At work, Aida's phone vibrated for the third time in ten minutes.
She didn't look at it immediately.
"Madam?" the junior analyst said softly from across the desk. "Should I… continue?"
"Yes," Aida replied, lifting her eyes. "Please."
The girl nodded and went on, but Aida's attention fractured anyway. Her phone buzzed again.
She exhaled slowly, then glanced down.
JULIUS (3 missed calls)
JULIUS: Are you deliberately ignoring me?
She turned the phone face down.
"Sorry," she said, forcing a small smile. "Go on."
The girl finished her report, voice steady, eyes darting nervously like she expected correction. When she was done, Aida nodded.
"Good work. Send the final draft to my email."
"Thank you, ma'am."
The girl lingered.
Aida noticed immediately.
"Yes?" she asked gently.
The girl shifted her weight. "Um… Madam Aida, can I ask you something?"
Aida raised a brow slightly. "Work-related?"
"Not exactly."
Aida studied her—early twenties, smart, careful, the kind of girl who overthought every word. She leaned back in her chair.
"Go on."
The girl swallowed. "Would you… would you mind if I shared something personal?"
Aida tilted her head. "Why do you think you can do that?"
The question wasn't harsh. Just honest.
The girl hesitated, fingers twisting together. "Because… You're a nice person. And I just feel comfortable around you."
Aida paused.
"You do realize I'm your boss," she said.
"Yes," the girl said quickly, already stepping back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have— I'll just go."
"Wait."
The girl stopped.
Aida gestured to the chair opposite her. "Sit."
The girl obeyed, eyes wide.
"You can talk," Aida said. "But only if you want to. No pressure."
The girl nodded slowly. "Thank you."
She took a breath. "It's my boyfriend."
Aida didn't react.
"He says… he says I'm lucky he stays with me. That no one else would tolerate me." The girl laughed weakly. "Sometimes he checks my phone. Other times he disappears for days and says I'm too needy when I ask where he's been."
Aida's chest tightened.
"And how does that make you feel?" she asked.
"Confused," the girl admitted. "Like maybe I'm asking for too much."
Aida leaned forward slightly. "Let me ask you something. If your younger sister came to you and said all this, what would you tell her?"
The girl didn't hesitate. "That she deserves better."
"Exactly," Aida said quietly. "So why don't you?"
The girl frowned. "Because I love him."
Aida nodded. "Love isn't supposed to shrink you."
Silence settled between them.
"You don't have to leave him today," Aida continued. "But start by listening to how you feel when you're alone. Not when he's explaining himself. Not when you're trying to keep the peace. Alone."
The girl's eyes filled. "I didn't expect you to understand."
Aida smiled gently. "I understand more than you think."
The girl stood, composed herself, and bowed her head slightly. "Thank you, ma'am."
After she left, Aida sat back and stared at nothing.
Her phone buzzed again.
She answered this time.
"What?" she said calmly yet firm.
"You're really enjoying disrespecting me lately," Julius said.
"I'm at work."
"So?"
"So stop calling me like I'm a child."
A pause.
Then a laugh. "You're getting bold."
"I'm busy."
"You're always busy," he snapped. "Do you think money replaces being a wife?"
Her throat tightened. "I'm doing my best."
"That's the problem," he said. "Your best is never enough."
The line went dead.
Aida closed her eyes briefly.
Later that evening.
Aida drove into the compound slowly.
The gate was open.
She could hear Julius before she saw him.
"…both cars," he was saying, voice confident, almost proud. "Mine originally, of course. I bought them when I was doing consulting full-time. She just drives one."
A pause.
Someone laughed, unsure whether to agree.
"And the bills?" a neighbor asked.
"All me," Julius said easily. "Light, internet, subscriptions, repairs. I like things running smoothly. My wife…" he smiled, indulgent "…she enjoys her money. Clothes. Personal things. I don't interfere."
Another neighbor tilted her head. "But she works long hours."
"Ambition," Julius replied smoothly. "Doesn't always translate to contribution."
A silence followed.
He filled it quickly.
"I work from home now, so people assume I don't earn as much. But remote contracts pay better, actually. Less stress too."
The neighbor hummed, clearly unconvinced.
Aida parked.
She stepped out, smoothing her dress, the late sun catching on the car Julius had just claimed.
Her heels clicked as she approached.
Julius saw her and shifted instantly.
