My Wife Forced Me To Attend The Company Party To Impress A Millionaire Investor, But She Didn't Allo

Описание: My Wife Forced Me To Attend The Company Party To Impress A Millionaire Investor, But She Didn't Allow Me To Stand Beside Her. When The Businesswoman Arrived, She Walked Past My Wife, Came To Shook My Hand: "I Finally Found You After 30 Years." My Wife Froze.

"I am forty-nine years old, and I live in a house that does not belong to me. The deed carries my wife’s name. The car outside carries my wife’s name. The investment accounts, the insurance policies, the retirement portfolio, all Marta’s. I earn thirteen hundred dollars a month working at a small downtown bookstore that smells permanently of dust and brewed coffee. My paycheck lands in the joint account she monitors, categorizes, and corrects.

If I want to buy new shoes, I ask. If I want to replace my phone, I explain why. If I want to move money, I don’t. This is not something that happened overnight. It happened the way water shapes stone, slowly, quietly, without resistance. “Roberto.” Her voice slices through the bedroom. I step into the walk-in closet where Marta stands surrounded by pressed fabrics and color-coordinated heels.

She’s already dressed for the company party, navy silk dress, sharp shoulders, minimal jewelry. Executive elegance. Senior leadership at Vanguard Consulting. Strategic advisor. Power wrapped in perfume. She turns toward me holding two suits on wooden hangers. “Charcoal or dark blue?” “Whichever you think,” I answer automatically. Her lips flatten slightly. “Charcoal is safer. Blue reads provincial.” Provincial. I nod.

She lays the charcoal suit on the bed and gestures. “Change.” I obey. The fabric feels stiff against my skin. I used to own a leather jacket in college, worn at the elbows, soft as memory. I don’t know what happened to it. Probably donated during one of Marta’s seasonal purges. She steps closer as I button the shirt. “Stand straight.” I straighten. She adjusts my collar, fingers quick and precise.

“You slouch. It looks insecure.” “I’m not insecure,” I say quietly. She pauses, meets my eyes in the mirror, then smiles faintly. “Of course you are. That’s fine. Just don’t show it.” She slides the tie around my neck and tightens it herself. “You don’t need to talk tonight,” she continues. “Actually, it’s better if you don’t.” “I wasn’t planning to.” “Good.” She smooths the lapels of my jacket..."


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