Felicity sipped her tea, stirring absentmindedly as her husband, Nigel, leaned against the doorframe with nothing but a duffel bag slung over his shoulderlike he was off to a weekend cricket match rather than ending a decade of marriage.
No point in leaving the keys, he said, flashing a grin that had once charmed her. The flats covering our debts, Fee. Joint ones.
She didnt flinch. Inside, she was a glacier, but Nigel would never know. Joint debts? Her voice was steady. Your revolutionary NFT schemethat wasnt joint. I begged you not to pour our savings into pixelated monkeys. I showed you the graphs. Told you it was bollocks.
And who cheered when we booked that trip to Ibiza? He smirked, and it stung worse than a wasp. That was our money too. Fairs fair.
He tossed a thick stack of papers onto the kitchen island, burying the little ceramic cow theyd bought on their honeymoon in Cornwall. Solicitors say youve got a week to clear out. Then the bailiffs come.
Felicity studied him, her gaze sharp as a freshly honed knife. No tears, no pleading. Just cold, quiet disdain.
A week? Generous of you.
Im setting you free, Nigel said, adjusting the cufflinks shed given him last Christmas. Met someone else. With her, I can breathe. You? Always with your spreadsheets, your plans. Bloody exhausting, Fee.
He didnt mention she was twenty-three, or that her father owned half of Mayfair. Nor that his startup was circling the drain, and this engagement was his last shot at staying relevant.
Right, Felicity said, nudging the papers aside. Piss off, then.
No scene? No waterworks? Nigel almost pouted. Hed rehearsed this moment, braced for dramaticsneeded them, really, to paint himself the noble escapee.
Scenes are for people who can afford them, she said, locking eyes. Go. And dont ever darken my doorstep again.
He shrugged and left. The door clicked shut.
Alone, Felicity stared at the mountain of paperwork certifying her ruin. She peered out the window as Nigel hailed a cab. Then she dialed her brother.
Tom, listen. I need a hand. No, not trouble. A fresh start.
Tom arrived in forty minutes, scowling as he flipped through the documents. Planned it all, the git, he muttered. Half these loans are in your name. The rest, youre guarantor. Legally, youre sunk.
I trusted him.
Trusts no excuse for daftness, sis, he snapped, then sighed. Right. Whats this fresh start?
Felicity opened her laptop. A sleek presentation filled the screen: Emerald Canopy. Vertical farming tech.
The silly little hobby I worked on while Nigel played Wolf of Wall Street, she said. Got two patents. Built software that slashes energy costs by a third. All I need is funding.
Tom scrolled silently. This wasnt a pipe dreamit was a blueprint. Why didnt you say?
When? He treated every idea of mine like a personal insult.
Tom shut the laptop. Ill invest. Not a loan30% equity. First move? Hire a shark of a solicitor. Mines brutal. Youll only deal with Nigel through him. Understood?
Understood.
Three days later, Felicity sat in a shoebox office. The solicitor had filed for bankruptcy protection, shielding her future assets. Nigel called.
She declined. His text buzzed: Fee, dont be daft. Just need your signature on a few more forms.
She forwarded it to the solicitor. The reply was instant: Another loan trap. No signing without me.
Felicity blocked him. That night, unpacking boxes, she found their wedding album. Two grinning faces.
Hed only ever seen a reflection of her ambition. Without hesitation, she dropped it in the bin.
Eight months passed.
The shoebox office now hummed like a beehive. Felicitys techgrowing premium greens in urban towerswas a hit. Michelin-starred chefs queued up. Emerald Canopy inked deals with three high-end chains.
Meanwhile, Nigels house of cards collapsed. The would-be father-in-law, no fool, sniffed out the bluster and pulled the plug. Without Felicity handling the books, his firm imploded.
He learned of her success by accident and seethed. She was supposed to be weeping in some dodgy bedsit. Instead, shed thrived. Without him. So he aimed for the jugular.
Tom called that evening, grim. Your ex rang. Ranted about Emerald Canopy being a front. Sent these. He slid over fake bank statements.
Felicitys blood turned to ice. He was after the one thing she had left: her familys faith.
Did you believe him?
Im not thick, Fee. But he wont stop. Hell tarnish us.
Felicity exhaled. Enough playing defence.
Then Ill stop him. Tomyour security team. Lend me your best tech whiz. Ive a hunch to confirm.
Tom frowned. For the first time in years, he saw steel in her eyes.
Whats the plan?
Me? She smiled thinly. Just remembering my silly little hobby is a tech firm. Time to branch out.
Her hunch was simple: Nigels debts werent just from NFTs. She recalled his hushed calls, whispers of guaranteed returns. Two days later, Toms tech wizard slid a USB across her desk.
Ran a Ponzi scheme. Fake investment sites. Took crypto. Even scammed his almost father-in-laws mates.
Felicity pocketed the USB. She didnt call the police. Through Tom, she arranged a leak. The dossier landed on the father-in-laws desk.
The fallout was swift. Nigel wasnt jailedjust dismantled. Forced to sell everything. Firm auctioned. Fiancée vanished.
A year later, Nigel shivered at a bus stop. A sleek electric car purred to a halt beside him. The door opened, and Felicity stepped outsleek suit, phone to her ear, smiling. She didnt glance his way. To her, he was just pavement gum.
As the car glided off, Nigel understood: hed thought hed freed her. In truth, hed freed her *from* him. The best gift hed ever given.
The bus arrived. He didnt move. For the first time, he felt the weight of his own irrelevance.
Two years on, Emerald Canopy expanded to Paris and Amsterdam. One evening, waiting at Heathrow, Felicity skimmed the news. A familiar name popped up: the ex-fiancées father was hosting a society wedding. In the background, a blurred figure in a valets uniform. Nigel.
She stared for a second. Nothing. Emptiness. The man whod once been her sun was now a speck. She closed the tab.
Tom called an hour later. Hows the Dutch expansion?
On track, she laughed. Tom ever regret backing my hobby?
Regret? Only that I didnt drag you away from that plonker sooner. Youve always been a force. He was just a pebble in your shoe.
Not a pebble, Felicity mused. A funhouse mirror. Had to smash it to see myself clearly.
Her revenge wasnt his downfallit was forgetting he existed. Freedom wasnt his ruin. It was her wings.
