Part 3My Husband's Assistant Fooled Me With a So-Called Official Announcement. I Put In So Much Effort, Only to End up Losing My Entire Year-End Bonus as Punishment!

Outside the company building, Timothy reached out to help Megan, his movements cautious, as if handling fragile porcelain.

But Megan stubbornly brushed his hand away, straightened up, and tried to walk on her own.

The next second, she collapsed into Timothy's strong arms.

It was rush hour, and there were plenty of people on the streets.

They started pulling at each other right there, immediately drawing a crowd of onlookers.

I couldn't help but give a bitter, sarcastic laugh.

When we were outside, Timothy never let me get closer than three steps and only allowed me to call him Mr. Reed.

I still remember the time after our argument when I tried to coax him. I stepped a little closer and even held his hand for a moment.

He immediately jerked his hand away, like he'd been shocked, and exploded with rage.

He scolded me for ruining our agreement to avoid suspicion about a secret marriage and said he wasn't a monkey at the zoo, that he didn't have the habit of showing affection in front of strangers.

But now, the whole company was shipping their couple, and passersby stopped to watch them, yet he didn't seem to care at all.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and signaled for a cab to go home.

When I got home, and the warmth hit me, I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my cheeks.

In the mirror, my face was red from the rose thorns, with visible blood streaks.

I thought, "How ridiculous. I looked like a pathetic clown."

My phone, resting on the sink, suddenly buzzed with a new message.

[Natalie, have you considered joining our company? We're a Fortune 500 with great benefits. You could even become the domestic representative!]

The message came from an HR representative at a large overseas company who had repeatedly extended offers to me.

If it weren't for our collaboration, I would've blocked them long ago.

In the past, I'd politely say I wasn't considering it at the moment.

This time, I replied: [Alright, I'll book a flight for tomorrow.]

Instantly, the HR rep was typing rapidly.

[That's great! Natalie, I'll send you 50 thousand dollars for travel expenses. Please come!]

Looking at the 50 thousand dollars that landed in my bank account...

And the glaring balance, fifty thousand one hundred three dollars.

I couldn't help but laugh, covering my face.

I thought, "Fifty thousand dollars."

Timothy, afraid I might have money in my hands and not focus on my work, only paid me a monthly salary of five thousand dollars. I couldn't even earn that much in a year.

He once said that even married couples should keep things clear.

The rent was two thousand a month. I paid for utilities and handled the housework, and when I took a roll of toilet paper, he charged me a hundred.

But he never mentioned the money I spent on groceries, cooking, or household supplies.

After all these years, I found myself with nothing to my name.

I took a deep breath, trying to shake off my mood, and walked out of the bathroom to pack for my flight.

When I opened the drawer, I found an old digital camera tucked away in the corner.

It was a model from ten years ago. I hadn't used it in ages, but I was surprised it still turned on.

I transferred the photos to my computer and started scrolling through them.

This camera was a gift from Timothy when we first started our business.

He knew I loved photography and promised me that once our company went public, he'd buy me an even better one.

Those were tough times. We were both orphans with no family support, relying only on each other for warmth.

The photos showed us sharing a plate of pasta, dating on the subway while trying to catch some warmth, and, on Christmas Eve, watching fireworks outside. We fought over a piece of meat that ended up on the floor, and Timothy ran to the bathroom crying in frustration.

All those memories felt like they were from yesterday, yet somehow also like they belonged to another lifetime.

But as the dates got more recent, the number of photos decreased.

The last one was from six months ago.

In that photo, Timothy, dressed in a professional suit, looked handsome and mature, frowning as he blocked the camera lens.

That day, our project had unprecedented success, and Timothy was already planning to go public.

As usual, I pulled out the camera to take a photo.

But he mocked me, blocking the lens.

"Natalie, no wonder your experiments have been progressing so slowly lately. Looks like your mind isn't on work anymore but on taking pictures of my embarrassing moments. This garbage camera you're using, I would've smashed it a long time ago."

But when Megan pulled out her phone to take a picture with Timothy, he smiled and posed without hesitation.

From that day on, this camera, once a symbol of our love, was shoved to the back of the drawer.

I shook off the memories and moved my fingers.

I permanently deleted the entire album and tossed the camera into the trash.

Some things just needed to be thrown away.

After that, I printed out the divorce papers.

But as I slouched on the sofa, waiting for Timothy, by 10 p.m., he still hadn't returned.

I was about to get up and go to the bedroom when I suddenly felt unbearably hot and started coughing uncontrollably.

Seeing the thermometer reading 102 degrees Fahrenheit, I realized I must have pneumonia.

Thinking I might need to be hospitalized, I grabbed my luggage, figuring I could avoid the trouble of going back home to pack.

During the consultation, I answered the doctor's questions in a daze.

Suddenly, a concerned yet clear male voice sounded.

"Doctor, she's okay, right? Please, take a good look!"