Since When Am I a Trophy Husband

My wife's ex-boyfriend, Kyle, came back from overseas with a lot of fanfare.
She didn't just hire him for a fat salary; she brought him straight into a meeting with my most important business partner.
I tried to tell her gently that Kyle was too inexperienced, that he'd torpedo the project.
My wife, Rachel, just scowled. "We have a child together, Kevin. Kyle is my past. Why can't you just let it go?"
Kyle chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "For a guy who married into the family, you spend more time being paranoid than actually working. You've got a hell of a nerve."
I stared at Rachel, stunned. "Since when did I 'marry into the family'?"

1
"Rachel was just trying to save your dignity by not announcing you were a kept man," Kyle sneered, right in front of our partner, whose face was already turning to stone. "Don't tell me a few years of the good life made you forget the days you were digging through trash cans for food?"
My gaze turned to ice.
"You're a new sales hire. What gives you the right to interrupt a conversation between me and the Chairman?"
Before I could say more, Rachel slammed her hand on the table.
"Have you had enough!" she snapped. "I brought Kyle here to talk business, not for you to throw a jealous fit and try to push him out!"
I looked at her, baffled, convinced I'd misheard.
I had scheduled this dinner with our top partner, Mr. Peterson, two weeks ago. Everything was prepared, all the details ironed out, just waiting for a signature. But ten minutes ago, shed shown up with her ex-boyfriend, Kyle, ready to hijack the whole deal.
And Kyle, arrogant as ever, had managed to offend Peterson with his first sentence.
As the company's chairman, Rachel didn't step in to protect our interests or ask Kyle to leave. Instead, she was accusing me of making a scene.
It was insane.
Mr. Peterson frowned at us. "If you have family matters to sort out, perhaps we should postpone this. I only do business with people who are prepared."
Rachel's eyes went wide with shock, not expecting him to suddenly back out.
I just watched her, a coldness spreading through me. I had no intention of saving this. She had orchestrated this mess herself.
But then, to my utter astonishment, Kyle spoke up.
"Mr. Peterson, please don't go! We came here with the utmost sincerity to work with you." He flashed a smile. "How about we offer another ten percent off our profit margin?"
His words stunned not only Peterson but me as well.
The five percent I had originally negotiated was already the absolute limit for us to still turn a profit. But he was offering ten. We wouldn't just make nothing; we'd lose a fortune on materials and labor!
Even with the rage coiling in my gut, I couldn't just stand by. Rachel and I had built this company from the ground up. I wouldn't let Kyle burn it down.
"Mr. Peterson, he's a new employee and doesn't fully understand the project," I said smoothly. "If you're still interested, we can proceed with the original five percent offer. It ensures a mutually beneficial partnership for the future."
If Kyle had any sense, he'd shut his mouth and step aside.
But he seemed determined to make this a contest. He put on an innocent act. "Oh, I thought you and Mr. Peterson were old buddies, Kevin. I'm surprised you only offered him a five percent cut. My mistake."
He gave a self-deprecating little laugh, slapping his own forehead. "Well, if Mr. Peterson is willing to take a hit just to see his friend get rich, I've got nothing more to say. I'll see myself out."
His words put me on the spot, painting me as a greedy hustler. I grabbed his wrist, my voice low and dangerous.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Business is built on trust. Kyle was making it sound like I was conning our partner. A quick glance at Mr. Peterson confirmed my fears; his eyes were now filled with suspicion.
I suppressed my anger and turned to my wife.
"That five percent margin was something you and I calculated together. Are you just going to let a rookie spout this nonsense and ruin my relationship with Mr. Peterson?"
At the end of the day, Kyle was just a salesman. If Rachel sided with me, Peterson would let it slide.
But Rachel looked as if her patience had finally snapped.
"Kyle isn't spouting nonsense! The ten percent figure was our original calculation for a win-win. You were the one who got greedy, trying to squeeze out more profit for yourself."
She looked at Peterson, her voice ringing with false sincerity. "At this point, I can't cover for him anymore. You've been a loyal partner for so long, Mr. Peterson. We can't be dishonest. Even if he is my husband, I can't stand by and let him lie to you."
With that, Peterson's face darkened completely.
"Kevin," he said, his voice cold. "I thought of you as a friend. Were you playing me for a fool?"
