Chapter 4The Mango Clause

My phone was silent for a beat, then it began to vibrate uncontrollably.

[YES! YES! YES!]

[Elara, you're too good to me! Yesterday was your birthday, right? The gift I sent should have arrived. Don't forget to pick it up.]

I froze. A small, brittle laugh escaped my lips, growing louder and louder.

That's right. Yesterday was my birthday.

When Ethan watched me drink that mango juice, did he remember it was my birthday?

When he was playing doctor with Phoebe, leaving me alone in a hospital bed, did he remember to get a gift for the woman he'd been married to for seven years?

Probably not.

But it didn't matter anymore.

We were getting a divorce.

Who wants a gift from their soon-to-be ex-husband?

After dinner, I didn't rest. I threw myself into the European project. It was a gift for my new employer, after all. It had to be perfect.

For the next two days, I lived at the office, the lights in my room burning through the night.

My colleagues noticed. The company group chat, the one I wasn't in, was buzzing.

"What did I tell you? Director Shaw is completely dependent on Mr. Carter. How could she dare to stay mad?"

"If it weren't for her relationship with the boss, with how well the company is doing now, they wouldn't even need her."

"I heard she was the one who held Mr. Carter back when he was starting out. The company would have gone public years ago otherwise."

Phoebe dutifully screenshotted every message and sent them to me, followed by a voice message dripping with false sympathy.

"Elara, I know you must feel so insecure, being married to a powerful man like Ethan. But you have to understand, men aren't attracted to old workaholics. They like girls who are young, pretty, and feminine… like me."

I listened to her cloying voice and smiled.

"Is that so? In that case, I'll have HR fire you tomorrow. Wouldn't want you to be unable to attract a man."

Then, I blocked her.

Ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was an irate Ethan.

"Elara, what did Phoebe do to you now?" he seethed. "I finally convinced her to come to Paris and forgive you for your behavior at the party, and now you've made her cry again! Are you happy until you've made everyone miserable?"

Forgive me? For what?

The absurdity of it all made me laugh. I printed out the divorce agreement I had drafted and replied casually, "When are you and Phoebe coming back? We need to discuss the divorce."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a furious roar.

"Elara, have you lost your mind? There's a limit to these jealous tantrums! If you keep this up, I'm going to get really angry."

I froze, then burst out laughing.

I had the signed divorce papers in my hand. Did he really think I was afraid of him getting angry?

"I've signed the papers. They'll be on your desk when you get back. Make sure you read them."

CRASH!

It sounded like he had kicked a chair. He spoke through gritted teeth.

"Fine. Don't you regret this!"

The line went dead. I shrugged and signed my name on the agreement.

The next morning, the first thing I saw when I opened my phone was Ethan's latest social media post, visible to the public. It was posted at 4 a.m.; he clearly hadn't slept.

It was a picture of him and Phoebe, standing in front of a hotel's floor-to-ceiling window, their fingers intertwined.

The caption read: [Seven years of storms, and I'm lucky to have you.]

Thousands of comments flooded in.

"Finally official! Is this the boss's wife he's been hiding for seven years?"

Ethan didn't reply, but he pinned a comment with a single "Shh" emoji.

Then there was the company-wide announcement he had set in the group chat.

[Effective immediately, Phoebe Summers will be replacing Elara Shaw as Director. The European partnership project will be transferred to Director Summers's portfolio. Tonight's press conference will also be led by Director Summers.]

He knew I had spent 39 sleepless nights abroad for that deal. He knew I had spent my days buried in paperwork and my nights networking, drinking until I was sick, just to secure that contract.

And he was doing this to force me to surrender.

My phone buzzed with a new message. It was from him.

[You still have a chance to take it all back.]

I didn't reply. I tossed my phone aside and went to get ready.

He seemed to have forgotten one crucial detail: I was the one who had made that deal happen. The European partners didn't care about Carter Enterprises. They cared about me.