Chapter 1

The night before my wedding, my parents transferred 9 million into my account as a wedding gift.

I clutched my phone, eager to share this good news with my fiancé, Andrew Grant.

But he texted me: [You only make 10 thousand a month. That's not good enough for someone like me who makes 30 thousand.]

His arrogant tone instantly killed all my excitement.

I let out a cold laugh and replied: [Then let's call off the wedding.]

*****

A bank notification popped up at the top of my screen. [Your savings account ending in 6789 received a deposit of 9,000,000.00 dollars at 22:30.]

I stared at the string of zeros, counting them over and over again.

My heart skipped a beat, almost jumping out of my chest.

Right after, my mom sent me a screenshot of the transfer, followed by a voice message.

"This is the wedding gift your dad and I prepared for you. It's everything we've saved up, plus the money from selling two old houses.

"With this money backing you, nobody in Andrew's family will dare to look down on you. Walk tall, sweetheart," she said.

My eyes welled up, and tears blurred my vision.

Outside, the city's dazzling lights reflected in my tear-filled eyes, like a broken galaxy.

I took a deep breath, swiping on my phone. I couldn't wait to send Andrew the screenshot of the bank alert.

We'd been together for three years, from campus to the workplace. Tomorrow, we were getting married.

I pictured Andrew's jaw dropping when he saw the money, and how it would set them up for life. A smile spread wider across my lips before I could stop it.

But just as I was about to hit send, Andrew's message popped up first.

It read: [I need to lay out a few ground rules for our marriage before we get married tomorrow.]

I froze, confused. What ground rules could there be at this point?

Before I could reply, he sent over a Word document. Its filename stung my eyes: [Post‑Marital Property Agreement Between Emma and Andrew.]

My stomach dropped.

I opened the document, and the dense list of clauses caught my breath.

The whole thing was basically a strict 50-50 split.

My monthly salary of ten thousand had to be paid in full into our "joint household account" for daily expenses and future child‑rearing costs.

Meanwhile, his monthly salary of thirty‑thousand was designated as his "personal development and investment fund." It wouldn't count as marital joint property and was entirely at his disposal.

Before I could even process those suffocating terms, a thirty-second voice message popped up.

I hit play. Andrew's voice, dripping with condescension and disdain, drilled into my ears.

"Emma, this is for our own good. You only make 10 thousand a month, while I make 30 thousand. Our lifestyles and social circles are totally different.

"I can't lower my quality of life just because we're getting married, and you can't expect to mooch off me, right? This agreement is to keep us from fighting over money later. It's fair."

Fair?

The night breeze drifted in through the window. Even though it was summer, I felt a bone-deep chill.

The glow from my phone screen lit up my face, and I could feel the color draining from my cheeks.

My heart, which had just been thrumming with elation over the nine million, ached with cold, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

I quietly deleted the message I'd been about to send, "Babe, check this." Then I permanently erased the screenshot showing the nine‑million sum from my photo album.

Those numbers now looked like a cruel joke.

I took a deep breath. The air was thick with the scent of lilies for tomorrow's wedding, so strong it made me want to throw up.

I typed, each word feeling like it took everything I had: [Andrew, you think marrying me is some kind of charity?]

As soon as I sent it, he replied almost instantly, still with that arrogant tone. "Pretty much. It's not like your family's anything special; your parents are merely ordinary retired folks.

"But relax. Stick with me, and you'll be well‑off. I'll make sure you get your scraps off my plate."

Scraps? I laughed quietly, my shoulders shaking.

Turned out, in his eyes, our marriage wasn't about love at all. It was his personal charity case, and I was the poor girl who should be grateful, waiting for him to throw me some scraps off his plate.

Our three‑year relationship was reduced to a gap between a 10‑thousand and a 30‑thousand monthly salary, a cold, unvarnished transaction.

And I was nothing but a bargain-bin product, not worthy of a real conversation with him.

I had no desire to reply to him anymore. The burning anger of humiliation welling up inside my chest had instead settled me into an eerie calm.

I picked up my phone again, my fingers typing on the cold glass: [Then let's call off the wedding.]

I hit send.

Andrew called right away, but I hung up on him without a second thought.

His message popped up immediately afterward, laced with impatience and smug certainty. "Emma, stop with the hard-to-get act. It's not cute.

"I've turned down all those gorgeous girls at the investment bank for you. What more do you want? The wedding goes ahead tomorrow. Don't throw a fit, or you'll be the one who ends up embarrassed."

He was convinced I wouldn't dare call off the wedding.

