Chapter 2 · I Made the Cheater Leave with Nothing

The first thing I did when I got back to the hotel was call Helen Foster.

She was one of the top five family lawyers in Capitaria, forty-three years old, with a 97% win rate in divorce cases. Three years ago, I helped her restore a family heirloom, a diamond ring, and we've been friends ever since.

"Helen, I've got a job for you," I said.

"Go on," she replied.

I gave her the rundown, keeping it short and to the point.

There was a three-second pause on the other end.

"So he kept living with you, but went and got married to another woman?" Helen asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Whose name is on the property deed?" Helen asked.

"Both of ours. But I covered more than seventy-five percent of the down payment, and paid for all the renovations. I've kept all the bank records and receipts," I said.

"What about the joint account?" Helen asked.

"Yeah, we've got one. There should be about 200,000 dollars left in it as a rainy day fund," I said.

"Alright," Helen replied, her voice crisp and decisive. "First, I'll go to court first thing tomorrow and file to freeze the house, so he can't sell it out from under you.

"Second, log into the joint account right now and screenshot the balance and the last six months of transaction history. Third, put together all your payment proofs, transfer records, and renovation contracts in order by date and send them over to me."

"Will do," I said.

"And another thing," Helen added, "legally, that's bigamy. If you want to press charges, I can help you file a police report right away."

"Not for now," I said.

"Why not?" Helen asked.

"I'm not about to waste my energy trying to get him locked up. I just want my money back and to make a clean break, no strings, no mess," I replied.

"Alright. I'll take your case," Helen said.

After hanging up, I sat by the hotel's floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the lights of City Center Tower glow like a golden ribbon in the night.

My phone screen kept lighting up nonstop.

Ian's messages kept flooding in.

[Claire, can you just calm down? Let's talk this out in private, just the two of us.]

[You took everything. The place is empty now. How am I supposed to explain this to my partners? They're coming over next week.]

[I know I messed up, but you can't just ruin my future out of spite.]

I stared at that last message for a long time.

Ruin his future, huh.

Four years of my life, over seven hundred thousand dollars, and every bit of my heart, and after all that, he sneaked off and married someone else, and the first thing on his mind wasn't guilt. It was his own damn future.

I muted his messages, set my phone down, and walked into the bathroom.

It wasn't until the hot water hit my skin that I realized I was shaking.

It wasn't from the cold.

It was the shame of being used as an ATM and a tool for four years, and now, in the quiet of the night, it all hit me at once.

But I didn't cry.

I wasn't about to waste a single tear on someone like him.

For the next three days, Ian's messages kept blowing up my phone.

Helen moved fast. The court accepted the asset freeze application the same day. By the next morning, the house by Sunrise Park was officially frozen.

I checked the joint account.

Balance: 11,471 dollars.

Half a year ago, there was still 200,000 dollars in there.

I pulled up the transaction history and went through it, line by line.

100,000 dollars had been split into six transfers to an account I didn't recognize. The name on it? Nina Swan.

Another 50,000 dollars was withdrawn in cash that same week, with no record of where it went.

The rest of the money was spent on all sorts of things: restaurants, hotels, shopping malls. And every single one of those transactions lined up perfectly with the dates I was out of town on business.

He was using our shared savings to keep another woman.

I sent the screenshots to Helen.

Helen replied with just a few words. [That's solid proof.]

By the fourth day, Ian's messages took a dramatic turn.

The anger and threats vanished, replaced by endless regret and desperate begging.

[Claire, I messed up. I know I did. Can you give me another chance?]

[I've already talked to Nina. She's agreed to the divorce. Once the cooling-off period is over, we'll get the paperwork done right away.]

[I meant it, Claire. These four years, my feelings for you were real. Don't you remember that winter, watching the snow together? You told me you'd only ever marry me.]

[Claire, I'm begging you. Please don't drag this into court. The house is already frozen, and the partner promotion at work is right around the corner. If this blows up, my career is done for.]

I didn't answer a single message.

But instead, his father Samuel Rowe called.

