1 Three years of marriage, and Ava despised any form of romantic gesture. Even buying her a single rose was enough to get me locked out of our home. So, we never celebrated anything. Until I was hospitalized with an acute stomach hemorrhage, only to scroll through her social media. She had rented out the entire Coastal Cove Amusement Park, setting off a million-dollar display of fireworks for her depressed male subordinate. I didn’t lose my temper right then. Instead, at her company’s annual investment summit the next morning, I lit those multi-million-dollar contracts, which I had secretly signed on her behalf, on fire, page by page. “You always did love a grand gesture,” I said. “How does a ten-million-dollar firework look?” She stayed silent, but her subordinate lost it. “Mr. Ashford, you’re just a househusband living off Ava’s hard work. You know nothing. How dare you make a scene here!” “You just ruined everything she worked for. You’ve crossed the line!” I didn’t get angry. “You’re fired.” My wife, who always prided herself on being rational, slammed her glass down and screamed at me. “Jack, what right do you have to fire my people?” I just shook my head. Once a woman stops listening, there is no point in keeping her around. Worst case, I’d just fund another company and build up someone who actually knows how to behave. … At one in the morning, I was curled up on a hospital bed, cold sweat dripping from the agonizing pain in my stomach. The doctor said it was acute stomach bleeding. I needed to be admitted immediately. I called Ava for the fifth time. It went straight to voicemail again. The nurse adjusting my IV sighed, her brow furrowing. “Where is your family? You shouldn’t be handling this alone.” “She’s busy,” I managed a weak smile. “Extremely busy.” The nurse shook her head and walked out. Staring at the sterile white ceiling, my mind drifted back to our wedding day. Standing outside the courthouse, Ava had grabbed my sleeve and said, “Jack, I absolutely despise useless, superficial gestures. Don’t buy me flowers, don’t plan anniversaries, and don’t do surprises. That’s garbage only brainless, show-off rich people care about.” I believed her. For three years, I didn’t even dare buy her a birthday cake. Last Valentine’s Day, I made the mistake of bringing home a bouquet of roses. She didn’t even let me in, her voice cold through the door: “Leave them outside. The petals will mess up my clean floors.” The next morning, those roses were in the trash. I genuinely thought I had married a career-driven, low-maintenance woman. Until, out of sheer boredom, I opened my phone. The top post on my feed was from Ava, posted thirty minutes ago. A grid of nine photos, filled with brilliant fireworks exploding over the city’s largest amusement park, Coastal Cove. The caption read: May the rest of your life be free of shadows, burning as bright as these fireworks. I tapped the first photo. Ava was laughing like a carefree teenager, her arm wrapped around a slender, pale young man. He had delicate, almost fragile features, looking up at the sky with a melancholic, sickly beauty. Tristan. Her new executive assistant, hired barely a month ago. Just a few days back, Ava had casually mentioned him to me: “The kid suffers from severe depression. Be patient with him.” The comment section was already flooded. “Wow, Ava is so generous to Tristan! Rented out the entire Coastal Cove!” “A half-hour firework show… how much did that even cost?” Someone in the comments posted the exact figure: rental fee plus custom fireworks, three point eight million dollars. Staring at those numbers, the burning in my stomach suddenly vanished. Instead, my chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. I scrolled through my chat history with Ava over the last three years. Me: Let’s have dinner together tonight. Her: Busy. Me: Want to catch a movie this weekend? Her: No time. Stop wasting energy on pointless things. Me: It’s our anniversary today. Her: Jack, how many times do I have to tell you to stop bringing up these useless dates? And yet, here she was, spending three point eight million dollars on fireworks for an assistant she had known for less than a month. Just to make him “burn bright.