After I left, they begged for Forgiveness

Elijah stood still, but the cameras didn’t care. Flash. Flash. Flash. Every blink of the lens swallowed a piece of him. Every move in this place had to be documented. Captured. Shared. Judged.

That was the power of money.

But that wasn’t why he was here.

He adjusted the cuff of his too-tight blazer, the one he borrowed from a friend who thought it looked “just rich enough.” Elijah knew better. You couldn’t fake it here—not for long.

His gaze moved across the marble hall, landing on her.

Valeria Langston.

His wife.

Or at least, she still wore the ring.

Tonight, she was glowing—laughing softly with three men who looked like they’d been born in private jets and raised on stock portfolios.

One of the men—a silver-haired man in a midnight-blue suit—tilted his glass and gave Valeria an approving nod.

“I must say, Valeria, your company’s Q1 performance? Impressive. I was surprised, pleasantly so.”

She smiled like it was nothing. A practiced tilt of the head, a soft chuckle that never reached her eyes.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, voice smooth like silk on polished glass. “It’s all hard work, really.”

Elijah nearly choked on the word.

Hard work.

If hard work meant hiring smarter people to do the actual work and taking all the credit, then sure—she was the hardest worker in the room. He scoffed quietly, a bitter sound caught in his throat. She wasn’t always like this. He still remembered Valeria in torn jeans and oversized sweatshirts back in college—passionate, idealistic, laughing at rich kids and their fake lives.

But now?

Now she was one of them. And he was just the guy standing in the background of her I*******m stories.

“Eli!” Her voice snapped through the air like a whip.

He blinked.

“Bring me my bag,” she said, louder this time, her tone sharp enough to draw attention from the nearby guests.

He froze for half a second, then moved toward her, face expressionless, hands steady. At least now he was good for something—her bag boy. He held it out to her, but she didn’t even look at him as she took it.

One of the men squinted at him, tilting his head. “You know,” he said, “I feel like I’ve seen you before. Somewhere…”

Valeria didn’t miss a beat.

“He’s just my tagalong,” she said with a light laugh, not even sparing Elijah a glance. “Ignore him.”

The word hit harder than it should have. Tagalong. Not husband. Not partner. Not even a name. Just a weight she dragged around for show.

He looked down at the marble floor, pretending not to feel it, pretending it didn’t sting.

“Anyway,” Valeria said, business voice on now as she slipped her phone from the bag, “why don’t we get to it?”

They leaned in. She started talking numbers, projections, potential acquisitions.

Elijah took a step back. Invisible again.

He let out a slow sigh.

How long could he keep this up?

She never gave him the respect of being her husband—not in private, not in public, not even on their anniversary. That night at the gala, when he waited with flowers, and she walked past him like he was the waiter.

The business conference where she introduced him as her “errand boy.” The award ceremony where she thanked her “team” and “supporters” but left out the man who gave up everything to be beside her.

Yeah. How long could he keep pretending this was love?

The silver-haired man—Donovan, Elijah thought his name was—turned to Valeria with a smile that lingered just a second too long.

His eyes glided over her face, then slowly down to her hand, which he took gently but possessively. That smile of his was no longer polite. It was hungry.

“Why don’t we talk more privately?” he said, voice dipped in suggestion, subtle to most—but not to Elijah.

Elijah’s stomach turned. He stepped forward without thinking.

“She can’t go with you,” he said, louder than he meant to. “She’s my wife. You can’t just leave me here like this.”

Valeria paused. She glanced back at Elijah like he was some minor inconvenience. Then, with a casual tug, she started walking with Donovan anyway.

“Elijah,” she said without even turning fully to face him, “don’t start your needy drama in front of people.”

He took another step. “Valeria, I’m serious. You can’t just go off with him.”

“Oh, stop it.” Her eyes flashed cold. “This is business. Something you clearly know nothing about. God, do you even understand how exhausting it is dragging you around like a charity case?”

The other men chuckled awkwardly, eyes flicking away, pretending they didn’t hear the verbal slap.

Valeria kept going.

“You think this is about marriage?” she said, voice sharp, echoing now. “This—this is about making name and money . About respect. About building something real. Not sitting at home playing husband-of-the-year while I do all the work.”

He tried again, softer this time. “You don’t have to do this.”

But she leaned in close, her smile ice-cold. “Elijah, if you dropped off the face of the earth right now, I’d probably be in a better place than this. So do me a favor—go be useless somewhere else.”

Then she turned her back to him.

Just like that.

Gone.

Elijah stood alone in the middle of the grand marble floor. Surrounded by laughter, clinking glasses. But none of it felt real.

He shifted his gaze to the nearest reflective glass pane—the side of a polished display case. His own face stared back at him. Tired eyes. Slumped shoulders.

This isn’t who I am.

His hand slid into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He unlocked it with muscle memory, thumb moving without hesitation. The familiar screen loaded. His finger swiped through folders until he reached one he hadn’t opened in months.

Langston Group Investment Control.

He tapped it. Inside was the file. A single command. A master key he still had access to—because even Valeria, in her arrogance, forgot where it all started. With him.

At the center of the screen, the options appeared.

Delete?

Yes or No

His thumb hovered.

It was small.

One button.

One decision.

One act of reclaiming who he was.

And the first taste of what it would feel like to stop being helpless.

The screen stared back, silent and patient. The same way he’d been.

He looked up one last time, scanning the room. No one was watching him. Not even her.

Valeria was already halfway toward the private lounge with Donovan, smiling like nothing existed beyond her own ambition. She didn’t look back.

She never did.

Elijah exhaled. A slow, breath that carried every public humiliation, every lonely night in a marriage that only existed on paper.

He didn’t blink.

Yes.

He tapped it.