During dinner, my husband sl:apped me because I forgot to put salt in the soup. His mother burst out laughing. “Get out of my house!” they yelled, pointing at the door like I was nothing. I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg. I simply picked up my phone and called the police. Little did they know the apartment was mine—and 15 minutes later, their world collapsed.

Walking into the corporate office of Apex Real Estate, I felt completely revitalized. My colleagues noticed the change immediately. My boss, Marcus Vance (no relation to my family, thankfully), stepped out of his glass-walled corner office as I walked past.

“Elena? You look... radiant today,” Marcus noted, raising an eyebrow with a approving smile. “Usually you look like you’re carrying the weight of the entire world on your shoulders. Did something good happen?”

“Let’s just say I finally cleaned house, Marcus,” I replied with a confident smirk. “And the air in my life has never been fresher.”

“Love to hear it,” Marcus chuckled. “Because I have a massive client walking through those doors in twenty minutes. A billionaire tech founder looking to acquire a portfolio of penthouse suites in the downtown district. I need my best property consultant on this. Can you handle it?”

“Try me,” I said, grabbing my tablet and heading straight to the conference room to review the portfolios.

For the next two hours, I was entirely in my element. Property wasn't just my job; it was my passion. While Daniel had spent his days sleeping in and mocking my ambitions, I had quietly built a stellar reputation among the city’s elite. When the billionaire client, Mr. Henderson, arrived, I didn't just present properties—I sold a lifestyle, backing up every square foot with precise market data, architectural history, and financial projections.

By the end of the meeting, Mr. Henderson was shaking my hand with a broad grin. “Ms. Vance, you are sharp as a tack. Let’s sign the papers by Friday. I want you handling every transaction.”