He Helped Me Fail 99 Times

The next morning, I rolled up to Alex's company.

Right as I hit the steps, I heard her.

"These years... have you been okay, Alex? I loved your emails. Flew in on a private jet—got kinda lonely."

His voice went soft. "You've been through a lot."

"Don't." She laughed. "If it weren't for you, I'd still be scrubbing glassware. Seriously—thank you.

"I won't swing by your place before the launch—just in case Emma flips. She used to pity me, remember? Now that the tables turned, she might not take it well."

Classic Lily. Steals everything, then cries victim.

After my first FDA rejection, I asked if her product copied mine. She sued me for defamation. Almost dragged me to court. Alex hired a top lawyer and made it disappear.

I thought he was protecting me.

Now it just felt pathetic.

Through the cracked door, I watched him pull a flash drive from his safe and hand it over.

"This is Emma's latest artificial heart design. With this, your launch will blow the medical world away."

Lily snatched it, eyes sparkling like she'd won.

The divorce papers slipped from my hand and hit the floor.

Alex turned, face going ghost white. "Emma! What are you doing here?"

He rushed over. "This is Lily Hartway—the student you once mentored. She's just here for a collab."

"Emma, long time." Lily smiled, decked out in Armani.

"Yeah, long time." I shook her hand like I hadn't seen a thing. "Didn't mean to interrupt. You two look busy—I'll let you get back to it."

Alex followed me out.

"Emma, it's not what it looks like. Lily's a valve specialist—I just needed her input. You've always wanted this breakthrough. This is your shot."

The way he sold it, like nothing was wrong, almost made me laugh.

He sold me out, tanked our marriage, all for her. Now that he was close to the finish line, he wanted to act like it meant nothing?

"I trust your judgment," I said, flat.

He looked... relieved. Like I'd forgiven it all.

***

Back home, I started packing. Every designer bag, dress, and bracelet he ever gave me—boxed up and sent to charity.

Then my phone buzzed. A clerk from Tiffany's.

"Mrs. Ross, the custom ring your husband ordered last week is ready. We couldn't reach him—could you come by?"

Ring?

I showed up still in a daze.

The clerk opened the box—two platinum diamond rings. Center stone? At least five carats.

I glanced at the simple band on my finger—the one we bought off a street cart. My eyes burned.

Then a text from Alex:

[Darling, I ordered a gift for an important client. My phone died—can you grab it? My assistant will pick it up later.]

Important client. I let out a dry laugh and texted back: [Okay.]

I was already gone. No reason to call him out now.