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips, sending another sharp spasm through my gut. The nurse rushed back in, holding me down. “What are you doing? Don’t move!” I ignored her, my eyes glued to the photo. “It’s fine,” I muttered. “I’m just done being the perfect, supportive husband.” The nurse stared at me, thoroughly confused. I ignored her and dialed my best friend, Justin. He picked up after two rings. “Jack? Man, it’s the middle of the night…” “Justin, first thing tomorrow morning, bring all the original investment contracts Ashford Group holds in Aura Financial to the International Convention Center.” A long silence stretched over the line. “Jack… you’re finally waking up?” “Yeah,” I said, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve played the part for three years. I’m done.” “Also, have the market research team look for new targets. Within three months, I want a company that can completely replace Aura Financial.” “Understood.” I hung up and closed my eyes. Ava, did you enjoy the fireworks? Tomorrow, I’ll show you a much bigger show. 2 The next morning, I discharged myself against medical advice, signing the waiver form before the doctor could protest further. Today was Aura Financial’s annual investment summit, an event Ava had spent over six months preparing for. The biggest players in the financial sector would all be there. And the highly praised “star projects” Aura had secured over the past two years, totaling nearly thirty million dollars in investments, were actually funded by me through the Ashford Group, channeled through seven layers of offshore shell companies. She had no idea. She genuinely believed she had married an average guy who relied on her for financial support. At last year’s company gala, she had raised her glass and joked to the crowd, “My husband’s greatest talent is knowing how to cook.” The room had erupted in laughter. I had sat there in the audience, smiling and clapping for her. What a pathetic fool I was. At the International Convention Center, crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant glow over flowing champagne. The staff at the registration desk recognized me instantly. As the CEO’s husband and the punchline of last year’s gala, I was let in without a single question. Ava stood on the stage in a sharp red blazer, looking radiant and confident. Standing right beside her was Tristan, the delicate young man from last night’s post. Tristan, dressed in a tailored suit, was eagerly handing her documents, occasionally leaning in to whisper in her ear. The crowd murmured in approval. Holding a glass of champagne, I walked up the side stairs and onto the stage. Every eye in the room immediately locked onto me. Ava’s face darkened instantly. “Jack, what are you doing here? Who let you up?” “I brought you a gift.” I signaled to Justin. He immediately stepped up and handed me a thick stack of original contracts. With the entire audience watching, I pulled a silver lighter from my pocket. The click of the ignition echoed as a flame flickered to life. I lit the first contract. “Jack! Are you insane?!” Ava’s voice cracked, her composure shattering. “Those are company contracts! The originals!” Ignoring her, I set the second one on fire. “Didn’t you say you hated superficial gestures?” The third one caught fire. “Didn’t you say only brainless, show-off rich people throw money away?” The fourth one turned to ash. “Does a three point eight million dollar firework show count as brainless?” The flickering flames illuminated Ava’s face, turning it incredibly pale. I spoke directly into the microphone, my voice so calm it even surprised me. “Tell me, Ava. Was the multi-million-dollar show beautiful?” The room fell into a dead silence. The contracts burned to ashes, fluttering down onto the crimson carpet. Ava’s chest rose and fell rapidly. She was a businesswoman first and knew she couldn’t lose her temper in public. But Tristan couldn’t help himself. His eyes welled with tears. He pushed past Ava and rushed in front of me, pointing a trembling finger at my face. “Mr. Ashford, who do you think you are?” “You’re just a kept man living off Ava’s hard work! What do you know about investments? What do you know about business?” “Ava poured six months of her life into this! This is the livelihood of hundreds of employees! Can you even begin to pay for the damage you’ve caused?!” “You are incredibly out of line!” His spit practically flew in my face. I tilted my head, looking down at him coldly. “And who are you? Did I speak to you? Know your place.” Tristan froze. I turned my gaze back to Ava. “By the way, your beloved assistant is fired.” Tristan’s face flushed red. “Fired by you?! You think you have the authority? Who do you think…” A sharp crash cut him off. Ava slammed her crystal glass onto the stage, sending shards flying everywhere. She marched over, shielding Tristan behind her, her eyes icy as she glared at me. “Jack.” “What right do you have to fire my people?” 