Chapter 4

Chloe had uploaded a photo of my marriage certificate with Marcus to the group chat.

Her caption read: Wishing Catherine and Marcus a lifetime of happiness!

My entire body went numb.

The chat was scrolling at lightning speed with mockery and gossip from my coworkers.

"I knew it! No wonder she landed all those major clients at her age. She was just riding her husband's coattails!"

"Please, her parents basically sold her. She’s been his live-in maid for seven years. Aside from a piece of paper, she has nothing."

"Did you see how Mr. Christian looks at Chloe? That's real love right there. Catherine is just a placeholder."

The nasty, venomous words flooded my brain. My head felt like it was going to split open. I fled from my desk and slipped into the quiet stairwell to catch my breath.

But as I walked down, I heard a soft, wet, gasping sound coming from the landing below.

Chloe was whimpering, her shoulders trembling as her small hands weakly beat against Marcus’s chest.

"Now everyone knows... you guys can be together openly now. She won't have to 'misunderstand' us anymore."

"Are you happy now?"

Marcus stared at her for a second, then leaned down to kiss the tears from her eyelids. "That's enough."

"Don't ever do that again without my permission."

Then, the heavy sound of kissing resumed.

I don’t even remember how I dragged myself back to my office.

When I walked in, Marcus was lounging on his leather sofa, looking thoroughly satisfied.

I placed my physical resignation letter on his desk.

His forehead creased with instant irritation, and he uncomfortably pulled up his collar.

"What are you throwing a tantrum about now?"

"Chloe didn't mean to leak the certificate. She's been crying in the restroom for an hour. I already lectured her about it."

We had been together for seven years, and he had never once publicly acknowledged my existence.

The only couple photos we had were deleted by him because "it might negatively impact the company’s stock price."

I had lived like a shameful, hidden mistress for seven years.

I stared at the fresh red mark on his collarbone and forced a hollow smile. So, that was his idea of a "lecture."

He stood up and reached out to wrap his arms around me.

The thought of what they had just done in the dusty stairwell made my stomach violently churn.

I lurched backward, dodging his touch, genuinely wondering how he did it.

One second he was passionately making out with his foster sister, and the next, he could act like a doting fiancé to me.

He casually tossed my resignation letter into the paper shredder, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"I'm going to pretend I never saw this. As for the promotion, we'll talk about it next time."

"Besides, given our legal status, it’s better if we keep a professional distance at work anyway."

It took me four grueling years to climb from an assistant to managing my own projects.

How many more four-year periods did he expect me to wait?

I waited year after year for a vacation.

I waited year after year for a promotion.

And with one word—"professionalism"—he wiped out every ounce of my hard work.

But I was done waiting.

I kept my voice completely professional. "If you want to keep your distance, my resignation actually solves all your problems."

He looked at me, a sudden wave of understanding washing over his face. "Ah, right. We're already legally married, and the wedding ceremony is in two days. I make more than enough to support you anyway."

"My mother has been begging for grandkids. After the wedding, you can stay home and focus on getting pregnant."

I gave him a non-committal hum, waiting until he signed off on my exit paperwork before turning on my heel.

As I reached the door, he called out, "Oh, and don't forget—our parents are meeting in three days to finalize the wedding reception details. Don't be late."

I didn't answer.

The moment I stepped out of the building, I booked a one-way ticket to London.

A few days ago, I had received a job offer from a multinational firm over there.

My future was waiting for me across the Atlantic.