Stop Your Job

Elena’s Point Of View   “Stop your job,” he had said, like it was something as simple as asking me to stop biting my nails. I turned, slow, deliberate, my heels clicking against the marble floor like warning shots. My eyes locked onto his, burning. “And why,” I hissed, my voice trembling with anger, “should I stop, Graham? That company is mine. Mine. I built it with my sweat, my blood, my nights without sleep, when all you did was exist in your golden cradle. I wasn’t fortunate enough to have wealth handed to me from birth like you.” His jaw tightened, his grip on the cutlery clattering against the porcelain plate. Lilian froze mid-bite, her fork hovering in the air as her smug little smirk faltered. “Don’t push me, Elena.” His voice was low, guttural, almost like a growl. I let out a bitter laugh that scraped against my throat. “Push you? Push you?! Then divorce me, Graham. What are you waiting for, huh? Divorce me! So that you and her…” I jabbed a finger in Lilian’s direction, who fl