“Thirty seconds.”

“I just inherited my uncle’s fortune,” he said, his voice trembling with excitement. “Eight hundred million dollars, Vanessa. Pack your things and leave our apartment before I get home.”

At first, I thought it was a joke. Ryan loved exaggeration—big stories, big reactions, big versions of himself. But something in his tone felt different that day. Colder. Detached. Almost… relieved.

“Ryan,” I said, staring at the spreadsheet on my office screen, “what are you talking about?”

“I’m saying I don’t need this marriage anymore.”

The silence that followed felt unreal. The office lights buzzed overhead. Someone nearby laughed at a podcast. Outside the glass walls, people kept moving like nothing in my life had just cracked open.