A triumphant smirk played on Kyle's lips. He clapped a consoling hand on Petersons shoulder. "Mr. Peterson, don't waste your anger on someone who only sees dollar signs. The chairman and I rushed over today specifically to make sure you weren't taken advantage of. Please, calm down."
Rachel eagerly picked up his cue.
"If you've lost faith in Kevin, you can direct all future business through Kyle. Hes a top graduate from overseas, incredibly knowledgeable about all kinds of projects and business models."
And just like that, it all became clear.
Rachel was using me as a stepping stone to pave the way for her ex-boyfriend.
But I'm no pushover. I looked at her, my voice devoid of warmth.
"I hope you won't live to regret what you've done today."
Her eyes flashed with anger. "Kevin, have you forgotten your place? I am the sole decision-maker in this company. My choices are not up for your debate!"
We founded this company together. Because I loved her, I never cared about titles like Chairman. She wanted to be a powerhouse businesswoman, and I was happy to be the foundation she built upon. When she asked me to step back from the front lines, using our newborn son as an excuse, I played along. Even when she told people I was just a man who'd married into her success, I said nothing.
But my love and my concessions hadn't earned me her understanding. They'd only made her bolder.
Looking at Kyle standing beside her, I sighed, deciding to give her one last chance. Our son, Bobby, was only five. I didn't want him to suffer through his parents' separation.
"If you want to help Kyle out of some old sentiment, fine. But this project's margin cannot go beyond five percent!"
She was right that we had calculated a ten percent margin. But that was before factoring in the rising costs of labor and raw materials. Once those were included, five percent was the maximum. Any more, and we'd be losing money, paying for the privilege of working.
The company had done well over the years, but it couldn't withstand that kind of bleeding. If this happened once, it would happen again. I couldn't watch her gamble away everything we'd built.
I expected some flicker of recognition, but her face was a mask of disgust.
"Do you think you can control me just because you're a man?" she spat. "Let me tell you, women are just as capable in the business world! I said ten percent, and I will not go back on my word!"
At that, Mr. Peterson started clapping. "Excellent! Chairman Rachel, a woman of her word. In that case, my choice is clear. I'll go with your company!"
Kyle shot me a smug, victorious look.
"Some people think marrying into wealth gives them control, but they forget that a pretty face is only good for living off someone else. When it comes to real business, they don't get a say."
His words were a direct jab at me, but Rachel didn't even flinch. She was too busy smiling and raising a glass to Peterson.
Seeing that he had Peterson's ear, Kyle feigned a sigh. "He knew there was a ten percent margin but told you five just so he could pocket the difference. Now that Mr. Peterson has graciously decided to continue working with us, don't you think you owe him some kind of apology, Kevin?"
I stared at Kyle, my silence a wall of ice. Even if my status in the company had slipped, I was still the Vice President. What right did a rookie salesman have to talk down to me?
But with Rachel's silent approval, he grew bolder.
"At the very least, you should drink three shots as an apology. And don't give us that nonsense about an alcohol allergy. Who comes to a business dinner and doesn't drink?"
The way he specifically mentioned an "alcohol allergy" was a dead giveaway.
My eyes snapped to Rachel.
She looked away, a flicker of guilt on her face, but then she hardened. "Kyle told you to drink, so drink. It's not going to kill you."
It was true. I have a severe alcohol allergy and a chronic stomach condition. Years ago, when Rachel said she wanted the company to grow faster, I threw myself into networking, wining and dining investors. I drank until I ended up in the hospital with a perforated ulcer. Rachel had wept by my bedside, swearing that nothing was more important than my health. She made me promise never to drink again, saying if I did, she would never speak to me again.
Now, I looked at her and gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"If this is what you want, I'll give it to you."
But after these three glasses, you and I are done.
A fiery trail of liquor seared its way down my throat. I fought back the nausea and walked out of the private dining room.
Behind me, I could faintly hear their laughter.
Kyle's voice, thick with feigned concern, drifted out. "I thought you were doing so well all these years, Rachel. I never imagined you'd marry a pretty boy like him. He even had the nerve to give you attitude in front of Mr. Peterson. The disrespect is unbelievable!"
My steps faltered. I wanted to hear what Rachel would say.
After a brief pause, she replied, "Compared to you, with your Master's degree from overseas, he's just a community college dropout. A few years in management and he's forgotten where he came from. Tomorrow, I'm announcing his demotion."
