Chapter 4

For over half an hour, nobody dared to type a word.

I closed Snapchat and calmly signed the last of the paperwork presented by the brokerage manager.

As I was about to leave, Arthur’s call came through like crazy.

The moment I picked up, his voice was distorted with rage and fear.

"Helen! What the hell do you think you’re doing bringing up those ancient stories?! Are you trying to start a war?!"

"You think you can threaten me with that? Let me tell you, everything you eat, wear, and use is provided by my family's grace!"

I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass window of the hotel, looking down at the busy city traffic.

"Your family's grace? You’ve never brought a single dollar home. Even the TV in the living room was bought with my bakery money."

He let out a contemptuous sneer over the phone.

"You’re just a street vendor! You think your petty bakery change makes you someone? Don't get cocky!"

"Your bakery savings passbook is still sitting in my drawer. I’m going to the bank right now to empty it!"

"I won't leave you a single penny. Let's see how you pay for that hotel room. Even if you beg me on your knees, I won't give you a single crumb of bread!"

With that, he slammed the phone down.

I looked at the black screen and deleted the photo of that expired savings account—which I had already closed months ago—from my phone.

Half an hour later, my phone rang again.

The moment I answered, Arthur screamed, "Helen! Where did you put the $200,000 savings?!"

I replied in a flat tone, "I reported the passbook lost and closed the account yesterday morning. The money has already been moved to my new personal account."

Arthur was panting heavily on the other end, his voice shaking.

"How dare you hide money from me! We are legally married. Your earnings are marital property! I have the right to use it!"

"Transfer the money to me right now! Vivian found an $11,000 Italian leather sofa and is waiting for me to pay!"

I let out a soft laugh.

"You used your pension to buy her a condo. Why didn't you call that marital property? If she wants a fancy sofa, let your elegant, clean first love pay for it herself."

"Helen, you bitch—"

I hung up and put his number on my block list.

Throwing my phone onto the bed, I went to the bathroom to take a long, hot bath.

Afterward, I called a local real estate agent I knew from the bakery area.

"Hey, Mark. That four-bedroom house under my name—list it for a quick sale. Put it at $50,000 below market value. Cash buyers only. The faster, the better."

Mark agreed instantly. "Don't worry, Helen. That school district is highly sought after. I’ll get on it right away."

After hanging up, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat by the window, watching the neon lights.

That four-bedroom house was paid for entirely with my hard-earned money for the down payment, and I was the one who woke up at 4 AM every day to pay off the mortgage.

When we got the deed years ago, Arthur insisted on putting Leo's name on it, claiming Leo was the sole male heir of the family and the house would be his eventually anyway.

But I had played it smart and insisted on keeping only my name on the title.

Arthur had called me selfish back then, accusing me of guarding against my own son. He froze me out for two months over it.

Looking back, that was probably the smartest decision I ever made.