After Establishing My Image as the Perfect Wife, I Ran Away

I was a woman who made the bed for her husband and his mistress, all for a monthly allowance of two hundred thousand dollars.

When my husband cheated, everyone told me to get a divorce as soon as possible. They said it would be better to leave with nothing than to endure such humiliation. But I had fought hard to marry into this wealthy family—why should I leave empty-handed?

Jobs outside weren't easy to find, and for the sake of the steady two hundred thousand dollars a month that came with being the legal wife, a little humiliation seemed manageable.

My husband called me materialistic.

His mistress mocked me for tarnishing the sanctity of love.

I couldn't care less about either of their opinions. I only cared about the money.

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"Eliza, I thought we'd walk through life together, hand in hand. But now, what I hate most about myself is that I've changed."

"People's hearts really do change. There's no such thing as eternal love in this world."

"We should get a divorce. Let me set you free, and you can let me go."

"Eliza Hart, what will it take for you to sign the divorce papers?"

In this place I once called home, James Harrington was yelling at me. There was no love left for me in his eyes.

And truthfully, I hadn't loved him in a long time either.

Two years ago, he came home drunk. That was the night I found a long blonde hair on his shoulder. In his sleep, he muttered the name "Fiona." I didn't sleep at all that night. My tears soaked the pillow. By morning, the dream I had been living in for five years had ended.

In the past two years, from the moment James admitted he didn't love me anymore to when he started pushing for a divorce, I had already mentally prepared myself for this. When I didn't react, he seized the opportunity one afternoon when I brought lunch to his office. That was when he made sure his mistress revealed herself to me.

When a woman with cascading blonde curls and a smug expression introduced herself as his "new secretary" while sitting on his lap, it became clear. Fiona Lang was the woman James had been cheating with for the past two years.

James thought I would explode in rage, demand a divorce, or make a scene. Instead, I stayed calm, said I had errands to run, and left without a word.

Today, he finally couldn't hold back any longer and confronted me: "You've seen it. I'm with Fiona now. Why won't you just agree to the divorce?"

He looked as though he wanted to throw the divorce papers in my face. So, I decided to be honest with him. "We've been married for seven years, James. We don't have children. If we divorce, I get nothing. I've been a full-time housewife for seven years. I don't own a single share of the Harrington family business. If I divorce you, I'll walk away with nothing."

James frowned. "So what?"

"As your wife, as long as I don't divorce you, I'm entitled to two hundred thousand dollars a month in living expenses. That's 2.4 million a year. Now do you understand?"

My words left James stunned. After a long moment, his face darkened, and he said, "I can't believe the woman I once loved has turned out to be so shallow."

To him, the idea of staying in a marriage for a mere two hundred thousand dollars a month was incomprehensible. Men like James, raised in the bubble of wealth and privilege, could never understand what it took for ordinary people to survive in the real world. I didn't bother explaining it to him.

"Mr. Harrington," I said, my voice calm, "I don't care which Fiona you fall for or where you parade her around. I don't care what people say about me. I have only one demand—I will not divorce you."