Chapter 1

"Hand over 70% of your salary every month. That's the rule in our family," My husband's mother, Lucia Shaw, said, pushing the bank card toward me.

Her husband, James Shaw, holding his cup, added slowly, "If you don't agree, move out. We don't support freeloaders in this house."

I glanced at my husband, Michael Shaw, who was silent beside me. He shot me a look, signaling me to go along with it.

I smiled, didn't say a word, and went back to my room to start packing my clothes.

Lucia got more fired up. "Oh, so she has got backbone now? She'll be in for a rude awakening when she sees how much rent costs out there."

The next morning, I dragged my suitcase out the door without looking back.

Half an hour later, I slid the key into the lock of my new place, a 1,800-square-foot apartment the company had assigned me, complete with floor-to-ceiling windows, luxury finishes, and a stunning river view.

*****

"Hand over 70% of your salary every month. That's the rule in our family." Lucia pushed the bank card toward me, tapping the table with her finger. "Claire, transfer your salary to this card. From now on, I'll take care of everything."

I stared at the bank card but didn't reach for it.

James cradled his cup, blowing gently. "If you don't like it, then move out. We don't keep freeloaders here."

A heavy silence settled over the table.

I turned to look at Michael.

He kept his head down, pushing his food around with his fork.

I waited a few seconds. When Michael finally looked up, he gave me a look. He was basically telling me to nod and agree.

"Mom's looking out for us," Michael muttered. "At least if she handles the money, it won't get wasted."

I fired back, "So, do you hand over 70% of your salary, too?"

Lucia cut in before he could answer, "Michael needs to entertain people and make connections, so of course, he gets to keep more cash. You commute between work and home every day. What could you spend money on?"

I pulled up the calculator on my phone. "My take-home pay is 8 thousand dollars a month. 70% of that is 5.6 thousand dollars. So I don't have to pay the mortgage, the utilities, or buy groceries?"

Lucia's face darkened. "You're living under our roof, and now you want to nickel-and-dime us?"

The apartment, about 900 square feet, belonged to James.

For two years, I had been the one covering the utilities, gas, property fees, and most of our living expenses.

I bought all the appliances in the living room, like the AC, fridge, washing machine, and so on.

Last year, when the kitchen started leaking, I was the one who paid for the repairs.

They never once called this place my home. Yet whenever it was time to pay up, suddenly I was part of the family.

"Let's not bring up your previous expenses." Lucia nudged the bank card closer. "From this month on, you stick to the rules. I'm holding onto the money for your own good."

I asked, "Whose card is it?"

"Mine."

"So, does that mean the money's yours?"

Lucia banged her hand on the table. "Who are you so suspicious of? I work my butt off managing this household for you, and now you think I'm trying to steal your money?"

Michael frowned. "Claire, drop it. Mom's getting older. Do you really have to upset her like this?"

I looked at Michael, the man I'd been living with for two years.

Half a month ago, I got promoted to head of the R&D department, and the company gave me a project bonus.

That night, he held me tight, telling me how talented I was and how lucky he was to have me as his wife.

As soon as the bonus hit my account, Michael couldn't wait to share the news with his parents.

And now, here I was, staring at that bank card right in front of me.

It turned out that they weren't asking for my opinion. They were figuring out how to divvy up my salary.

"What if I don't hand it over?" I asked.

James put his cup down. There was a quiet clink as the cup hit the table. "Then move out. This is my house. I get to say who stays and who goes."

Lucia crossed her arms. "Rent out there is 2 thousand dollars a month. You do the math. Though you've got a little cash now, don't think you can run the show around here.

"Once you're married, your paycheck should go to the family. If you don't know how to play by the rules, don't expect us to save your dignity.

Michael finally spoke up. "Claire, agree for now. When Mom and Dad calm down, I'll try talking to them again."

I looked at him and asked, "You really think I should give them my money?"

He avoided my gaze. "We're family. No need to fuss over money. Come on, it's not like my parents would ever do anything to hurt us."

I let out a laugh.

Before we got married, he claimed he respected my career.

After the wedding, he started saying I should handle more chores since he was exhausted from work.

When I paid for new appliances, he told me couples shouldn't keep score with each other.

Now his parents wanted to take 70% of my salary, and he still expected me to swallow it.

Every single time, he'd say, "Let's talk about it later."

But we never talked about it again.

I stood up.

Lucia thought I was giving in, and her face relaxed a little. "That's more like it. Hand over your phone. I'll show you how to set up automatic transfers."

I ignored her and walked straight into the bedroom.

Only half the closet was mine.

At the bottom sat a 28-inch suitcase.

I dragged it out and unzipped it. I tossed in two suits, a few casual outfits, my passport, laptop, and project files.

Michael followed me in and closed the door behind him. "Why are you acting out? Dad was bluffing. Are you really going to leave?"

I slipped the charger into the side pocket. "Weren't you the ones who told me to move out?"

"We were saying that out of anger."

"Well, I took it seriously."

He grabbed the edge of the suitcase. "Where are you planning to stay? A hotel? Crashing at a friend's place? Or moving into the company‑provided housing?

"You're married now. If you walk out with your suitcase in the middle of the night, how's that going to make me look?"

Even now, all he cared about was what other people would think of him.

I brushed his hand away. "None of your business."

Lucia's cold laugh rang out from outside the door. "Let her go. Let's see how long she can survive out there. Michael, don't stop her."

I closed the suitcase and zipped it up.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was a message from the admin department. [Claire, the Vertex Lofts apartment has been cleaned. You can pick up the keys tomorrow morning.]

I put my phone away and looked at Michael, still standing in the doorway. "Move."

He stared at my suitcase, and his expression finally shifted.