I almost laughed. "That's a very optimistic view."

"It's an accurate one."

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Go ahead."

"What do you actually think of him? Christian. As a person."

Alexander was quiet for a moment. He turned his pen over once in his fingers, then set it down.

"He's effective," he said finally. "Ruthlessly so. He doesn't leave anything on the table, and he doesn't care what he has to do to win. In business, that's a useful quality. In a marriage-" He paused. "I don't think Christian Sinclair has ever once prioritized another person's wellbeing over his own interests. I'm not sure he's capable of it."

I looked down at my hands.

I thought about last night. The way his voice had changed on that phone call - that warmth, that softness, the "hey, sweetheart" that had come so easily. I'd heard that voice and felt something crack open in my chest, not because I wanted it for myself, but because I finally understood. He wasn't incapable of warmth. He just didn't have any left over for me.

"He's not without feelings," I said quietly. "He just doesn't have them for me."

Alexander looked at me steadily and said nothing.

I smiled, and it was a tired smile, the kind that doesn't reach anywhere. "Whoever she is, she must be extraordinary. That's the only kind of woman someone like Christian would bother with."

Alexander picked up his pen again. "That kind of thinking is exactly what you need to leave behind."

I nodded and didn't argue.

He slid a form across the desk. "Fill this out. I'll submit the deferral request to the admissions office myself."

I pulled the form toward me and uncapped my pen. It was straightforward - dates, reasons, supporting documentation. I worked through it quickly.

Halfway down the page, Alexander said, "The child. After the divorce - will the baby stay with the Sinclairs?"

My pen slowed.

"Yes," I said.

He didn't push.

"I can't fight them for custody," I said. "You know what they are. What he is. Even if I spent everything I had on lawyers, I'd lose, and I'd lose badly." I finished signing the bottom of the form and set the pen down. "The Sinclairs will take good care of the baby. They have money, staff, stability. That's more than I can offer right now." I slid the form back across the desk. "I just have to live with that."

Alexander looked at the form, then at me. "I have a project that needs a temporary assistant. One month. It's not glamorous work, but it's real work."

I looked up.

"Interested?" he said.

"Yes," I said immediately.

He put me to work that same afternoon.

It came back faster than I expected. The filing systems, the briefing structures, the way Alexander organized his research - I'd been his student for three years, and some things didn't leave you. I sorted through a stack of investor correspondence, flagged three items that needed immediate responses, and drafted two short memos before four o'clock.

The months of sitting in that hollow corner of the secretarial pool at Sinclair Tech - shuffling papers no one needed shuffled, answering phones that never rang - had felt like being buried. This felt like breathing again.

I wasn't the same person I'd been before the wedding. I knew that. But I was still capable. I was still sharp. And I was going to need to be both of those things for what came next.

Christian didn't come back to the house that night. He rarely did anymore.

I'd stopped keeping track.

The next morning, I sat at the small writing desk in the bedroom and printed out my resignation letter. One page. Clean and direct. I'd drafted it three times before I was satisfied.

Christian had built Sinclair Tech into a global empire - technology, luxury goods, acquisitions across four continents. On Wall Street, his name made people move faster and talk quieter. He'd clawed his way to the top of the Sinclair succession and stayed there by being smarter and colder than everyone around him. That was not a man who made mistakes. It was a man who made calculations.

I had been one of them.

The Sinclair Tech headquarters building rose up at the center of the financial district, all glass and steel. I arrived just as the black armored sedan pulled up to the front entrance.

Christian stepped out.

He was in a charcoal suit, perfectly cut, every line of it precise. He moved the way he always did - unhurried, certain, like the entire block had already been cleared for him. Around him, executives and assistants paused and straightened and murmured their good mornings.

I stepped back into the crowd.

His gaze moved forward, straight ahead, through the glass doors and into the building. He didn't look left. He didn't look right. He walked through the lobby and disappeared, and the people around him closed back in like water.

I waited until the doors had shut behind him.

Then I walked in.

The secretarial pool was on the fourth floor. I took the stairs.

Jessica Cole was at her desk when I walked in. She was on the phone, and she held up one finger without looking at me, the way she'd started doing six months ago when the power balance between us had quietly, completely reversed.

I didn't wait. I set the resignation letter on her desk.

She finished her call, picked up the letter, and read it. Her eyes moved from the page to my stomach, and her mouth curved into something that wasn't a smile.

"Finally figured out you don't belong here?" she said.

I said nothing.

"You know what everyone thinks, right?" She set the letter down and leaned back. "That you slept your way into that executive position. Doesn't matter how good your numbers were - everyone knew what you really were. A cheap move dressed up in a good suit." She tilted her head. "The CEO can't stand the sight of you. You know that."

I looked at her.

She had no idea. Not a single person in this building knew that Christian Sinclair and I had stood in front of a judge and signed a marriage certificate. Not one of them knew that the woman they'd written off as a desperate opportunist was, legally and entirely, his wife.