Samuel, a retired high school dean who liked to quote the classics and act like a scholar, but underneath it all, he was stubbornly traditional, stuck in his old ways to the bone.

Three years ago, when I first went to their home, Samuel gave me a kind smile and said I was smart and capable, a perfect match for Ian. Back then, I honestly thought I was welcomed into the Rowe family.

But now, he sounded nothing like that.

"Claire, let me give it to you straight. Ian's always been too soft-hearted. Whenever Nina starts crying, he just can't handle it. Men make mistakes, you know? Just be a little more forgiving, and this will all blow over."

I didn't respond.

Chapter 2

The first thing I did when I got back to the hotel was call Helen Foster.

"Helen, I've got a job for you," I said.

"Go on," she replied.

I gave her the rundown, keeping it short and to the point.

There was a three-second pause on the other end.

"So he kept living with you, but went and got married to another woman?" Helen asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Whose name is on the property deed?" Helen asked.

"Both of ours. But I covered more than seventy-five percent of the down payment, and paid for all the renovations. I've kept all the bank records and receipts," I said.

"What about the joint account?" Helen asked.

"Yeah, we've got one. There should be about 200,000 dollars left in it as a rainy day fund," I said.

"Alright," Helen replied, her voice crisp and decisive. "First, I'll go to court first thing tomorrow and file to freeze the house, so he can't sell it out from under you.

"Will do," I said.

"And another thing," Helen added, "legally, that's bigamy. If you want to press charges, I can help you file a police report right away."

"Not for now," I said.

"Why not?" Helen asked.

"I'm not about to waste my energy trying to get him locked up. I just want my money back and to make a clean break, no strings, no mess," I replied.

"Alright. I'll take your case," Helen said.

After hanging up, I sat by the hotel's floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the lights of City Center Tower glow like a golden ribbon in the night.

My phone screen kept lighting up nonstop.

Ian's messages kept flooding in.

[Claire, can you just calm down? Let's talk this out in private, just the two of us.]

[You took everything. The place is empty now. How am I supposed to explain this to my partners? They're coming over next week.]

[I know I messed up, but you can't just ruin my future out of spite.]

I stared at that last message for a long time.

Ruin his future, huh.

I muted his messages, set my phone down, and walked into the bathroom.

It wasn't until the hot water hit my skin that I realized I was shaking.

It wasn't from the cold.

It was the shame of being used as an ATM and a tool for four years, and now, in the quiet of the night, it all hit me at once.

But I didn't cry.

I wasn't about to waste a single tear on someone like him.

For the next three days, Ian's messages kept blowing up my phone.

Helen moved fast. The court accepted the asset freeze application the same day. By the next morning, the house by Sunrise Park was officially frozen.

I checked the joint account.

Balance: 11,471 dollars.

Half a year ago, there was still 200,000 dollars in there.

I pulled up the transaction history and went through it, line by line.

100,000 dollars had been split into six transfers to an account I didn't recognize. The name on it? Nina Swan.

Another 50,000 dollars was withdrawn in cash that same week, with no record of where it went.

He was using our shared savings to keep another woman.

I sent the screenshots to Helen.

Helen replied with just a few words. [That's solid proof.]

By the fourth day, Ian's messages took a dramatic turn.

The anger and threats vanished, replaced by endless regret and desperate begging.

[Claire, I messed up. I know I did. Can you give me another chance?]

[I've already talked to Nina. She's agreed to the divorce. Once the cooling-off period is over, we'll get the paperwork done right away.]

[I meant it, Claire. These four years, my feelings for you were real. Don't you remember that winter, watching the snow together? You told me you'd only ever marry me.]

[Claire, I'm begging you. Please don't drag this into court. The house is already frozen, and the partner promotion at work is right around the corner. If this blows up, my career is done for.]

I didn't answer a single message.

But instead, his father Samuel Rowe called.

Samuel, a retired high school dean who liked to quote the classics and act like a scholar, but underneath it all, he was stubbornly traditional, stuck in his old ways to the bone.

But now, he sounded nothing like that.

I didn't respond.