William's phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Something possessed me to pick it up.
His secretary had sent several photos. Lingerie shots. Skin on display.
"Mr. Sanchez, when are you going to divorce the old hag?"
My hands trembled as I scrolled through their messages, punishing myself with every word. Conversations. Flirting. Dates. Locations.
Tears dried on my cheeks and fell again, dried and fell, over and over.
Finally, I typed a reply from his phone: "Tomorrow."
——
At two in the morning, I crept out of bed without a sound.
It was time to go clean the toilets at Sanchez Tower.
Ten years ago, I'd agreed to a split-bill marriage with William, but the cost of living among the ultra-wealthy was beyond anything I could have imagined. Even if I ate nothing but plain noodles in tap water, just breathing inside that mansion cost a fortune—monthly maintenance fees alone were astronomical.
Mary Sanchez had been generous enough to arrange a job for me: janitor for every restroom in the Sanchez Group building.
I knew it was meant to humiliate me. I took it anyway.
Because where else was I going to find a job that paid fifty thousand a month—enough to afford the price of staying by William's side?