What’s wrong with your assistant? How dare he talk like that in the group chat!”

“He ruined Jason’s whole afternoon, and you’d better make him apologize. Otherwise, I’ll fire him!”

“Our law firm has no place for subordinates who don’t know their place!”

I almost laughed out loud.

Jason was just an intern. Since when did he become so important?

Sophia was giving him way too much credit.

This whole mess had started because of me, so there was no way I’d make Daniel apologize.

With a cold laugh, I said:

“Not a chance. Don’t even think about it.”

Sophia hadn’t expected me to be so firm. Her face turned red with fury.

“Fine, if he won’t apologize, then you will! He’s your subordinate anyway.”

“Ethan Parker, my patience has its limits. If you don’t apologize, don’t even think about me signing these papers!”

She waved the divorce papers in my face, smug as ever.

My fists clenched, but I forced myself to take a deep breath. Divorce was more important than my pride.

I opened my phone, pulled up the chat with Jason, and typed three words: I’m sorry.

Sophia finally looked satisfied. She flipped the papers to the last page and quickly signed her name.

Conflicted, I asked her,

“You’re not even going to read it?”

She sneered.

“What’s there to read? You think everyone’s as dramatic as you?”

“Now leave. Jason’s still waiting for me inside.”

Watching her walk away, I let out a bitter laugh.

I still remembered the first time I met her—standing before me in a white dress, smiling shyly with grace and charm.

Now, though she still wore white, she was utterly unrecognizable.

She had lied to me again and again, and I had forgiven her again and again. She had come to believe I had no bottom line, and so she pushed further each time.

Reaching this point had probably been inevitable.

I shoved the divorce papers into my bag and went home.

That night, half-asleep, I smelled alcohol as Sophia stumbled in.

She yanked the covers off me, annoyed.

“You went to bed without waiting for me?”

In the past, whenever she went out drinking, I worried endlessly. I would prepare aspirin and water ahead of time.

But she never appreciated it—mocking me for being “fussy like a housewife.”

Remembering that, my eyes went cold.

“I figured you weren’t coming back tonight.”

She kicked at me irritably.

“This is my house. If I don’t come home, where else would I go?”

Her sense of entitlement made me want to laugh.

She must have forgotten that just last week she hadn’t come home for seven nights straight.

When I called, worried about her safety, she snapped at me.

And then Jason had sent me a taunting video—Sophia in it, her face twisted with disgust:

“I’m so sick of Ethan Parker. He nags like a woman, calling to check up on me. He even asked when I’m coming home. Does he not get that I can’t stand being around him for even a second? Home? What home?”

Remembering that, the woman before me looked even more repulsive.

I didn’t want to argue. I got up to sleep in the guest room.

But Sophia called after me:

“This time, add more honey and less ginger.”

I laughed in disbelief.

The audacity—she actually thought I was going to make her a drink to sober up.

Glancing at her, I said flatly:

“If you want it, make it yourself. I’m not your servant.”