Eight Years Married, I Learned My Clerk Husband Was a CEO

My husbands illness forced me to visit his workplace for the first time to request leave on his behalf.

The receptionist stared at me in disbelief.

Are you serious? The man youre describing he owns this company.

Our boss and his wife come and leave together every day.

Unless youre not his wife

Seconds later, my supposedly sick husband walked out of the elevator, arm-in-arm with his high school sweetheart.

Our eyes met, and his smile vanished.

Seeing him in designer clothes, I burst into bitter laughter.

One of your suits costs more than my yearly salary, yet you pretended to be a low-paid clerk.

You started your business with my dowry, lied about being broke, and I worked myself to the bone to help pay off debts, even when I was ill.

Why did you deceive me like this?

He stammered, speechless.

His sweetheart answered before he could.

Its simple. He promised to wait for me. Everything he hascompany, careeris mine.

So, he has nothing to give you.

I realized my husband had hidden not only his identity, but also a lifetime vow to another woman.

Yet I was still married to Steven Condon.

Could he really give me nothing?

Steven reached out to touch my shoulder, but I jerked away.

His hand hung in the air as he sighed.

"Sunny, listen. I loved the feeling of living a simple life with you, really. I never meant to keep it from you forever. I was planning to tell you the truth soon."

"Soon? Eight years! Steven, we've been married for eight years! Isn't that long enough?"

I asked again, my voice trembling.

"Or did you think I was dumb enough to be fooled forever?"

He reached for me again. "That's not it, Sunny."

I backed away, my heels unsteady because they were worn out, but I had never been able to bring myself to replace them.

My gaze fell on Genevieve Bell, who was wearing glittering heels, a cashmere coat, and carrying an Herms bag.

I had only ever dared to glance at those in the shop window.

I had joked to Steven, "When you're rich, buy me an Herms too."

He had laughed and ruffled my hair. "I will, and I'll buy you two, one to carry, one to wear."

It turned out he had bought one.

But for someone else.

I fought back the bitterness and asked him with a laugh.

"That's not it? Then what about her?"

Steven glanced at Genevieve. "Genevieve is just a friend."

Genevieve's mouth turned down immediately. "Steven!"

Steven pulled her close, gave her a look, and then turned back to me.

"Don't worry, if I had something going on with Genevieve, you'd be the last to know."

"She's just divorced and a little emotionally unstable, I'm just taking care of her."

"She loves to joke around; those words were just to tease you, don't take them to heart."

"Sunny, trust me."

Trust.

I remembered the first year of our marriage when he first "failed at business" and owed half a million.

The day the creditors came to the door, he squatted in the corner with his head in his hands, apologizing to me.

I held him and told him it was okay, we would pay it back together.

That night, I took out the dowry card my mother had given me.

It had two hundred thousand in it; all my security.

I put the card in his hand and said, "Take this money, and we'll figure out the rest together. I believe in you."

He cried in my arms for a long time, promising he would never betray my love.

Apparently, not betraying me meant eight years of deception.

"Trust you?"

I heard myself laughing, but my face was wet.

"Steven, look me in the eyes and say it again. You're just friends?"

He opened his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing, but no sound came out.

The silence was more cruel than any answer.

I knew I didn't need to ask anything more.

I took a deep breath and wiped away my tears.

"Steven, let's get a divorce."

"That's eight words. A million dollars a word."

"Buy out our marriage, so you can be with her, it's a bargain, right?"

Steven seemed genuinely panicked.

"Sunny, calm down, let's talk about this at home."

I interrupted him. "Are you talking about the old apartment with the peeling wallpaper that costs $700 a month?"

I almost laughed.

His expression changed, and he reached for me. "Don't make a scene here; it's not a good look."

"Let go," I said through gritted teeth.

He wouldn't. "Not until you promise me you'll come home and talk this through."

Seeing us pulling at each other, Genevieve said softly,

"Sunny, if I were you, I'd be grateful. A wife's title is what many women want. If you think Steven is giving you too little money, I can make him give you five thousand, no, eight thousand more a month. That should be enough for your expenses, right? Don't be too extravagant."

The words hurt more than a slap in the face.

I thought of the countless days I had spent pinching pennies.

The toilet paper I stocked up on when it was on sale at the supermarket, the second-hand clothes I bought online, the messy haircuts I gave myself.

A sense of humiliation washed over me.

One hand was gripped tightly by Steven, but with the other, I gathered all my strength and slapped Genevieve's self-righteous face.

The clear sound was deafeningly loud in the lobby.

Time seemed to stop.

A few seconds later, Genevieve seemed to realize what had happened, covering her face, her eyes red, and screaming.

"Steven! She hit me! It hurts!"

Steven reacted almost instantly.

He pushed me away, and I stumbled backward.

My lower back hit the sharp corner of the reception desk, a burst of pain. Before I could steady myself, he reached for me again.

"Sunny! Are you crazy!"

He roared, grabbed my shoulders, and pushed me hard.

The world spun.

My head hit the corner of a marble table heavily, making a dull sound.

