Chapter 2
On the drive home, my hands were on the wheel, but my mind was somewhere else.
Michael sat in the passenger seat, silent as a statue. The tension in the car was so thick that it felt like the air was about to snap.
He kept his face turned toward the window, watching the city lights blur past, his jaw clenched tight. The whole vibe he gave off screamed, "Don't even think about talking to me."
I knew exactly what he was waiting for. He wanted me to break the silence, to back down, and to apologize first. But I wasn't about to do any of that.
We returned to our beautifully decorated, but utterly lifeless home.
As soon as we stepped inside, Michael finally lost his composure. He spun around and hurled the car keys at the entryway cabinet with all his strength.
The loud bang echoed like thunder, shattering any pretense of calm.
"Are you out of your mind? You humiliated me in public!" Michael turned, eyes bloodshot, jabbing his finger at my face, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.
I slipped off my heels and set my bag on the sofa, moving with a calmness that made it seem like nothing had happened at all.
Nevaeh even had the presence of mind to pour herself a glass of water before turning around to face Michael, calm and collected. "What's more important to you? Your being humiliated or my 2.9 million?"
Michael was stunned for a moment, and then his frustration boiled over. "We're married! Your money is my money, isn't it? Why are you being so stingy about it?"
"Your money?" I let out a bitter laugh. "That 2.9 million came from the compensation and insurance after my parents died in a car accident. I saved every cent myself. Did you ever contribute a single penny? So, how is it suddenly your money?"
"You—" Michael was left speechless, his face flushing red as he struggled to respond.
Just then, Michael's phone blared to life, its shrill ringtone slicing through the suffocating tension in the room.
He glanced at the screen. It was his mother, Linda. Like he'd just spotted a lifeboat, Michael hurried to answer and even made a show of putting it on speaker.
"Mom, Nevaeh..." Michael's voice quivered, thick with grievance, as he started tattling right away.
Linda's voice cut through the speaker, sharp and grating. "Nevaeh, you ungrateful bitch, do you even realize how lucky you are?"
She said, "My son chose you. And now you complain about paying for a house? It's just under my name. Are you really trying to take what's his?"
"What's his?" I repeated. I was shaking all over, rage flooding my veins and making my head spin.
This money came from my parents' life insurance. It was all I had left, my last bit of hope, my only security. And now, in Michael and Linda's eyes, it had somehow become "his property."
I stared hard at Michael, desperately hoping he'd step up just once, say something for me, or at least correct Linda's ridiculous claim.
But Michael just frowned, shooting me a look full of blame. "Look how upset my mom is! This is all your fault! Can't you just be reasonable for once?"
His words felt like a blunt knife, carving yet another wound into my already shattered heart.
On the phone, Linda kept up her tirade, her harsh, cutting words raining down on me without pause. She called me scheming, accused me of being ungrateful, and said I was nothing but a cold-hearted snake who could never be trusted.
I stood there, letting her venomous insults drown me, feeling every ounce of strength slip away until I was completely hollow inside.
I finally realized that this wasn't some spur-of-the-moment scheme. It was a trap, carefully laid out from the very beginning. And Michael was the most ruthless player in this whole setup.
At last, Michael ended the call.
He took a deep breath, as if he'd shown me enough who was boss, and then barked out his final order in a tone that brooked no argument.
"Tomorrow, you get a gift ready. We're going to my mom's place together, so you can apologize. Then we'll head to the real estate office and finish the paperwork for the villa. Stop acting up, Nevaeh. Let's just live a good life together."
When he said "live a good life together," he even wore a look of fake condescension, like he was doing me a favor.
I stared at him, and suddenly, I laughed. The laugh was soft, but it carried a sadness and a biting sarcasm that words couldn't describe.
At that moment, my love completely died. All the feelings I once had for him were gone. They were wiped out by that one line, "This is all your fault."
Live a good life together? With a man who was plotting every move to steal my money?
I didn't argue anymore. I knew it was useless. Reasoning with him was impossible.