"Aida," he said brightly. "Perfect timing."
She greeted them politely.
"Good evening."
One of the neighbors smiled at her. "Your husband was just telling us how he takes care of everything."
Aida's smile held. "Oh."
Julius laughed. "Team effort, obviously."
She said nothing and walked inside.
The door closed.
Minutes later, Julius followed.
The smile dropped the moment they were alone.
"What was that?" he asked quietly.
She placed her bag down. "What?"
"The way you walked in," he said. "Silent. Detached. You make it look like I'm lying."
She turned to him slowly. "You were lying."
His eyes hardened.
"You don't get to embarrass me in front of people."
"I didn't say anything."
"Your silence said plenty," he snapped. "They already think you're the provider."
She exhaled. "Because I am."
He stepped closer. "Watch your mouth."
"Julius…"
"You work, yes," he cut in. "But don't forget who maintains this house. Who planned those purchases. Who bought the cars."
She laughed softly. "You didn't."
His jaw tightened.
"You're always trying to make me look small," he said. "Like I'm living off you."
"I've never said that to anyone."
"But you act it," he replied sharply. "Walking around like some savior. If people believe you're carrying everything, they stop respecting me."
She met his eyes. "So you lie instead." She said lowly.
"I protect my image," he corrected. "And you'll stop interfering."
She felt the familiar tightening in her chest
"What was that tone you used on me earlier today on the phone?" he asked.
"I didn't use a tone," she said carefully. "I was in a meeting."
"You sounded sharp," he replied. "Like you were correcting me."
"I wasn't."
He stepped closer. "You forget yourself sometimes."
She inhaled. "You called five times."
"And?" he snapped. "I'm your husband."
He reached up toward the shelf.
Aida flinched
Her body moved before her mind did. She ducked, arms lifting instinctively.
Julius froze.
"…Why are you acting like I want to beat you?" he asked slowly.
Her heart hammered. "I'm sorry. I thought…"
"Thought what?" he cut in. "That I'm some animal?"
He pulled a thick brown file from the shelf anyway and dropped it onto the table. Papers slid out slightly printouts, transaction logs, email chains.
"Sit."
She sat.
"We need to talk about money," he said. "Properly this time."
Julius pushed the file closer to her.
"You see," he said calmly, too calmly, "this is why I don't like involving you. You panic."
"I'm not panicking," she said, though her chest felt tight. "I just want clarity."
"Clarity," he repeated, tasting the word. "That's a luxury. What I need is cooperation."
She looked up. "Cooperation?"
"Yes." He tapped the file. "You make the money sound like it's yours alone. But everything we have is ours. Or did you forget that part of marriage?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
"You earn," he continued, "because I created the environment for you to earn. The stability. The image. People respect you because they respect me."
Her throat burned. "That's not true."
He smiled faintly. "See? That's the problem. You've started believing your own hype."
She swallowed. "I just don't want surprises anymore."
"And I don't want a wife who treats me like a liability," he said. "So here we are."
He flipped the file open, pointing to a printed email.
"This client," he said, "needs settling. If I don't handle it quickly, it escalates."
She read the name. Read it again.
The date caught her attention first.
"This says last month," she said slowly. "You told me this started this week."
He didn't miss a beat. "Because it resurfaced this week."
She frowned. "And this payment.." she gestured "…it went through already."
"To an intermediary," he said. "Temporary holding."
"Why is the account personal?"
His jaw tightened just slightly. Just enough.
"You're digging," he said. "That's new."
"I'm just reading what's here."
"And questioning me while you do it," he added. "That's disrespectful."
She said she was being careful. He heard distrust, not caution, and accused her of mistaking permission for power. She had no answer.
Silence followed.
Finally, she nodded. Slowly. "How much do you need?"
He watched her carefully. "I knew you'd come around."
The relief on his face didn't look like gratitude. It looked like victory.
Later that night, she stood in the bathroom, staring at her reflection. Her body hadn't relaxed since the shelf. Since his hand going up. Since the way her instincts had betrayed her.
She touched her arm, then dropped her hand quickly, as if even she might hurt herself.
She lay beside him,
Her mind replayed the file.
The date.
The account.
The ease with which he had turned her concern into guilt.
Beside her, his breathing slowed.
Hers didn't.
She stared into the dark, body braced, thoughts circling one quiet, unsettling truth she wasn't ready to say out loud yet.