The Wife Who Stole My Dreams

ingle, sterile moment, the world I knew ceased to exist. My startup, a fledgling tech company built on my father' s seed money and my mother' s unwavering belief, wa

xtended family, uncles and aunts who had pinched my cheeks at holidays and praised my brilliance. They offered condolences that felt like dismissals and advice that sounded like accusa

e was Emi

tion. She organized my parents' funeral with a quiet efficiency that I couldn' t muster, choosing the flowers they would have loved and writing a eulogy that made a room

Vances, told her to cut ties with me, the di

ced to her furious grandfather, h

efused to attend. She stood by me, a beacon of loyalty in a world that ha

e started with a spark of genius, a core of innovative tech that I knew, deep in my gut, could change the world. And e

my small victories and soothed the sting of my c

combined. But I had scraped together enough money to buy her a bouquet of her favorite red roses and to book a table at the fancy

served table in a secluded corner. As we approached, I heard a familiar laugh. It was Emily, already there,

d Chloe' s shar

you can still stand the sight of him. Whe

behind a large potted plan

hat followed were heavy, each one a stone

company just secured another round of fundin

whose meteoric rise was a constant, painful contrast to my own spectacular downfall. His company, Nova Tech, had a k

Liam' s data?" Chloe asked,

ss plan. Liam is a genius at coming up with ideas, but he' s a terrible businessman. Mark is brillia

hey were made of lead. My heart hammered

this?" Chloe pressed. "To be

t close. He' s so trusting, so broken. He practically handed me the keys to his entire mind." She sighed, a sound of pure contentment. "And

ad saved me, who had stood by me, who was the very center of my world... was

ng her voice. "You gonna finally divorc

ttered the last remaini

his dinner. This anniversary dinner is the last one, I

e roses blurred before my eyes. Five years of my life. Ninety-nine failures. The unwavering support, the loving whispers, the gentle touches-all

erate hope-she had harvested i

. A cold, quiet rage. I looked down at the roses, their thorns pressing into my palm. My entrepre

Let th

d constructed for me. But I wouldn't go quietly.

plan already forming in my mind. I would collect the evidence. Every email, every fi

n a lie. Now, my rui