Chapter 3

The next morning, I deliberately avoided leaving the house with Marcus.

After arriving at work, I went straight to my personal studio.

This was a private space Marcus had specially carved out for me at the company, filled with all my creative works and award certificates from over the years.

But the moment I pushed open the door, I froze.

All the trophies and certificates that used to be displayed in the cabinet were gone.

The posters I had personally designed, hanging on the wall, had been taken down, replaced by some decorative paintings I'd never seen before.

What infuriated me even more was finding Chloe sitting in my chair.

A pile of design drafts lay before her, a cup of coffee beside them, making her look like she owned the place.

She looked flustered when she saw me enter, but quickly reverted to that innocent expression.

"Ms. Cassidy, you're here. Marcus said I could work here temporarily because it's too noisy outside, and it affects my concentration."

Marcus.

That name grated on my ears.

"Where are my things?"

Chloe pretended not to understand, her gaze darting away.

"What things?"

"My trophies, my certificates, my work."

"Oh, those? Marcus said to put them away for now. He said displaying them would put pressure on me."

I gave her a long, hard look, then turned to find Marcus.

He was in a meeting with several clients. His brows furrowed when he saw me push the door open.

"Marcus, I need to talk to you."

"Wait until I'm done with the meeting."

"Now."

My tone left no room for refusal. The clients sensed the tension and politely suggested rescheduling.

Once only the two of us remained in the conference room, Marcus spoke, clearly annoyed.

"What is it now? Didn't I explain everything yesterday?"

"Why are all my things gone from my studio?"

His expression showed a hint of guilt, but his voice was still firm.

"Chloe needs a quiet environment to create. Those trophies and things really do put pressure on people."

"That's my studio."

"Everywhere in this company is mine. I can arrange things however I want!"

His words hit me like a slap across the face.

Yes, this was his company, Sterling Creative, which he had built from the ground up.

And I was merely its nominal creative director, but in reality, more like a free creative provider.

When we married, I invested my expertise in his company, but my shares were minimal, and most of the decision-making power remained with him.

I had always believed that our relationship had moved beyond a purely transactional one, that we had found real love and trust.

But now, it seemed, in his heart, I was still just an employee he could manipulate at will.

"Marcus, you've changed."

Something flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly masked by stubbornness.

"I haven't changed. You're just too sensitive. It's just borrowing a space, what's the big deal?"

I turned and left the conference room, a decision forming in my mind.

If he didn't care about my feelings, then I had no reason to keep compromising.