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When my husband noticed I hadn't sent him a single payment request in a week, he slid a black card across the table. "You've been behaving lately. Cut way back on unnecessary spending." "As a reward, I covered your dad's dialysis." That's me—Mrs. Thorne, the wife of the CEO. A woman who has to get approval just to buy a five-dollar pack of pads. But what he doesn't know? My dad's already dead. Killed by the woman who deliberately rejected my request—his assistant, his precious "first love." Her reason? Women with money go bad. Stop being so greedy! I took the card, pulled on that same coat I'd worn for three years, and walked out the door. I've already signed the divorce papers. I don't need to be his caged animal anymore. My phone buzzed. A message from Elena Cross popped up on the screen, dripping with condescension. "I've reinstated your dad's treatment. Learn to behave. Stop lying to squeeze extra money out of us." "I know people from your background have it rough, but my money isn't something you can just con out of me." I stared at those two lines, weirdly calm. I typed back one word: "K." I set my phone down and signed the divorce papers sitting in front of me. Elena probably thought I hadn't asked her to reimburse anything for three days because I was giving her the silent treatment—you know, the classic "cold war" move. Made sense. For the past three years, I'd been completely powerless, doing whatever it took to cover Dad's medical bills. I had zero income. Dominic wouldn't let me work. He said it was embarrassing for Mrs. Thorne to be out there "making a spectacle of herself." But he also wouldn't give me an allowance. Every cent I spent had to go through his company's approval system. Groceries? Needed approval. Pads? Needed approval. Even a few bucks for the subway required uploading a receipt. The person reviewing everything? His personal secretary, Elena Cross—that woman who'd been glued to his side since college, acting like she was some kind of "soulmate." Three days ago. The hospital issued a critical condition notice. Dad had a brain hemorrhage and needed surgery immediately. Two hundred thousand dollars. For Dominic Thorne, that was the cost of one bottle of wine. I called him like a maniac, tried a dozen times before someone finally picked up. But it wasn't Dominic. It was Elena. "Hadley, Dominic's in a meeting. What's the emergency?" I didn't care about politeness. I was crying, begging. "Elena, let me talk to Dominic. My dad's dying. I need two hundred thousand for surgery!" I froze. On the other end of the line, Elena just let out a soft laugh. "Hadley, you know the company rules." "Two hundred grand isn't pocket change. You have to submit it through the OA." "Dominic hates people who break the rules. If you just ask for money like this, he'll be pissed." "Go submit a request in the system. I'll approve it as soon as I see it." She hung up. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold my phone as I opened that godforsaken approval app and filled out the form. [Reason: Dad's surgery.] [Amount: $200,000.] [Attachment: Critical condition notice.] I hit submit, stared at the screen. One second. Two seconds... Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. Not a payment notification. A rejection notice from the system. [Rejected by: Elena Cross.] [Reason for rejection: Attachment unclear. Please rescan and reupload.] I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. I took another photo. My hands were shaking and the picture came out blurry, so I took another one. Every second mattered. I resubmitted. Five minutes later, rejected again. [Reason for rejection: Request amount too large. Please provide itemized cost breakdown, including unit prices for all medications.] I lost it. The surgery hadn't even started. The doctors were still trying to save him. How was I supposed to get an itemized breakdown with unit prices? I texted Elena. "I'll send the breakdown later. Elena, please. Just approve it. This is a life-or-death situation!" Elena sent back a cutesy emoji. "Girl, it's not that I don't want to help." "But the finance rules are the rules. I'm in a tough spot too." "You've always been too careless. You can't bring those working-class habits into high society." "Dominic said I need to help you learn some discipline." I was on my knees outside the operating room, phone in hand, completely broken. I texted Dominic. Sent voice messages. "Dominic, I'm begging you." "Just give me the money. I'll do whatever you want after this." "I won't cause trouble. I won't be jealous of Elena. Please, just save my dad." Half an hour later, Dominic finally sent a voice message back with noise in the background, his voice annoyed and slightly drunk. "Do what Elena says. Stop bothering me." Right then, the operating room light went out. A doctor walked out, pulled off his mask, and shook his head. "I'm sorry. If the payment had gone through even ten minutes earlier and we'd been able to use the medication..." I didn't hear the rest. The world just went quiet. The man who raised me by picking through garbage to fund my education died because of a "wrong format" rejection. His body grew cold, and my love for Dominic Thorne went cold right along with it. For three days, I handled the aftermath—cremation, burial. I didn't tell Dominic. There was no point anymore. He thought I was scamming him for money? Fine. I'd never ask him for another cent. I looked at the message Dominic had just sent, dripping with fake generosity, and smiled. He thought I was playing games to get his attention. He had no idea this was me giving him one last shred of dignity. A red dot suddenly popped up on my IG feed. It was a post from Elena. The photo showed a plate of high-end sushi and a man's hand wearing a Patek Philippe—one I'd once thought about giving Dominic. The caption read: "Thanks boss for treating me to a nice meal. Unlike some people who just beg for money. So annoying." I liked the post. Seriously. It was the first time I'd ever liked anything Elena posted. A second later, Dominic called. Probably saw my like and thought I was being passive-aggressive. When I didn't answer, he texted