He Never Knew I Controlled His Shares

Look at you, smelling of the kitchen. How can you even compare to my Seraphina? What was I even thinking, getting involved with you? My husband, Marcus Thorne, threw down his fork, his eyes full of unconcealed disdain.

For him, I'd quit my executive position. For six years of marriage, I'd stayed by the stove, trying to recreate his mother's cooking from his memories.

But now, he hated that I smelled of the kitchen. He claimed I wasn't even fit to polish the shoes of his ex-wife, the "Asia-Pacific Vice President."

I didn't make a scene. I just opened the drawer in his study. Inside lay the blank authorization documents he'd signed without even looking.

He thought I was just a stay-at-home parent who hadn't even earned an MBA. He never knew that every night after he fell asleep, I spent three hours studying all the company's financial data. I even understood the proxy ownership structure inside and out.

A week later, he sent me photos of the Northern Lights from Iceland, wearing a suit his ex-wife had given him. Meanwhile, I quietly contacted all the investors.

After replying with a smile, I picked up my phone and called my lawyer.

"Mr. Hayes, we can go ahead and sign that share transfer agreement for the nominee shares."

"Look at you, smelling of the kitchen, all you talk about are mundane household matters. How can you even compare to my Seraphina?"

Marcus Thorne slammed his fork onto the table, his eyes filled with unconcealed contempt.

I glanced down at my loungewear. There was a bit of a sauce stain on my sleeve, and my hair was in a messy bun. I'd just finished up in the kitchen and hadn't had a chance to change.

"Smelling of the kitchen, all you ever discuss is what groceries cost at the market, or how much the HOA fees went up."

"Elara Vance, you weren't like this before."

I said nothing, just picked up my bowl and continued eating.

Seeing my lack of response, his temper flared.

"Look at Seraphina Dubois. She's now the Asia-Pacific Vice President of a multinational corporation, an international elite. You're not even in her league."

Seraphina Dubois. I'd heard that name at least fifty times in the past three months. Marcus Thorne's ex-wife. They divorced five years ago, and Seraphina went abroad to advance her career. Three months ago, she returned. Marcus acted like he was under a spell, his entire demeanor changing.

"What was I even thinking, getting involved with you?" He stood up and grabbed his jacket. "I'm not going to the company's annual funding meeting; you handle it."

"You're not going to the funding meeting?" I looked up at him. "That was your most important schedule item for the year."

"Seraphina's back; I promised to pick her up from the airport." He said this as if I'd asked a stupid question, utterly justified.

"Picking her up is more important than funding?"

"You can handle the funding. Seraphina's all alone here, no family, no friends. If I don't pick her up, who will?"

He walked to the door, then turned back to look at me, a flicker of condescending pity in his eyes. "If you feel wronged, go get an MBA or something. Don't just stay at home all day. Look at you, you don't even have any real friends."

The door closed. I put down my fork, staring at the steak on the table, which he'd barely touched. This was a dish he'd requested for a year, saying his mom used to make it when he was a kid. It took me two full months to perfect the taste he remembered. Now, he hated that I smelled of the kitchen.

I picked up my phone and dialed a number. "Mr. Hayes, it's Elara Vance. That plan you mentioned last time, I'd like to hear the specifics."

Mr. Hayes sounded a little surprised. "Ms. Vance, have you finally come around?"

"I have." I leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. "He told me to get an MBA. I think it's a great suggestion. But I don't want to study business management. I want to study share transfer and asset liquidation."

Mr. Hayes was silent for two seconds. "I'll come see you tomorrow morning."

"No need to come to my house. Let's meet at a coffee shop near your law firm, two PM."

I hung up, opened my laptop, and logged into the company's backend system. Marcus was too trusting of me. Or rather, he looked down on me too much. He thought I was just a stay-at-home parent, tied to the stove, never knowing that every night after he fell asleep, I would spend three hours studying all the company's business lines and financial data.

He thought I knew nothing, which is why he confidently left those blank authorization documents in his study, asking me to organize and file them. He didn't know I'd photographed and saved every single one.

It didn't start three months ago. It started two years ago, the day he first brought home lipstick stains on his shirt after a social event. From that day on, I understood that all the chips I'd put into this marriage, I needed to keep a way out for myself.

