My Exit Marked Her Downfall

A bitter chuckle escaped my lips as Effie's car finally stopped at a hotel.

Barred from following her inside, I zeroed in on her car instead.

Slipping into the driver's seat, I unlocked the dash camera and rewound the footage, my heart pounding as Effie's voice filled the air.

"Babe, you make it yet? I'm pulling up soon. Blame the delay on Gabriel. He's been paranoid, picking fights over nothing."

My brows knitted, but her follow-up jab sliced deeper. "He forgets who handed him his big break. Now he's flipping out over the bonus. It's driving me nuts. I need your kisses to calm down."

Rage surged through my veins as I recognized the voice on the line. It belonged to Kevin.

His meteoric rise, the lavish praise, the bonus bonanza, and Effie's "extended working hours" all made sense now.

"How could you betray me like this?" I muttered bitterly.

In fact, Kevin's arrival had raised eyebrows from day one. He was just a fresh graduate with scant experience, yet he landed a leadership role in the firm.

His performance was mediocre at best, but Effie showered him with prime assignments, stirring grumbles among the veteran staff.

In record time, those perks catapulted him to marketing manager, which had fueled my initial suspicions.

Effie's attentiveness to him was excessive. During those client dinners and networking events, I'd often find myself sidelined while Kevin claimed the seat beside her.

I'd raised concerns, but she'd dismiss them every time. "He's my junior from college. Guiding him a little doesn't hurt."

I finally realized what was going on with her solo trips and all-nighters. Undoubtedly, she was tangled up with Kevin in some illicit rendezvous.

Dazed and heartbroken, I trudged back home.

Collapsing onto the couch, I scrubbed my face with trembling hands.

Guessing at infidelity was one thing, but irrefutable proof was a gut punch. I'd poured my soul into loving Effie, and this betrayal stung like salt in an open wound.

The TV droned on in the background, airing a local segment about a son who murdered someone to avenge his mother's death, but I barely registered it.

My mind was a whirlwind until exhaustion claimed me on the cushions well past midnight.

Dreams of our early days haunted me.

We'd crossed paths fresh out of law school, Effie's confident, decisive energy captivating me.

I pursued her ardently, and once together, she founded the firm to support my career.

Gratitude fueled my grind. I slaved away for six grueling years, building our firm brick by brick.

Our wedding was blessed by ecstatic families. Yet here we were, the firm soaring, and before the infamous seven-year itch could even set in, she'd shattered our vows.

The restless night left me groggy, and I stumbled into work late the next morning.

Effie wasted no time unleashing hell, berating me publicly during the executive huddle.

"What's your excuse?" she snapped. "I chewed you out yesterday, and today you're dragging in late? No perfect attendance for you this month. Go reflect on that!"

Under the weight of pitying glances and blank stares from the team, I nodded and bit back any retort.

My restraint only fueled her fire; she interpreted it as defiance.

Once the room cleared, she lounged in her executive chair, folded her arms, and unleashed a frosty tirade. "Get this straight: office rules apply here. Being my husband doesn't give you the right to defy me publicly. I always keep business and personal separate."

I chewed over her words. The irony twisted my lips into a sardonic smile.

While she was principled with me, her call to Kevin last night dripped with honeyed affection and endless compliments.

Her escalating fury met my wall of silence, which she took as outright disrespect.

She bolted upright, pounding the desk with her hand. "What's your deal? You dissatisfied or something?"

Ignoring her venom, I pivoted on my heel, exited the office, and beelined for HR to handle my resignation.

"You sure about resigning?" the HR coordinator asked, wide-eyed.

"Absolutely," I replied firmly.

He gaped, probing me repeatedly to confirm.

My marriage to Effie was never broadcast, but office gossip had pieced it together over time.

Unwilling to be part of our domestic drama, the HR coordinator hemmed and hawed. "Uh, this is huge. I'm not authorized to greenlight it solo. Maybe consult with Ms. Marsh? See what she says."

My role was central to the firm, and my exit indeed required her stamp of approval.

"Skip that step," I insisted. "Process it by standard procedure."

My tone was steady and resolute. It didn't sound like a rushed decision.

After a pause, the coordinator relented, telling me to collect the paperwork in the afternoon.

But no sooner had I stepped out than Effie buzzed me back to her office. Kevin was there, greeting me with a plastic grin. "Hey, Gabriel."

"Perfect timing," Effie said. "Caught that vigilante killing story on the news last night—the one avenging his mom? The case is ours, thanks to Kevin's hustle. Crush this, and you'll be a household name in legal circles."

Her olive branch felt forced, her tone laced with condescension as she doled out this "prestigious" gig: representing the killer who'd dominated headlines.

I'd skimmed the details that morning. The case was a media circus, inflamed by public opinion.

Success could catapult my profile, but Kevin's motives behind this were suspicious.

This case was a minefield. If I did it too zealously, I'd alienate the masses. If I faltered, my reputation would tank.

Law clashed with raw emotion, guaranteeing backlash no matter the outcome. It would be a stain on any attorney's record.

I declined outright, "Backlog is piling up. I can't juggle another case. Hand it off."

"What's the matter?" Effie scoffed. "A string of victories, and now you're snubbing prime cases? I say seize the day. What are you thinking?"

Kevin piled on, feigning counsel. "Acing this boosts the firm across the board. Reconsider for Ms. Marsh's sake and our long-term goals. We landed this gem because I pushed hard. Someone is gotta step up, and you're the prime candidate."

I bristled at his manipulative ploy, poised to counter, when Effie's phone rang.

"Hello? What? Who is quitting?" Her composure cracked, her complexion paling as the information sank in.

Once the call ended, she fixed me with wide-eyed incredulity. "You're resigning? Over my morning scolding?"

She surged to her feet, quaking with indignation.

I calmly braced against the desk, inching nearer with a steely smirk. "More than that. I'm filing for divorce, too."