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 don’t care what you thought you hid,” I said evenly. “What matters is that the truth is coming out. And you don’t control it anymore.”

A long silence stretched between us. Then, barely audible: “S… Sophie, Evan… will all this… be public?”

I exhaled slowly. “It won’t be public. But it will be fair. No one gets to manipulate what’s mine—or what’s ours—any longer.”

He had nothing left to say. For the first time, his arrogance gave way to real fear. He knew he couldn’t break me now.

I ended the call and looked out the window as the city carried on—cars flowing, people moving, lights blinking without pause. Life was indifferent. But I wasn’t.

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