Chapter 2

"A divorce?" Jess shrieked into the phone. "Are you serious, Mike? Over a car? Over a stupid Instagram post?"

She laughed, a harsh, unbelieving sound.

"You' re being ridiculous. You' re just having a tantrum because you didn' t get a new toy."

Her dismissal was instant, condescending. She always did this, minimized my feelings, my concerns, whenever they inconvenienced her.

"This isn't a tantrum, Jess," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "I'm tired. I'm done."

"You'll get over it," she said, her tone shifting to annoyance. "We have a company to run. You have responsibilities. Don't be so dramatic."

She hung up.

I stared at my phone, her words echoing. "You'll get over it."

As if my pain was a fleeting mood, a childish outburst.

My mind drifted back, unbidden, to Liam Walker' s hiring.

HR had a stack of résumés for the "Executive Assistant" role, many from top graduates at UT Austin and Texas A&M, bright kids with actual tech sales internships or relevant experience.

Jess had personally interviewed Liam. He had a vague associate's degree from a community college and zero tech or sales experience. His resume was mostly fluff about "people skills" and "dynamic energy."

She' d pushed him through, overruling a unanimous HR recommendation against him.

"We need diverse talent profiles," she' d announced in a management meeting, her gaze sweeping over us. "Fresh perspectives. Liam brings an energy, a certain... charisma that Innovatech needs to cultivate."

I' d privately thought he brought nothing but a pretty face and an ability to flatter Jess.

Then, just a few months later, HR proudly presented a new software engineer they' d recruited. A brilliant coder, hardworking, but he' d graduated from a less prestigious state college.

Jess had torn into the HR director.

"Are we lowering our standards now?" she' d fumed. "Innovatech is a premium brand! We need pedigree! This reflects poorly on our image!"

The hypocrisy was staggering, even then. But I' d stayed silent, for the sake of peace, for the sake of what I thought was our marriage, our company.

Now, the memory burned, a fresh layer of understanding coating old frustrations.

Her favoritism wasn't new, it was a pattern. I' d just been too blind, or too willing, to see its true, ugly shape.

The Porsche wasn't just a car. It was a symbol of everything.