My husband had no idea my annual income was $2.7 million when he screamed at me, “Hey, you sick bitch! I’ve already filed the divorce papers. Get out of my house tomorrow!”

I didn’t give him the whole truth. “Because you didn’t need to know,” I said. “And because I wanted a partner—not someone dependent on me.”

His pride clawed its way back. “If you had that kind of money, why live like that?”

“Because I could,” I said. “And because it protected me. Money changes how people behave.”

His breathing became rapid again. “Okay. Okay. We can fix this,” he rushed. “I didn’t mean it. I was stressed. My mom was calling—”

“No,” I cut in. “You meant it. You said it.”

Naomi slid another document across the table—an emergency motion and a notice of exclusive occupancy.

Trent’s voice dropped. “Please,” he whispered. “Just tell him to leave.”

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