Chapter 2

When I returned home that evening, the mansion was already dark.

Sebastian was sitting on the sofa with his laptop open, while Arabella sat beside him, looking completely at home.

Neither of them looked surprised to see me.

Sebastian closed his laptop and looked at me.

“You're back.”

I nodded.

His eyes moved briefly to my swollen belly before returning to my face.

“I've been thinking about what happened at the hospital.”

My heart tightened.

For one foolish second, I thought he might apologize.

Instead, he said, “You need to learn to manage your own spending.”

I stood there silently.

“You signed the agreement this afternoon,” he continued. “So from now on, I'll still take care of the household, but anything beyond that needs to come from your own money.”

“I understand.”

He seemed slightly surprised by my answer.

Perhaps he had expected another argument.

Arabella crossed her legs and smiled.

“Sebastian is only trying to teach you how to be independent.”

Independent.

I almost laughed.

When we first married, Sebastian had barely enough money to keep his company running.

When his company faced its first major crisis, I used nearly all my savings to protect the future he had built.

I never called that money mine or his.

I thought we were a family.

Apparently, he had remembered things differently.

Sebastian stood and walked toward the stairs.

“The master bedroom needs to be left for me.”

I froze.

“What about me?”

He paused, as though my reaction confused him.

“You can stay in the guest room.”

Something inside my chest went cold.

I looked at him in disbelief.

“I'm eight months pregnant.”

“I know.”

“You want me to move into the guest room?”

“It's only temporary.”

His answer was calm, almost casual.

He wasn't trying to frighten me.

He genuinely believed he was being reasonable.

That hurt more than anger would have.

“Fine,” I whispered.

I turned and walked upstairs without another word.

The guest room was clean, but it had clearly not been prepared for someone to live there.

The curtains were old, the heater had stopped working properly, and the bed was smaller than the one I had shared with Sebastian for seven years.

It was not a terrible room.

But it felt like a place someone had chosen for a guest, not a wife.

My baby moved beneath my palm.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered.

Then I took out my phone.

I photographed the room, the leaking ceiling, the broken heater, and the condition of the bed.

After that, I opened my bank records and began saving every receipt and transfer from the past seven years.

Not because I wanted revenge.

Because I had finally understood something.

If Sebastian wanted to believe I had spent his money without reason, then I would let the records speak for me.

I opened the message to the lawyer.

Please review the financial agreement I signed today.

After a moment, I added another sentence.

I may need help protecting myself and my child.

I put down my phone and looked toward the closed guest room door.

Downstairs, I could hear Sebastian and Arabella laughing together.

For the first time, I didn't want to know what they were laughing about.

I only wanted to get out.

And Sebastian still had no idea that I had already made up my mind.