"Claire, I am finished faking it with you. She is the one I actually want."

Three days after the disastrous party, the consequences of Ethan’s arrogance continued to fall like a line of tumbling dominoes.

At 2:00 PM on Thursday, I was sitting at a quiet coffee shop near my office in River North, reviewing my personal financial statements with my sister Sarah. For seven years, I had put my own graphic design career on the back burner, taking low-stress freelance clients so I could manage Ethan’s chaotic schedule, cook his meals, and host his corporate dinners. Now, looking at my bank accounts, I realized I was finally free to build something of my own.

My phone rang. It was an unknown local number.

I tapped the screen. "Hello?"

"Claire?" A sharp, trembling voice came through the speaker. It was Vanessa.

I raised an eyebrow, gesturing for Sarah to stay quiet. "How did you get this number, Vanessa?"

"Ethan gave it to me!" she hissed, though her voice lacked any of the arrogant disdain she had displayed in my entryway three nights ago. She sounded frantic, hyperventilating slightly. "You need to call Apex HR right now! You need to tell them that what happened at the party was just a misunderstanding! A private prank!"

I let out a slow, dry laugh. "A prank? You stood in my living room, covered in cake, and told me to 'get over it' because Ethan had chosen you."

"They fired me, Claire!" Vanessa shrieked, her voice cracking into a high-pitched sob. "Apex terminated my employment this morning! They escorted me out of the building with two security guards! They flagged my corporate license for ethics violations! No financial firm in Chicago will hire me now!"

I took a slow sip of my iced latte. "And Ethan?"

"Ethan is suspended without pay pending the final board vote on Monday!" she cried out. "He's staying on my sofa! He doesn't have any money! His credit cards are frozen, his mother won't answer his calls, and your lawyer put a lien on his private investment accounts! He's sitting in my living room drinking cheap scotch and crying!"

The image was almost absurd. The great Regional Director, the unstoppable corporate titan who was going to "live a life that didn't choke him," was now a broke, suspended executive crying on his twenty-seven-year-old mistress’s couch while she begged his ex-wife for help.

"Sounds like you two got exactly what you wanted," I said smoothly. "A real path that finally feels authentic to you."

"Claire, please!" Vanessa begged, dropping her hostile tone completely into pure desperation. "I'm twenty-seven! I have eighty thousand dollars in student loans! I can't afford my apartment rent next month! If Apex revokes my financial analyst certification, my entire career is over! Just call Brenda in HR and tell her you aren't pressing domestic charges!"

"Vanessa," I said, my voice dropping into a razor-cold register that made her go silent on the other end. "When you walked into my home three nights ago, kissing my husband in front of his family, you didn't care about my heart. You didn't care about my dignity. You thought I was just a boring, suffocating obstacle in the way of your luxury lifestyle."

"I... I was stupid! Ethan lied to me! He told me you two were already separated!"

"You saw the party decorations," I reminded her ruthlessly. "You saw the banner. You saw the cake. You knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted the Regional Director, his Lincoln Park townhouse, and his high salary. Well, now you have him. Enjoy your prize."

"Claire, wait—"

I hung up the phone and immediately blocked her number.

Sarah looked at me across the small cafe table, her eyes wide with immense satisfaction. "Did they really escort her out of the building?"

"Apex doesn't play games when Senior Managing Partner Hallowell is involved," I smiled, setting my phone face-down on the table. "They have an international reputation to protect. Having a Regional Director throw a public infidelity scene that ends in a cake-throwing assault and an HR ethics complaint is the fastest way to get purged from a corporate ledger."

Just then, my phone buzzed again. This time it was an email notification from Mr. Sterling’s legal portal.

I opened the document.

It was an official notice from the Cook County Circuit Court. Ethan’s attorney had submitted a formal request for an emergency settlement conference on Friday morning. Ethan was prepared to sign a full, unconditional surrender of the Lincoln Park house, waive his claims to my personal savings, and agree to a fast-track divorce decree—on one single condition.

He wanted his mother to lift the lien on his private trust inheritance.

I forwarded the email directly to Mrs. Diane.