Page 5 of The Humiliated Wife

Cam slapped him on the back. “Clients don’t know what they want—they just want to feel like they’re buying cool. That’sourjob.”

Dean nodded—this was how the game worked, and he played it better than most.

The break room filled slowly—familiar faces from digital, brand, accounts. Everyone looked a little too good for 9:30 AM. The room smelled like cologne and capitalism.

"You heard about Russell, right?" someone muttered near the fridge.

Dean tilted his head. "What about Russell?”

"Out. Took early retirement. Just working his notice period.” A shrug. "Didn’t keep pace with the mood."

Translation: he was pushed out. He didn’t stay trendy enough. Didn’t throw enough elbows.

Dean understood. Russell couldn’t keep up. He wasn’t part of the inner circle—wasn’t at the rooftop parties, didn’t chime in on Slack with the latest meme.

Dean hadn’t spoken to him more than a handful of times. A polite nod at the coffee machine. Not much else. But he’d been solid. Unflashy. The kind of guy who brought muffins to morning meetings and remembered everyone’s kid’s name.

Cam clapped him on the back. “He should have followed your example. Everyone loves theFionaaccount."

Dean smirked. "She makes it easy."

“Itworks,” Ava said from the corner, curling one hand around her matcha.

Cam's girlfriend was a corporate lawyer. Ava's husband ran a tech startup. Even the interns dated influencers with actual followings.

And Dean? Dean was married to someone who considered it a victory when she got her bulletin board borders to line up straight. Fiona was sweet, but sweet didn’t win clients or keep you on the shortlist.

Roxanne looked up from her phone, thumbs still scrolling. “I send it to interns. ‘Know your audience.’ It’s textbook.”

“I don’t know how you don’t just die laughing at home,” Cam said, sitting on the counter.

Dean snorted. “You get used to it.”

They laughed.

He was never going tobragabout being married to someone whose world was so much smaller than his. A wife who color-coded her lesson plans and decorated her classroom with construction paper affirmations wasn’t going to score any points in his world.

That wasn’t prestige. That wasn’t important.

That was... small. Silly. Sweet.

These people dealt in millions of dollars, global campaigns, cultural moments. Fiona dealt in juice boxes and permission slips.

He'd chosen to marry someone who wasn't used to being on top. Most men would have been dragged down by her, but Dean was smart enough to turn it into an advantage.

CHAPTER 3

Fiona

Fiona stoodin front of their bedroom mirror, holding up two dresses. The navy one was safer—appropriate for any occasion, the kind of dress that never drew unwanted attention. The green one was different.

Dean's voice drifted from the bathroom where he was getting ready. "We should leave in twenty minutes if we want to make it before the wine runs out."

She looked at the dresses. She didn't want to be Dean's dowdy, frumpy wife tonight—not in front of his fancy crowd.

She chose the green dress.

It slipped over her head like water, settling against her body with a whisper of silk. She'd bought it months ago on impulse, then let it hang in her closet with the tags still on, waiting for the right occasion. Or maybe waiting for the right amount of courage.