Chapter 4

I looked at Henry and suddenly laughed. "Henry, you don't have to explain anything to me.

"Who you choose to be with is your own business. It has nothing to do with me anymore."

Henry froze.

He stared at me in disbelief, like he was looking at a total stranger. "Olivia, what do you mean?"

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Henry looked confused. "Who could it be at this hour?"

I got up and went to open the door.

A private courier in a suit stood at the door. "Ms. Lane? I have an urgent document that requires your signature."

I signed for it and took the thick manila envelope.

I closed the door and headed back to the living room.

Henry was still staring at me, his eyes searching and uneasy. "What is it?"

I didn't answer him.

Right in front of him, I tore open the envelope.

A thick stack of documents slid out.

The top sheet bore a bold, black title: [Personal Banking Records: Account Activity (Last 12 Months).]

Henry's pupils shrank in shock.

I picked up the stack of papers, walked over to him, and spread them out on the coffee table.

I pulled out one sheet and tapped a line on it with my finger. "Henry, we've been married for three years.

"Every month, without fail, I transfer twenty thousand dollars from my checking account to our joint account for household expenses and investments.

"But why, starting six months ago, has there been a fixed twenty-thousand-dollar transfer out of that joint account every month? The recipient's name is Charles White."

I looked up at Henry, my gaze calm and unwavering.

Under the harsh light, all the color drained from his face.

I asked softly, "Charles White. Mia White. Who is Charles?"

Henry's lips trembled, but he couldn't get a single word out.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his ghostly pale cheeks. "H-How did you find out?"

I pulled my lips into an icy smile. "Trust me, I know way more than you realize."

I picked up another document and slowly unfolded it.

It was a copy of a property deed.

I continued, "For example, that house you bought in your hometown six months ago, paid in full, under your parents' names.

"That 600-thousand-dollar purchase? It was transferred straight from the account holding my premarital assets.

"Henry, maybe you forgot.

"Before we got married, you were the one who insisted we sign a prenuptial agreement.

"The agreement clearly states that all income generated by my premarital assets during our marriage, and all disposal rights over those assets, belong solely to me."

I stared into his terrified eyes and dropped the final bomb. "And you? You are merely the nominee. Nothing more."

Henry's body was shaking. Not a slight tremor, but violent, uncontrollable shudders that seemed to seep from deep within his bones.

He was like the last withered leaf in the autumn wind, and like a dog with its throat locked tight, gasping for air.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with terror and disbelief, as if I were a demon crawling straight out of hell.

"Olivia," his voice was as dry as sandpaper scraping against stone. "Y-You know everything?"

I gave him a cold stare, watching his pathetic, pitiful display.

I said nothing.

I simply slid the copy of the property deed gently toward him.

The document was covered in black text and bore an official notary seal.

Every word struck him like a resounding slap across the face.

Henry reached out, as if to take the document, but his hands shook so violently he could not even pick up that thin sheet of paper.

"No. It's not like that." His words tumbled out incoherently. "Olivia, please, just let me explain. It's not what you think. I only wanted to use this money to invest. Yes. It's an investment."

He seemed to have seized a lifeline, his eyes burning with a dying man's desperation. "Housing prices back home are rising fast. I bought it and held onto it, waiting for the value to rise. When it does, the money will be ours, right?

"I wanted to give our family a better future."

He sounded so earnest and so heartfelt.

He really did look like a husband who had worn himself out for his family.

If I had not witnessed that disgusting scene between him and Mia in the cafeteria, and if I had not obtained this concrete financial trail, perhaps I truly would have been deceived by his hypocritical face once again.

But there are no ifs.