Chapter 2

When I was eighteen, my mom hid my college acceptance letter and sold me off as a wife to a 40-year-old widower for a dowry of 20 thousand dollars.

By accident, I discovered the truth, ransacked the house to find my acceptance letter, and ran away in the dead of night.

When I was twenty, I worked as a tutor and met Michael, who was also doing part-time gigs. He studied art, and there was a freedom, beauty, and easy-going vibe about him that I'd never experienced before.

I fell in love with him, even thought he had hands made for painting and a wild, untamed soul. He couldn't give up his lifestyle for a normal and settled life.

So, to marry him, I spent five years working three jobs, never buying myself anything, and barely sleeping four hours a night.

Finally, when I turned 25, I saved up enough to meet my mom's demand for a 150,000 dollar dowry and the down payment on a modest three-bedroom place in Riverside City.

Seeing my greedy mom, my sister who burned through cash like it was nothing, and my useless brother, I realized they were all leeches, ready to tear me apart for whatever they could get.

The day before we got our marriage license, I sent Michael the down payment for the house and told him to buy it in his name, so the place would be his, all his property.

I entrusted everything I owned to him, just to get away from the predators at home.

Turns out, the real monster was Michael all along.

Watching Michael flash that confident grin, I slapped the cup right out of his hand as he lounged around. Boiling water splashed onto those hands I'd pampered for years.

He furrowed his brow and shouted, "Are you out of your mind? These are an artist's hands. If you mess them up, can you even handle the consequences?"

I stared at the man before me: the one I once treasured, like I was under a spell, obeying his every word. Now, all I saw was someone pathetic and repulsive, not even worth looking at.

"Ten years of marriage, and I've busted my ass day and night so you could stay home and paint. I built connections and invested everything I had so you could sell your art for whatever price you wanted." I snapped.

I continued: "Have you ever brought home a single penny?

"Do you even know where the trash bags are?

"Do you even know where to pay the property fees?

"So, Michael, what right do you have to kick me out?"

I grabbed his handsome jaw and jerked it aside with all the contempt I could muster.

I spat. "Jessica said she didn't want you touching me, and to prove your loyalty to her, you made up some lie about having intimacy issues. And I actually bought it.

"The money I sent you for treatment, you turned around and used it to book a hotel room with Jessica, to support her pregnancy, to buy her perfume. I endured all of it.

"But you actually went so far as to ignore my safety and our five-month-old unborn child, so you could divorce me. You caused the death of our child and took away my chance to ever be a mother again.

"And now you want me out, so you and your new family of three can have the place all to yourselves?" I snapped.

My eyes burned red with fury as I glared at him. "Michael, the best you can hope for is to leave with nothing. If you dare mess with me again, I swear none of you will ever have a happy ending."

After years of holding it together, I finally broke down. All the tears I'd bottled up for so long came flooding out once my defenses shattered.

Yet all this agony was nothing but a joke to him.

He gave a slow, mocking clap, yawning with contempt as he got up and walked back to the bedroom.

"Alright, let's see who really loses in the end." he sneered.