The next afternoon, I arrived at the coffee shop ten minutes early. Choosing a spot near Mr. Hayes' law firm was my idea; it was far from the company and home, making the chance of running into anyone I knew almost zero.

I picked a window seat, with my back to the door. It was a habit I'd developed back when I used to accompany Marcus to investor meetings.

Mr. Hayes pushed a manila envelope across the table. "Ms. Vance, per your request, I've itemized all your and Mr. Thorne's joint assets. The shares held in your name under the nominee agreement --- you have full disposal rights according to the original agreement."

I opened the document, reviewing it page by page. Five years ago, Marcus and I co-founded the current company. He was responsible for external affairs, and I handled internal operations. For ease of management, some shares were held in my name as a nominee, and he signed an authorization agreement. Later, when the company was on track, he asked me to resign from my executive position, saying the family needed a strong foundation, and that while he was out fighting, he needed a stable home base. I believed him. I gave my position to his college friend, turned my office into his lounge, and transformed myself from an executive into a stay-at-home parent, tied to the stove. Then he told me I lacked ambition.

"These nominee shares, according to the agreement, I have the right to dispose of them independently, without his signature?" I confirmed.

"Yes. Article Six of the agreement clearly states that the nominee shareholder has the right to independently dispose of the shares at a reasonable market price. You insisted on adding this clause back then. Mr. Thorne thought it was unimportant at the time, so he signed it."

I nodded. I insisted on that clause because I'd seen too many cases of co-founding couples falling out. I thought I was leaving myself a backup plan. I never expected to actually use it.

"There's one more thing," Mr. Hayes lowered his voice. "Mr. Thorne has recently been privately contacting investors, hoping to raise capital under the company's name. If the funding is successful, he plans to issue new shares, diluting your shareholding percentage."

"I know." I closed the document. "I've seen his pitch deck. The valuation is too high; investors won't easily bite."

"How did you see it?"

"He kept it on a flash drive at home; the password was his birthday. He thought I wouldn't touch his things."

Mr. Hayes's gaze shifted, a hint of respect in his eyes. "Ms. Vance, you've actually been preparing all along, haven't you?"

I took a sip of coffee, the bitterness spreading on my tongue. "Not preparing, just a habit of always keeping a backup plan."

Marcus and I had been married for six years, from living in a basement apartment during the startup phase to later buying a house and driving luxury cars. I knew this man too well; his love was always conditional. He loved my capabilities, my efforts, my silent support. But when he deemed those things worthless, he could replace me without hesitation. Just as he replaced Seraphina all those years ago. He just forgot that Seraphina was the one he abandoned then, while I held his lifeblood in my hands.

Marcus spent an entire week with Seraphina, never coming home. On the third day, he sent me a message: "Keep an eye on the company, don't bother me." I replied with "Okay," then continued my work.

I contacted all the company's early investors, arranging meetings with them as the nominee shareholder. Those investors were the ones I'd accompanied Marcus to meet, one by one, all those years ago. Every one of them remembered me.

"Ms. Vance, are you planning to..." Mr. Thompson, the first person I met, asked cautiously.

"Mr. Thompson, do you remember the right of first refusal clause we signed in the investment agreement back then?"

Mr. Thompson's eyes flashed. "I remember. If Mr. Thorne transfers shares, we have the right of first refusal."

"It's not Mr. Thorne." I pushed a copy of the nominee agreement across the table. "It's me. I want to transfer the company shares held in my name as nominee, and you are the first person with the right of first refusal."

Mr. Thompson picked up the agreement and read it carefully. When he looked up, his expression had completely changed. "Ms. Vance, you and Mr. Thorne..."

"Household matters," I smiled. "Mr. Thompson just needs to tell me whether you wish to exercise your right of first refusal."

Mr. Thompson was silent for a long time. "Ms. Vance, honestly, when I invested in this company back then, I valued not just the project, but also the combination of you and Mr. Thorne. You handled internal affairs, he handled external; you worked together very well."

"And now?"

"Now..." He sighed. "I hear Mr. Thorne hasn't been focused on the company lately. He even missed the funding meeting to pick up his ex-wife. Word is all over the industry."

I didn't speak.

