The irony was bitter. She was only standing on that pedestal because I had built it for her. I had planned to give her the world today, to reveal that the "delivery boy" was the king of Harbor City. Yet here she was, discarding me like trash because she thought I was poor.
"Were the last three years a lie to you?" My voice came out hoarse.
"Feelings?" She scoffed. "It was a performance, Ethan. You didn't actually think I loved you, did you? With my beauty and talent, I deserve a king, not a pauper."
The image of the dignified, loving wife I adored shattered.
"I helped you build your empire from the shadows," I said, fighting the tremor in my voice. "Now that you've achieved success, you're kicking away the ladder? Aren't you afraid of burning bridges?"
"Have success because of you?" She laughed—harsh, grating. "I built this with my own hard work. It has nothing to do with you. Stop trying to steal my glory."
Her smile, once my favorite sight in the world, now looked twisted and grotesque.