Chapter 4

The day only got worse. My boss, Chad Peterson, a man whose chauvinism was legendary, called an impromptu board meeting. He presented my latest campaign, the one I' d poured weeks of late nights into, as his own.

"As you can see," Chad preened, gesturing to my slides, "my strategy has yielded exceptional results."

He took all the credit, not even a nod in my direction. It was the final straw. The humiliation at the gala, Mark' s betrayal, Leo' s indifference, and now this. Something inside me snapped.

I stood up. The boardroom went silent.

"Actually, Chad," I said, my voice surprisingly steady, "that' s my campaign. My strategy. My work."

He smirked. "Sarah, don' t be emotional. We all contribute."

"No," I said, a cold fury rising. "You contribute nothing but hot air. I' m done." I picked up my bag. "I quit."

Chad' s jaw dropped. "You can' t quit! This campaign is critical!"

"That' s fine," I said, walking towards the door. I paused, turned back, and delivered the line I' d never thought I' d use, the words tasting like ash and freedom. "My dad' s monthly allowance to me in college was more than your annual salary."

The shock on their faces was almost comical. I walked out, head held high, a strange sense of catharsis washing over me. It was reckless, insane, but it felt good.

I called Mark on the drive home, not to tell him about quitting, but to hear his voice, to gauge his reaction to something, anything, that wasn't about him.

"I quit my job," I said, flatly.

Silence. Then, "You what? Are you crazy, Sarah? What about my startup funding? What about the bills? My next round of seed money was depending on your bonus!"

Not, are you okay? Not, what happened? Only about the money. His money. My money that he considered his.

The familiar disappointment washed over me, sharper this time. "I just thought you should know."

"Thought I should know? You' ve ruined everything!" he yelled.

I hung up. My hands were shaking, but a new resolve was forming.

Later that evening, I needed to retrieve a file from his laptop for my severance paperwork. He was in the shower. I opened it. His email was open. An unread message from Tiffany.

"Can' t wait for Bali, baby! Just a few more weeks till Sarah' s bonus hits, and we' re outta here! You' re a genius, getting her to work herself to the bone for our dream life. She' s such a workhorse, too dumb to realize."

Attached was a photo of her, bikini-clad, on a beach that was definitely not local.

I felt nothing. Just a cold, hard certainty.

Then I heard him on the phone in the bedroom, his voice low and intimate.

"Yeah, Sarah' s totally buying the 'struggling niece' thing. Just keep playing it cool. Once her next bonus hits, we' re off to Bali. She' s such a workhorse, too dumb to realize she' s funding our dream life."

He was talking to Tiffany. The words were almost identical to her email.

My world, already cracked, shattered into a million pieces. The entire marriage, his declarations of support, my sacrifices – all a meticulously crafted lie. He wasn' t just a parasite; he was a predator. And I had been his willing prey.