instead. "Hadley, who are you trying to shade?" "Don't make people misunderstand Elena. She's just doing her job." "Unlike that like right now, or I'm cutting off your card." Doing her job? You mean killing people? I actually laughed—a sharp, ug1y sound. I opened the post again and left a comment: "Elena the secretary climbing the ladder by blocking the boss's wife's emergency fund—what a power move." "Hope you two stay locked together forever." "A snake and a leech. Perfect match." Posted. Blocked her. Turned off my phone. Finally, some peace and quiet. I started packing, but honestly there wasn't much to pack. I'd lived in this so-called home for three years, and the things that actually belonged to me were pathetically few. The walk-in closet was huge. The left side was filled with Dominic's custom-tailored suits, and the right side had a few locked cabinets where the jewelry and designer bags were kept. The keys and fingerprint access? Elena had them. Every time I needed to attend an event, I had to ask Elena for permission like I was borrowing props, and when I was done, I had to return everything. Once, I accidentally got a hem dirty on one of the dresses. Elena made me write a three-thousand-word apology letter in front of the housekeepers and even docked my next month's "allowance." Dominic stood there watching, cool as ever, and said: "Elena's just trying to teach you a lesson. This stuff's expensive. You can't afford to replace it." Yeah. I couldn't afford it. I was nobody—a working-class kid, garbage in their eyes. I opened my little corner of the closet. A few pilled sweaters, some jeans so faded they were practically white, and the only decent thing was that white T-shirt I wore three years ago when I married into this family. Back then, I wasn't Mrs. Thorne yet. I was the youngest graduate student in the Physics Department at Ashford University, a prodigy with a bright future. Dominic said he liked how sharp and composed I was. "Hadley, marry me. I'll give you a home." And I believed him. I gave up my chance to study abroad and ignored my mentor's pleas for me to stay. I played house, lived in this golden cage, and turned myself into a joke. I pulled off the "cheap clearance rack" shirt Dominic always sneered at and put on that yellowed white tee instead. The jeans were a little loose now. I'd lost twenty pounds in three years. I dragged out an old suitcase and packed a few books, some photos, and Dad's urn. That was it. Everything else in this mansion had nothing to do with me. I walked downstairs. The housekeeper, Pepper, was polishing a vase. When she saw me dragging my suitcase, she rolled her eyes. "Running away from home again?" "Mr. Thorne said if you walk out that door this time, don't bother coming back." "Oh, and he wants soup for dinner. Don't forget to make it." In this house, even the help looked down on me. Because they knew I didn't even have the authority to pay their wages. My "allowance" was even less than what they made. I stopped and looked at Pepper. "Make the soup yourself. Or better yet, have Elena do it." She froze, clearly not used to me talking back. "What's with the attitude? I'm telling Mr. Thorne about this—" "Go ahead." I pulled my suitcase toward the door and didn't look back. The sunlight was blinding when I stepped outside. I raised a hand to shield my eyes. Three years. I was finally free. Dominic got back faster than I expected. He must've seen my comment and completely lost it. Not because he wanted to comfort me, but because he wanted to defend his precious darling. I was standing outside the gated community trying to get a ride when a black Maybach screeched to a stop right in front of me. The door opened and Dominic stepped out, face like a storm cloud. Elena followed behind him, eyes all red and puffy like she'd been mortally wounded. "Hadley, what is wrong with you?" Dominic grabbed my wrist hard. "Apologize to Elena. Right now!" "What kind of garbage were you spouting online? How does garbageing her reputation help you?" I looked at that face—the one that used to make my heart race—and now it just made me sick. "Spouting garbage?" I yanked my wrist free and stared coldly at Elena. "Am I lying, Secretary Cross? You tell me." "Three days ago, my dad was on an operating table waiting for money to save his life, and you rejected my request because the format was wrong and the amount was too high." "Did you tell Dominic about that?" Dominic froze, clearly not knowing the details. All he knew was that I'd asked for money and Elena said it didn't follow protocol. He instinctively glanced at Elena. Elena's body trembled and tears instantly streamed down her face. "Dominic... I didn't..." "I was just following company financial policy." "And... and Hadley was so aggressive when she called. I didn't realize it was life or death..." "Besides, I had finance prepare the funds later. Hadley just never resubmitted the request." What a smooth talker. What a convenient excuse—"never resubmitted." My Dad was already DEAD! Was I supposed to submit it to the Grim Reaper? Dominic's frown deepened and he turned to me, eyes full of disappointment. "Hadley, you've really let me down." "Elena was just doing her job. Did you have to be this vicious?" "Your dad had chronic issues, right? It couldn't have been that serious." "And over this, you go online and tr//ash Elena? Where's your sense of decency?" Decency? He wanted me to show decency to a killer? I actually laughed—a sharp, bitter sound that made them both flinch. "Dominic Thorne, you're so blind it's almost impressive." "Since you trust her so much, we've got nothing left to talk about." "The divorce papers are on the desk in the study. Sign them." With that, I grabbed my suitcase and turned to leave. But Dominic suddenly ripped the suitcase out of my hand and hurled it to the ground. The old case couldn't take it—the zipper burst open and everything spilled out. A few worn-out clothes, some books, and a black wooden box. The urn rolled a few feet and stopped right next to Dominic's shoe. Dominic froze, staring at the box with shrinking pupils. "What... what is this?" I bent down, carefully picked up the urn, and brushed off the dust. "This is my dad." 【11490】