Kyle was quick with the flattery. "A brilliant decision. You have to deal with trash like him, who think a little history gives them the right to throw their weight around."
I walked away. There was nothing more I needed to hear.
Kyle had repeatedly humiliated me in front of a business partner, and Rachel, my own wife, hadn't just allowed itshe'd joined in.
Years of love and devotion, all burned away in one night. I was done forcing myself to endure it.
The moment I stepped outside the hotel, I doubled over, vomiting. A searing fire ripped through my stomach, and I broke out in a cold sweat. The nearest hospital was an hour away, but home, and my medication, was only thirty minutes.
I sent a quick text to my lawyer: Draft the divorce papers. Immediately. Then I drove home.
Bobby was already asleep. I tiptoed upstairs and took my medicine. Not long after, I heard the lock turn in the front door.
I didn't go to greet Rachel like I always did.
Her voice, sharp with irritation, cut through the quiet house. "You walked out on a client without a word, and now you're home acting like a ghost? Can you stop with the childish drama?"
Her shouting woke Bobby, who started to cry.
I pushed through the pain, intending to go to him. As I opened my door, I saw Kyle, standing in our living room like he owned the place, calming our son.
Bobby, who usually took me ages to soothe, was instantly quieted with a piece of fried chicken from Kyle.
He wrapped his little arms around Kyle's neck. "Daddy Kyle, you're so nice to me! My daddy never lets me eat this. He's mean!"
Bobby has a sensitive stomach, just like me. I didn't want him to suffer from the same chronic pain, so I strictly limited his intake of fried, greasy foods. Rachel knew all of this. But she just stood there, watching, saying nothing.
She saw me standing in the doorway, my face pale, and her brow just furrowed with annoyance.
"Whatever, I'm not going to argue with you," she said dismissively. "So your stomach hurts. Is it my fault you didn't eat properly?"
She tossed a black plastic bag onto the table. "I wouldn't normally do something so low-class as getting a doggy bag, but I remembered you can't go hungry with your stomach issues."
Her tone was condescending, as if packing up leftovers for me was a great sacrifice. But she and Kyle were the ones who had smeared my name, who had forced me to drink, who had caused this flare-up in the first place.
Bobby looked at the black bag on the table and asked with childlike innocence, "Isn't that a trash bag? Is Daddy going to eat trash?"
When I didn't move, Rachel's voice sharpened with impatience. "They were out of takeout containers. Besides, these bags are stronger. Why should a guttersnipe like you care? You crawled your way up from the bottom."
Her next words struck me like a physical blow.
"Weren't you so poor you had to dig through trash and fight with stray dogs for food?"
She said it so casually, so lightly, but it sent a shard of ice through my heart.
My parents died when I was young, and I grew up on the streets, surviving on scraps and begging. It was only through the kindness of strangers that I was able to finish school. The first year after graduation, I developed a small software program and made my first real money. I paid back every person who had ever helped me, with interest.
I told Rachel everything about my past, holding nothing back. She had cried then, her eyes red with sympathy, and promised she would heal the wounds of my childhood.
Now, in front of our son, she was calling me a guttersnipe. Exposing my past, telling him I fought dogs for scraps.
I struggled to maintain my composure and looked at Bobby, wanting to tell him there's no shame in survival.
But my son just stared at me with disgust.
"Daddy's gross. People who touch trash are stinky. No wonder Daddy is stinky too." He pointed a little finger at me. "Daddy told me not to eat dirty things, but he fought with dogs for food! Daddy's a liar!"
Bobby then spat in my direction. "Daddy's disgusting! I don't want this daddy! I want a new one! I want Daddy Kyle!"
Kyle, holding Bobby, put on a show of gentle refusal. "But you already have a daddy, little guy. I can't be your daddy."
At that, Bobby burst into tears.
I reached out to hold him, but he lunged forward and sank his teeth into my arm.
A five-year-old's teeth are sharp, and he bit down with all his might. Blood welled up instantly. I hissed in pain but was afraid to move, afraid I'd hurt him. As he bit me, he started kicking me wildly. One of his kicks landed squarely in my stomach, and the pain I'd just managed to medicate away roared back to life.
Seeing my face twist in agony, Bobby just laughed, a triumphant look in his eyes.
"Bad daddy! That's for not letting me eat fried chicken!" he shrieked. "I beat you! From now on, you have to listen to me! Are you going to let me eat fried chicken and hamburgers or not?"

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