"I'll take your shares." Mr. Thompson made his decision. "At the highest market price."

"Thank you, Mr. Thompson."

Over the next week, I met with all the early investors. Everyone knew what Marcus had been doing lately, and everyone was shaking their heads.

"Ms. Vance, you've been wronged." I heard that sentence at least ten times. Each time, I just smiled and said, "Household matters, let's not discuss it." But I knew in my heart that these investors were willing to buy the shares not just because they were optimistic about the company's future, but more because they no longer trusted Marcus. Who would dare continue to invest in a founder who would stand up an investor meeting?

On the seventh day, Marcus finally returned. I was sitting in the living room reading a book when he walked in. He looked to be in a good mood, a smile on his lips, wearing clothes I'd never seen before.

"Seraphina picked it out for me, Italian bespoke. What do you think?" He deliberately spun around in front of me.

"It's nice," I closed my book. "Regarding the funding, a few investors are interested; you need to come back and talk to them personally."

"You handle it," he waved his hand. "Seraphina and I are going to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. We leave next week."

"You don't want the funding?"

"We'll talk about it when I get back. The Northern Lights aren't something you can see just any time."

I looked at him, and for the first time, I didn't try to persuade him. "Fine. Go."

He seemed surprised, apparently not expecting me to be so agreeable. "You're not going to make a fuss?"

"A fuss about what?" I stood up. "You're right, I'm not qualified to compare myself to Seraphina Dubois. If you want to be with her, go be with her."

He froze, then laughed, a slightly smug laugh. "Elara Vance, you've finally come around. Don't worry, I'll bring you back a gift."

He went upstairs, his footsteps light as if he were walking on clouds. I stood there, looking down at my phone. Mr. Hayes had sent a message: "All share transfer agreements are ready, just waiting for your signature." I replied: "He's going to Iceland next week. I'll sign then."

The day Marcus left, I went to the airport to see him off. It wasn't that I wanted to; he asked me to, saying he wanted Seraphina to see how generous and understanding his wife was.

I stood at the arrival gate, watching Seraphina emerge with her suitcase. She truly was different. Dressed in a sharply tailored coat, with exquisite makeup, she exuded an undeniable aura. She saw me, nodded slightly, a hint of condescending scrutiny in her eyes.

"Elara Vance, long time no see."

"Long time no see."

Marcus took her suitcase, then turned to me. "You can head back. We're leaving directly."

"Okay. Have a safe trip."

I turned to leave, and behind me, I heard Seraphina's voice: "Your wife has such a good temper."

Marcus laughed: "That's about all she has left."

I didn't look back.

Walking out of the airport terminal, I pulled out my phone and called Mr. Hayes. "He's gone."

"Ms. Vance, all the documents are ready. The investors have confirmed, and the funds are in place."

"When can we arrange the signing?"

"Tomorrow morning at ten, in my law firm's conference room."

"Good."

I hung up, standing in the parking lot, looking up as a plane streaked across the sky. That was Marcus's flight. In a dozen hours, he would arrive on the other side of the world, watching the Northern Lights in the icy wilderness. And I would stay here, watching his shares become someone else's name.

I drove home, passing the basement apartment we'd rented when we first started the company. That place had now been converted into a convenience store. I pulled over, went inside, and bought a bottle of water.

The young cashier asked me, "Miss, did you used to live around here?"

"Yeah, many years ago."

"So, do you ever wish you could go back to the past?"

I smiled. "No. There's nothing good to go back to in the past."

Back home, I opened Marcus's study. He'd left it quite messy before he left, probably while packing. I tidied things up one by one, picking up the clothes he'd thrown on the floor, neatly stacking the documents he'd carelessly left on the desk.

Among these documents, I found an envelope. Opening it, I found a divorce agreement. He'd prepared it long ago, just waiting for my signature. The terms of the agreement were outrageously harsh: I would walk away with nothing, relinquishing all joint property, all company shares, everything.

I stared at the agreement for a long time, then picked up a pen and wrote my name in the signature space. Not agreeing. I added a small note next to it: "Marcus Thorne, I've already taken care of your shares. As for the divorce, let's talk after I'm done with my business."

I put the agreement back in its place and locked the study door. Tomorrow, everything would be different.