Mark scoffed. “You know, I ran into Dave from Sales today. His wife is a lawyer. Partner at her firm. She brings in six figures.” He looked at Elena with a mixture of pity and disdain. “It must be nice to just… exist. To have no real pressure.”

Elena felt the familiar sting. It wasn’t the insult itself—she had thicker skin than that. It was the irony.

Five years ago, Mark had been unemployed, depressed, and borderline suicidal. Elena, already a secret millionaire from her early patents, had fallen in love with his vulnerability. To build him up, she had crafted a narrative: she was a freelance graphic designer struggling to find work, and he was the rising star. She had used her connections to get him an entry-level job at one of her subsidiaries. She had secretly guided his career, feeding him ideas, fixing his mistakes late at night, and ensuring his promotions.

She had dimmed her light so he could shine. And now, blinded by that artificial glare, he couldn’t see her at all.

“I do my best, Mark,” Elena said, her voice tight.