The invitations were sent, the hotel was booked, and all our friends and family knew about it. If I backed out now, I'd be the butt of everyone's jokes.

But so what?

I'd rather be a temporary laughingstock than live my whole life as the wife measured and humiliated by money.

I didn't give Andrew another chance to reply. I blocked his number, his WhatsApp, and every other way he could reach me.

Then I opened the family and friends group chat, typed out a message, and sent it to everyone who was supposed to come to the wedding tomorrow.

[It's with deep regret that I inform everyone: the wedding between Andrew and me, scheduled for tomorrow, is canceled due to personal reasons. I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. The reason is on my side. Please don't bother Andrew.]

The moment I hit send, I felt a sense of relief I'd never known before.

Goodbye, Andrew.

Goodbye, my sad, ridiculous love.

Outside the window, the inky black sky slowly paled into the faint gray of dawn.

Seated at my desk, I spent the entire night calmly tallying everything I had poured into the marriage that would never happen.

I opened my notes app and started listing everything out.

[Wedding house: Andrew's family paid the down payment, while I covered the $150,000 for the luxury renovation and every appliance in the place.

[Wedding car: a BMW 5 Series, titled in my name. My parents paid for it so I'd have an easy ride after the wedding.

[The Patek Philippe watch on Andrew's wrist: I bought it for his birthday last year, blowing all my savings and maxed out my credit card. It cost almost $300,000.]

Then there were all the gifts I'd bought for his family, along with everything I'd purchased for the wedding. I remembered every last detail.

By the time the first rays of dawn slipped into my room, my list was finally done.

Looking at those massive numbers, I was seized by bitter irony.

I gave Andrew everything I had, and all I got in return was, "You're not good enough for me."

At five in the morning, I called the wedding planner, who sounded groggy.

"The wedding's off," I said.

She snapped awake, her voice shooting up in pitch. "What? Are you kidding me? The wedding's today. Everything's ready."

"I'm not joking," I said, my voice so calm it sounded like I was talking about someone else's business. "I'll cover the penalty as the contract says. Send me your account details. And please let all the staff know they don't need to come in."

She was so stunned she could barely get a word out. Still, she handled it professionally and said she'd take care of everything.

After hanging up, I immediately called the hotel manager to cancel the reception and cover the cancellation fee.

Finally, I called my best friend, Sophie Reed.

The moment the call connected, loud background noise came through. She was getting her makeup done, getting ready to be my maid of honor.

"Sophie, the wedding's off," I said.

"Emma, are you out of your mind? What the hell happened?" Her scream nearly burst my eardrums.

I gave her the rundown of what happened last night.

She lost it, cursing, "What a jerk! I'm going to tear him to shreds."

"No, don't," I stopped her. "Can you do me a favor? Let my family and friends know, and especially keep my parents calm. Tell them I'm fine, and I need some time to cool off. I'll explain everything to them myself later."

My parents must be freaking out after seeing my group message.

Sophie agreed right away. "Alright, don't worry. I'll take care of your parents. What are you going to do now?"

"I'm going to get back what's mine."

Bright daylight flooded the sky.

I slipped into a sharp black suit, put on polished yet cold‑toned makeup, and drove straight to the apartment Andrew and I were supposed to share as newlyweds.

The security guard at the gate recognized me and greeted me with a big smile. "Congrats, Ms. Lane. Big day today, huh?"

I forced a smile, said nothing, and headed straight upstairs.

When I unlocked the door, the apartment was empty.

The wedding decorations strung across the windows and walls stung my eyes.

Without a second thought, I called a locksmith.

"Can you change the lock for me? Make it the highest security one you've got," I said.

The locksmith looked around at all the wedding decorations, stunned. But he got to work like a pro.

Just as the new lock was installed, I got a call from an unknown number.

I picked up, and Andrew's furious voice exploded through the speaker. "Emma, have you lost your mind? Do you know what time it is? The wedding cars are waiting for you at the hotel, and everyone's there. Where the hell are you?"

I figured he'd been waiting for me at the hotel, realized I'd blocked him, and had to borrow someone else's phone to call me.

"I'm at our new apartment," I said, my voice flat.

"You..."

Before he could finish, I hung up.

I knew he and his mother would come storming over any minute.

Sure enough, less than half an hour later, fierce banging echoed from outside the door.

My ex-future mother-in-law, Linda, screamed, "Emma, you shameless lunatic, open the door. If you don't go through with the wedding today, I'll make sure you're the laughingstock of the whole city."

The banging and shouting were so loud, neighbors started peeking out to see what was happening.