His Unwanted Wife Is Another Man's Treasure

Ellie Vance POV

"Give me the paper, Ellie," Marcus said, closing the distance between us.

His voice dropped to that low, commanding rumble he reserved for his subordinates. "Stop this nonsense."

"It's not nonsense," I said. My chest heaved with the effort to keep my voice steady. "It's my life. And you're not in it."

He paused, a flicker of genuine confusion marring his perfect composure. "What are you talking about? I'm your husband. I am your life."

"Not anymore."

I snatched my phone from the desk and hit the speed dial key I had saved under 'Emergency'.

"Mr. Henderson," I said, my tone loud and crystalline, keeping my eyes locked on Marcus. "Execute the contingency. Now."

"Ellie?" Marcus frowned, tilting his head. "Who are you calling?"

"My lawyer," I said, lowering the phone slowly, like a weapon. "I just authorized the immediate termination of your power of attorney. I've revoked your access to my trust. And I've filed for a restraining order."

Marcus laughed. It was a dry, incredulous scoff. "You can't be serious. You think a piece of paper stops me? I'm a Thorne."

"And I'm a Vance. And I'm done paying your bills."

His phone buzzed against the mahogany desk. Then, like an echo, Tom's phone buzzed in the hallway.

Marcus looked down at his screen. The blood drained from his face, leaving him ashen.

"You froze the joint accounts," he whispered, horror dawning in his eyes. "That was for the shipping deal tomorrow."

"Use your own money," I said. "Or ask Izzy. I hear she's very resourceful."

Marcus looked at me with a volatile mix of fury and shock. He had never seen me like this. He was used to the canary in the cage; he had no idea how to handle the hawk that had just broken the bars.

Suddenly, his phone rang again. A frantic, piercing ringtone that cut through the silence.

He glanced at it. "It's Izzy."

He looked at me, then at the phone. The choice hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"Answer it," I said coldly. "She probably broke a nail."

He gritted his teeth and swiped the screen. "What?"

I could hear the shrieking tinny and sharp from across the room. "Marcus! The press! They're saying the investment fund... my accounts are frozen too! You said you linked them!"

He had linked his mistress to our family accounts. Of course he had. The arrogance of it was almost impressive.

"I have to go," Marcus said to the phone, panic cracking his smooth baritone.

He looked at me, torn. He wanted to scream, to force me into submission, but his empire was bleeding money because of the wound I had just inflicted.

"Go," I said. "Go be a hero."

He pointed a shaking finger at me. "We are not done, Ellie. You stay here. We will fix this when I get back."

"We are done," I replied.

He turned and sprinted out of the room. He ran to save his money and his mistress. He forgot me the second I wasn't the immediate problem.

I watched him go. And I felt... peace.

It wasn't the numb void of before. It was the clarity of a storm that had finally passed.

I didn't wait. I packed the last of my sketches into my leather satchel. I took my paints. I left the clothes he bought me. I left the jewelry.

I walked out the front door and drove straight to the airport.

While I sat in the terminal, waiting for the flight to Rome, I opened social media one last time.

Marcus was doing damage control. He had posted a picture. It wasn't of me. It was of him and Izzy, looking somber but united.

Caption: Through every storm, loyalty remains.

Loyalty. The irony was so thick I could taste it like bile.

The comments were flooding in.

She's so much hotter than the wife.

Ellie Vance was always too boring for a Capo.

Finally, a power couple.

I read them. They were supposed to hurt. They were supposed to make me feel small.

But as I looked at the screen, at the pixelated image of the man who had wasted three years of my life, I felt my heart rate slow down.

I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel jealous.

I felt bored.

They looked like children playing dress-up in a burning house.

I scrolled to the bottom of the settings page.

Delete Account?

Yes.

I watched the screen go black.

"Flight 802 to Rome is now boarding," the announcer said.

I stood up. I picked up my bag. It was light.

I walked toward the gate, leaving the heavy, rotting carcass of my marriage behind in New York. I was walking into a void, yes. But for the first time in my life, the void wasn't dark.

It was a blank canvas. And the brush was finally in my hand.