3 I stared at her. This was the woman I had protected and cherished for three years, the woman whose favorite shampoo brand I still memorized. And here she was, in front of the city’s most prominent investors, smashing a glass to defend an assistant who had been with her for less than a month. A soft chuckle escaped me. “Ava, are you sure you want to make a scene here?” “You started this!” she hissed, her teeth clenched. “You will apologize to Tristan. Right now, in front of everyone!” An apology. While I was lying in a hospital bed with internal bleeding, she was setting off fireworks for him. And now, she wanted me to apologize. “Ava, you are the one who needs to apologize today.” “Me?” Ava let out a mocking laugh. “Jack, you just burned thirty million dollars worth of contracts and ruined a summit I prepared for six months. And you expect me to apologize?” She looked me up and down, as if examining an ungrateful stranger. Tristan immediately put on a display of fragile vulnerability, tugging gently at Ava’s sleeve. “Ava, it’s fine… it’s my fault. Mr. Ashford, I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry.” He kept his head low, his shoulders trembling slightly as tears pooled in his eyes. “Quite the actor, aren’t you, Tristan?” I said. Tristan snapped his head up, his expression instantly shifting to wounded innocence. “Mr. Ashford, I’m a diagnosed depression patient who has been with this company for barely a month. Your constant targeting… I really can’t take much more of this.” As he spoke, real tears began to stream down his cheeks. The whispers in the crowd grew louder. “Ava’s husband has a terrible temper.” “I heard the assistant is sick… why is he bullying him like that?” “Well, that’s what happens when a guy lives off his wife for too long. He gets insecure.” I didn’t look at them. I kept my eyes on Ava. “Ava, do you hear that? Everyone thinks I’m the one picking on your little assistant.” Ava’s lips curled into a cold, contemptuous sneer. “Jack, you aren’t just insecure from living off me. You’ve gotten so used to it that you actually think you’re someone important.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but every word felt like a blade. The crowd chuckled in agreement. Despite the sharp pain in my stomach, I smiled. “Good.” I gestured to Justin, who handed me another document. I slammed the paper onto the podium. “Tristan, you are fired.” Tristan let out a sharp laugh. “Mr. Ashford, you’re firing me? You don’t have the authority.” “Whether I do or don’t,” I looked at Ava, “is up to her.” Every eye in the room turned to Ava. She stared back at me, her eyes locking onto mine for three long seconds. Then, under the watchful gaze of the entire room, she slowly reached out, picked up the paper, and tore it in half. The shredded pieces drifted to the floor. “Jack,” her voice was like ice. “Tristan’s employment is none of your business. In this company, I make the decisions.” “Who are you? You’re just my husband.” A mocking smile touched her lips. “I let you come today out of respect. Don’t push your luck.” A collective gasp echoed through the room. Tristan kept his head lowered, his shoulders shaking, but I caught the smug, victorious grin stretching across his face. Looking at this woman who had just publicly stripped away the last shred of my dignity, the pain in my stomach intensified, yet my smile only widened. “Excellent, Ava. Very well.” Without another word, I turned and walked off the stage. Behind me, Ava was already smoothly explaining to the investors, “Apologies for the distraction, everyone. Just a minor domestic dispute. The summit will proceed as planned.” Her tone shifted back to professional efficiency so quickly, as if the entire incident had been nothing more than a minor, irritating blip. And I was barely even that. As I reached the corridor outside, the frantic click of high heels sounded behind me. Ava caught up, grabbing my arm with a tight grip. “Jack, have you had your fun today? Just tell me what you want. Name your price.” Name your price. She wasn’t trying to resolve things. She was dismissing me like a pet throwing a tantrum. “I don’t want your money, Ava. I want a divorce.” Ava froze for a split second. Then, she laughed. It was a laugh of disbelief, mockery, and ultimately, relief. “A divorce? Are you serious, Jack?” “Completely.” “Fine.” She let go of my arm, shaking me off as if I were a piece of dirty laundry. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for a long time.” She pulled out her phone and dialed her lawyer right in front of me. “Robert, draft a divorce agreement and have it delivered to my place tonight.” “Yes, Jack leaves with nothing. No house, no car, no savings. If he refuses to sign, we’ll see him in court.” She hung up and looked down at me coldly. “Jack, don’t think for a second that today’s stunt will make me regret this. If anything, you’ve saved me a payout and a very awkward conversation.” “I can’t wait to get you out of my life.” “Oh, and make sure your things are out of my house by tonight.” With that, she took Tristan’s arm and walked away without looking back. 4 I didn’t go back to the house we shared. Justin drove me to my private penthouse in Riverview, owned by the Ashford Group. No one had lived here for three years, but a cleaning service maintained it weekly. The mahogany floors were polished to a mirror shine. After a hot shower, I walked into the living room, where Justin had already laid out a file on the coffee table. “Jack, I ran the background check you wanted on Tristan.” His expression was deeply unsettled. “You might want to sit down for this.” I picked up the file and flipped it open. Page one: Tristan’s resume. Flawless, with a master’s degree from a prestigious European university. Page two: Family background. His mother was Ava’s high school classmate; the two families had been close for decades. Page three. My fingers froze. Tristan and Ava had been legally married three years ago. They had divorced exactly one month before Ava and I were set up on our blind date. “Are you sure about this?” I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous chill. “Absolutely,” Justin said quietly. “I pulled the records directly from the city archives myself.” “Also, that luxury riverfront condo Ava bought two years ago? The deed is in her name, but Tristan has been living there the entire time. Ava pays for everything; utility bills, HOA fees, even Tristan’s personal training sessions.” I closed my eyes. Three years. Every time she claimed she was working late, every business trip, every client dinner. It turned out that every single time she said she wasn’t coming home, she was with her ex-husband. And while I was lying in a hospital bed with acute internal bleeding, she was throwing him a three point eight million dollar firework show. Me, the heir of the massive Ashford Group, spent three years playing the doting, domestic husband, only to be a placeholder for her ex-husband’s transition period. A dry, mocking laugh escaped me, triggering another spasm in my stomach. What a joke. My phone vibrated. An unknown number. It was a screenshot of a wire transfer: fifty thousand dollars. A message followed. “Mr. Ashford, Ava asked me to send you this. She said you worked hard these past three years, and this fifty thousand should help you get by. Please don’t harass her anymore, and don’t try to interfere with the company.” Sender: Tristan. A second message popped up almost immediately. “Let me be frank with you, Mr. Ashford. Ava looked into the funding of those contracts. They came from the Ashford Group.” “She doesn’t know what low-level job you have there; running errands or pouring coffee, but you’d better know your place.” “The real owners of a conglomerate like Ashford could crush you with a single finger.” “You used your position to embezzle Ashford funds to get back at Ava. If this gets out, you’ll be the first one they throw under the bus.” “Out of pity for your time together, Ava gave you fifty thousand dollars to run. She expects you to be smart, show up at the courthouse tomorrow to sign the papers, and leave quietly.” “As for your threat to fire me today? Ava told me to tell you: an outsider trying to play these petty games is just pathetic.” I stared at the screen, completely dumbfounded for three seconds. Then, a loud laugh burst from my chest, causing my stomach to ache all over again. So, in Ava’s mind, the mysterious investor behind her success couldn’t possibly be me. She had traced the funds to the Ashford Group and assumed I was just some low-level employee who had embezzled company money to make his wife look good. A useless husband trying to play savior. And she had generously had her little lover send me fifty thousand dollars as a pittance to skip town. I typed back two simple words. “Sounds good.” I tossed the phone onto the sofa and walked into the study. I spun the dial on the safe, and the heavy door clicked open. Inside lay a single document: the true ownership structure of Aura Financial, controlled by the Ashford Group. Fifty-one percent of Aura Financial’s shares, held through seven layers of offshore companies, ultimately belonged to one name. Jack Ashford. Which meant that the CEO seat Ava had occupied for three years belonged to me. The entire company belonged to me. And that three point eight million dollar firework show was paid for with my money, thrown for her ex-husband. I picked up the file, a slow smile spreading across my face. Ava, you want me to sign the divorce papers tomorrow? Fine, I’ll show up. But the man signing those papers won’t be your penniless, useless husband. It will be the actual owner of Aura Financial.
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