Chapter 2 - The Wife Who Was Never PoorVance remained frozen beside the table.
His eyes stayed locked on the deed.
"You're lying."
I didn't respond.
He grabbed the document.
He read it again.
Then again.
His face became increasingly pale.
Beatrice snatched the paper from his hands.
"This has to be forged."
I laughed.
"Of course."
"You couldn't afford this apartment!"
"I never said I could."
"You told us you worked remotely!"
"I do."
"You said you were a financial consultant."
"I am."
Beatrice looked furious.
"Then why did you let my son pay for everything?"
I stared at her.
"I didn't."
Vance's eyebrows pulled together.
"What?"
"I never asked you for money."
"Then what did you think I was doing?"
"Supporting your family."
He looked confused.
"You told me your salary was twenty-five thousand."
"It is."
"Then why did you let me believe you were broke?"
"I never told you I was broke."
That stopped him.
I continued.
"You assumed it."
Because that was the truth.
When Vance and I met, I dressed simply.
I drove an ordinary car.
I lived in a modest apartment.
I never wore designer clothing.
I never talked about money.
And I certainly never told him that my late father had left me control of Hartwell Capital, a private investment firm whose assets exceeded eight hundred million dollars.
Vance knew my father had been wealthy.
But he believed the company had been sold years ago.
That was exactly what I wanted him to believe.
After my father died, I became the majority shareholder.
But I didn't want someone marrying me for money.
So I hid it.
When I met Vance, he was ambitious.
Charming.
Hardworking.
At least, I thought he was.
He told me he wanted to build something of his own.
He said he wanted a wife who believed in him.
I believed him.
Then Beatrice entered our lives.
At first, she seemed loving.
She brought soup when I was sick.
She called me sweetheart.
She hugged me.
But gradually, her behavior changed.
She began asking how much Vance earned.
Then how much I earned.
Then what my father had left me.
When I refused to answer, she started calling me secretive.
Vance defended her.
Every time.
Eventually, Beatrice convinced him that giving her his entire paycheck was "financial discipline."
I didn't stop him.
I wanted to see how far it would go.
Now I knew.
It had gone far enough.
"You've been spying on me," Vance said.
"No."
"Then how did you know about the transfers?"
"Because I have access to financial records."
He laughed bitterly.
"You're unbelievable."
"No."
I looked at him.
"What's unbelievable is that you earn twenty-five thousand dollars a month and still expected your pregnant wife to pay for groceries."
His face tightened.
"Mom said you had enough savings."
"I did."
"So what's the problem?"
"The problem is that you treated my money like your responsibility and your money like your mother's."
Beatrice stepped forward.
"You've manipulated my son."
I turned toward her.
"You manipulated him long before I ever met him."
She slapped her hand against the table.
"How dare you!"
I stood.
"Would you like to know what else I own?"
Neither answered.
"The building's commercial property downstairs."
Vance blinked.
"The entire building?"
"Yes."
"That's impossible."
"The penthouse is mine."
"The parking garage is mine."
"Three floors of office space are mine."
"The restaurant on the ground floor is mine."
Vance's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I looked at Beatrice.
"And your favorite boutique?"
She stiffened.
"The one where you spent eighteen thousand dollars last week?"
Her face drained.
"It's also mine."
Vance stared at me.
"Why?"
"Because I bought the property three years ago."
He looked devastated.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I smiled sadly.
"Because I wanted to know whether you loved me or what I owned."
His expression collapsed.
"And now you know?"
"Now I know."
Beatrice suddenly grabbed her purse.
"This marriage is unhealthy."
I laughed.
"You're right."
She turned toward the door.
Vance followed her.
Then I said one sentence.
"Neither of you is leaving with anything."
They stopped.
"Excuse me?"
"The penthouse belongs to me."
Vance slowly turned around.
"You wouldn't throw me out."
I looked at him.
"You told me to pack my bags."
He swallowed.
"I was angry."
"You said I could be replaced."
"I didn't mean it."
"You said you could have a hundred wives."
He lowered his eyes.
"I was wrong."
I walked toward him.
"You're not going to understand what you've lost tonight."
I pointed toward the door.
"Because you never understood what you had."
Then the elevator bell rang.
The doors opened.
A man in a charcoal suit stepped out.
He was carrying a leather briefcase.
"Ms. Hart?"
"Yes."
He nodded.
"Your attorney has arrived."
Vance's face went white.
"Attorney?"
I smiled.
"Yes."
May you like
Then I looked at my husband.
"Because tomorrow morning, we're discussing the divorce."
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