A luxury interior design firm I had spent twelve years building from scratch.
Michael reserved a private suite.
He ordered imported oysters.
Japanese Wagyu.
Two bottles of French wine.
Custom cocktails covered in edible gold flakes.
A live violinist because Vanessa wanted to “feel like royalty.”
Then came jewelry.
The club featured a luxury boutique available only to members.
Vanessa chose a sapphire necklace worth nearly $200,000.
Michael smiled proudly.
Pulled out my black corporate card.
And handed it to the waiter.
“Put everything on this.”
The final bill exceeded $300,000.
Three minutes later, the waiter returned.
His face had gone pale.
“Sir… I’m sorry. The payment was declined.”
Michael frowned.
“Run it again.”
“We already did.”
“Use the backup card.”
The waiter swallowed.
“Those were declined as well.”
Vanessa stopped smiling.
Michael grabbed the bill.
Looked at the total.
And turned white.
Across the city, my phone exploded with fraud alerts.
I was sitting in my father’s kitchen with a cup of coffee I hadn’t touched.
Dad looked at the screen.
Then at me.
“Good,” he said.
I frowned.
“Good?”
He nodded.
“Now the real divorce begins.”
At 9:07 p.m., Michael called.
I ignored it.
At 9:09, Vanessa called from an unknown number.
I ignored that too.
At 9:15, the first voice message arrived.
“Mariana, stop acting like a child. You’re embarrassing me in front of important people. Approve the payment.”