Excruciating pain shot through the back of my head, and I reached back and touched it. It was bleeding.

I leaned on the table, barely able to stand.

My vision was blurred, but I could see him cradling Genevieve's face, examining her carefully.

"It hurts, Steven, it hurts"

Genevieve said softly.

Steven patted her back gently, like a child.

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm here."

Then he looked up and roared at the receptionist, who was standing there stunned. "Are you blind?! Can't you see Genevieve is hurt?! Get an ice pack! Now!"

The young receptionist trembled and hurried to find an ice pack.

Blood trickled down my neck into my collar, sticky and warm before turning cold.

It was so cold, my whole body was cold.

Steven finally turned to look at me. "Go home. I need to take Genevieve to the hospital. We'll talk about this another day."

My vision was fading, but I tried to make my voice heard.

"Steven, from today on, we're even."

He froze. "What?"

"You think eight million is too much? Fine. Your debt to me for my dowry, for my eight years of youth, for the blood I'm shedding, I'll get it back, penny by penny, in court."

And the marital property, including the company he started with my money, the profits over the years, the house, car, and jewelry he bought her, everything, I would take back what was mine.

Genevieve suddenly looked up. "You're dreaming!"

I didn't answer, but turned and walked toward the door.

Every step was a stabbing pain in the back of my head.

Every step, blood flowed.

But my back was straight. People can fall, but they can't bend.

As for whether it was a dream, I didn't need to answer her; I trusted my lawyer would give me the answer.

It was completely dark by the time I left the law firm.

I endured the headache and went home. When I walked in, I saw an open suitcase in the middle of the living room.

Steven was putting shirts in it, and Genevieve was sitting on the couch.

"You're back?"

Steven looked up at me, his tone as calm as if nothing had happened.

"Good, I need to talk to you."

"Genevieve hasn't been feeling well lately, and that slap today made her old injuries flare up."

"The doctor said she needs someone to take care of her. I'm going to stay there for a few days."

I laughed in spite of myself. "You don't need to tell me; we're in a divorce cooling-off period. You can stay wherever you want; you don't need to report to me."

He clicked his tongue impatiently.

"Sunny, don't be like this. I know you're upset today, but we can talk about our issues later. Genevieve needs me now."

Needs.

He needed me, and I was always there.

I needed him, and he was with someone else.

Was that fair?

No.

But marriage was never about fairness; it was about willingness.

I was willing for eight years. Now my heart was dead, and my love was gone.

"Okay," I said, turning and walking into the bedroom.

He probably thought I would cry, make a scene, try to make him stay.

But I didn't.

I opened the closet and started packing his things.

I stopped when I got to the photos.

In the frame was our wedding photo.

He was smiling so brightly, and my eyes were full of light.

"Sunny, what are you doing?"

He followed me in, a hint of panic in his voice.

"Aren't you leaving?"

I didn't turn around, just kept tossing things into the suitcase.

"I'm helping you pack, so you don't have to come back."

"I said it was just a few days"

"Then don't ever come back. Take your things and the person who needs you, and get out."

Genevieve appeared in the bedroom doorway.

"Steven, are you still going with me to the cruise auction tonight? You promised to get me that necklace"

"Yes," Steven answered immediately, without even looking at me. "I'll do what I promised."

Hearing this, Genevieve looked at me, a smile playing on her lips.

"Sunny, I doubt you've ever been to a high-end event like that, have you? But then again, those places have a lot of rules, and they're not suitable for someone as straightforward as Sunny."

Steven turned to explain to me. "Sunny, it's not that I don't want to take you. It's just that those events are full of business partners, and you have to be careful about what you say and do. I'm afraid you won't be comfortable, and if you say or do something wrong, you might offend an important client"

I interrupted him coldly. "Are you finished?"

He froze.

I pointed to the door. "If you're finished, then get out, get out of my apartment!"

"Sunny, this is our"

"No. This is mine. I paid the rent, I paid the utilities, I bought the furniture. What have you contributed besides living here for eight years?"

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end, he said nothing.

Because what I said was true.

The "household expenses" he gave me for the past eight years, $5,000 a month, barely covered the rent and basic expenses.

I said it wasn't enough, and he told me to save.

I saved, and he spent lavishly on another woman, calling her just a friend?

His tone turned cold. "Fine, I'll go, but don't regret it!"

"Get out!"

The door slammed shut, and the room suddenly became quiet.

Too quiet. I could hear the hum of the refrigerator, and the beating of my own heart.

I slowly squatted down, hugging my knees.

Tears fell, hitting the floor, one drop, two drops.

I don't know how long it was before my phone vibrated.

I picked it up. It was a photo from an unknown number.

On the hotel bed, Steven's sleeping face, Genevieve pressed against his chest, giving the camera a victory sign.

Below the photo was a line of text: "Thank you for your sacrifice."

I stared at the photo for a long time.

Then I replied, "Thank you too."

For sending me evidence.

The private investigator said that Steven was careful, and he couldn't find any evidence of physical infidelity.

That would make it difficult for me to file for divorce and get more property.

Fortunately, now I had it.