Behind me, her voice cracked into a hoarse, angry roar.
"Ruby Stephens, don't you dare!"
What is there that I don't dare do?
Years ago, Claire said she wanted to get married. I married her without hesitation.
I was born into an affluent family in a prosperous district. She was a scrapper—a child who'd fought with every ounce of strength to escape the deep mountains of her youth.
That year, she had no house, no car, and a dowry of barely two thousand dollars.
People joked that even my enemies felt sorry for me, watching a high-flying executive settle for so little.
But I knew the truth. When it came to ambition, Claire Vance was my equal.
In just one year, I helped her rise, turning the pity in my enemies' eyes back into red-hot jealousy.
No one understood that I never placed a bet without preparation. I never lacked for the things I wanted. And what I was willing to sacrifice, I had the power to reclaim.
I watched the elevator doors slide shut, cutting off Claire's twisted expression.
I knew it, and she knew it too.
I took a taxi straight back to my parents' estate.
When I lay down in a bedroom larger than the entire living room of our marital apartment, I finally exhaled, tension draining from my shoulders.
In truth, I'd never gotten used to that cramped apartment. It wasn't just the size—the walls were paper-thin, leaking city noise. Central location, but suffocating.
When Claire had insisted on buying it, my mother objected first.
I'd comforted her then, saying the road ahead was long and I wouldn't let my potential go to waste.
I'd always been confident. I believed that in life, as in business, effort guaranteed return on investment.
But Mother, known for her decisiveness, had simply sighed.
"Marriage does not follow reason, Ruby. It is not the same as work."
At the time, arrogant and high-spirited, I hadn't understood.
Now I finally did.
In the cold, transactional reality of adulthood, heartbreak was worthless currency. Grievances didn't pay bills. Emotional wounds didn't convert into bonuses. They weren't even lessons worth savoring—just waste.
I stared at the ceiling until the intricate relief patterns blurred into gray haze. When I finally wiped my eyes, my hand came away slick with tears.
Even the most rational person could be reduced to a fool by love.
That night, I didn't wallow. I called a lawyer.