The Q3 Report

 

The Q3 Report

Leo thought he was the successful one in the relationship. Not that his girlfriend, Ava, wasn’t smart. She was brilliant. But while he put on a suit every day to manage a sales team at a tech firm, Ava worked from their perfectly appointed Brooklyn apartment, usually in a worn-out hoodie and yoga pants, permanently glued to her laptop.

He affectionately called her work her "little projects."

"I just need to finish this feature migration before the market opens," she’d murmur, sipping cheap coffee at 11 AM. Leo, already home from his nine-to-five, would pat her shoulder.

"Okay, honey. Just make sure you take a break. You've been coding that stuff for days. We can’t have your little side hustle burning you out."

The tension finally snapped a year into their relationship, on a rainy Tuesday night. Leo had just pitched his idea for a spontaneous trip to the Caribbean—all expenses covered by his end-of-quarter bonus.

"I can't, Leo. I have to fly to Singapore on Thursday for the Q3 board meeting," Ava said without looking up from a complex spreadsheet.

Leo dropped his luggage catalogue onto the floor. "A board meeting? Ava, who are you meeting? Your one big client? Look, I'm trying to be supportive of your... whatever this is. But I need you to prioritize us. You know, start acting like we're building a real future together. Maybe think about getting a stable job. One with a benefits package."

Ava slowly closed her laptop, her expression changing from concentration to a terrifying, arctic calm. She pushed her glasses up onto her forehead.

"A stable job," she repeated, her voice low. "Leo, do you genuinely believe that in the past year, I’ve been paying half the rent, paying for your last birthday trip, and still somehow managing to invest in multiple portfolios, all from a 'little side hustle'?"

Leo felt a prickle of genuine fear. "Well, I just assumed you were... a really good freelancer. What exactly do you do?"

Ava leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "That 'feature migration' you were worried about burning me out? That was the core operating system update for Aura Logistics. It processes half a million shipments a day globally. I started that company, I still hold the majority stake, and the board meeting I’m flying to is my board meeting."

She didn't stop there.

"The 'cheap coffee' I drink every morning is from The Daily Grind, which operates three cafes downstairs and provides our employee catering. That's my retail company. And the 'coding stuff' I do? It’s for a small private firm I own that develops financial infrastructure for other small firms, including the one you work for."

Leo stumbled back, hitting the kitchen counter. His mouth was dry. The only thing he could process was the implication of the money, the sheer scale of the lie of omission.

"And," Ava finished, picking up her worn hoodie, "since you’re so concerned about my stability: the entire building we live in? It’s part of a property trust I inherited and then expanded six years ago. I’m not worried about my future, Leo. I’m worried that for a year, I’ve been giving you a massive amount of credit for being 'the provider' when in reality, if I quit my 'freelance gig,' you'd lose your biggest client, and I would still be a billionaire. You didn't respect me when you thought I was poor, and that's the problem."

The words hung in the air, heavier than any quarterly report. The breakup felt imminent, not over money, but over the catastrophic failure of respect. Leo looked at the woman he thought he knew—the woman in the worn hoodie, not the CEO in disguise—and realized he had just insulted a quiet force of nature.

He didn't apologize for his previous assumptions; he apologized for his condescension. "Ava," he managed, genuinely shaken. "I am so sorry. Not for not knowing what you own, but for minimizing everything you do. I was an arrogant idiot."

Ava watched him, the arctic calm slowly melting. "Good. Now get your bags. You're still coming to Singapore, but you’re sitting at the back."