Tracy POV
I stared at my phone screen, scrolling through Vanya's i********: account for the twentieth time today. Every post made me more angry and jealous than the last one. There she was, smiling in her expensive designer clothes, showing off her fancy jewelry workshop, posing with wealthy customers who were buying her designs.
"Five million dollar investment," I muttered, reading the caption under her latest post. "Goddess Jewelry expanding to three new cities."
It wasn't fair. Three months ago, Vanya was nothing. She was a boring housewife who spent her days cleaning and cooking and being grateful that Bernard even looked at her. Now she was acting like some kind of successful businesswoman, living in a mansion and driving expensive cars.
I threw my phone down on the couch in our t
