Chapter 2

I didn't go home. I drove straight to the bank.

Sitting on the cold, hard chair in the lobby, my heart hammered against my ribs.

When the teller handed me the balance slip for that card, my hands trembled violently.

Available balance: $13,421.

I crumpled the slip in my fist, took a shaky breath, and pushed it back across the glass window.

"Could you please print the complete transaction history from six months ago until today? I need every page stamped."

The teller took the card and gave me a cautious look. "Do you have your ID on you? We need to verify authorization for large transaction records."

I slid my driver's license through the slot, my fingers frozen.

For the next thirty minutes, Ethan's smiling face and Chloe's slinky bathrobe flashed behind my eyes on a loop.

Half an hour later, I finally walked out holding a thick stack of printed statements.

I still didn't head home. Instead, I drove to a quiet coffee shop near my office.

I tucked myself into the most secluded corner and spread the papers out across the table, one by one.

Every single withdrawal was a red-hot needle stabbing into my eyes.

The first massive transaction happened six months ago—a lump sum of $35,000 wired to an entity called 'Apex Design & Remodeling LLC.'

I pulled out my phone and searched the business registry.

The registered agent and owner was none other than Chloe's older brother, Sean.

My stomach plummeted into an abyss.

Ethan was a licensed general contractor. He had his own trusted interior designers and sub-crews.

Why on earth would he pay $35,000 to an outside design boutique?

The answer was sickeningly obvious.

I kept scrolling down the list.

Tens of thousands of dollars spent at high-end building supply stores:

"Cartier Imported Marble Tiles": $9,800.

"Porcelain Slab Accent Walls": $11,300.

"Custom Italian Cabinetry": $22,000.

These were ultra-luxury designer brands with astronomical price tags—nothing my frugal, practical parents would ever dream of buying.

What made my blood run even colder were the bizarre personal charges scattered throughout:

"Nordstrom Fine Jewelry": $6,200.

My parents never wore fancy gold or diamonds. Who did Ethan buy that for?

"Tesla Service Center": Scheduled maintenance and tires, $1,500.

Ethan drove a battered work pickup, and I drove a modest Honda Civic. Neither of us owned a Tesla.

Chloe did.

Her cherry-red Model 3 was parked right across from our garage every single day.

Page by page, my hands grew colder.

I had actually believed he was pouring his heart and soul into building a safe haven for my parents. Turns out, he was draining my parents' retirement fund.

He was using it to build a lavish paradise for another woman and her family.

That money was earned with blood, sweat, and calloused hands on construction sites and night shifts.

It was supposed to be their safety net for the rest of their lives.

Now, it had been turned into gold on a mistress's wrist, luxury finishes in a mistress's apartment, and maintenance fees on a mistress's luxury EV.

I organized the statements chronologically and circled every suspicious charge in bright red ink.

Apex Design: $35,000.

Custom cabinetry: $22,000.

Jewelry: $6,200.

I added them up, my finger stabbing repeatedly at the calculator until it went numb.

Finally, the screen flashed a total: $71,800.

Terrified that I had miscalculated, I ran the numbers again. It came out exactly the same.

Over seventy thousand dollars.

Out of the $86,000 gone from that account, over $70,000 had been spent directly or indirectly on Chloe.

I slammed the calculator face down on the table, bile rising in my throat.

My iced Americano had melted into lukewarm water, untouched.

I sat there, motionless as a statue, until the sky outside the window turned completely pitch-black.

I pulled out my phone and tapped open Ethan's profile on SnapChat.

His wallpaper was still our wedding photo.

In the picture, his smile was so bright, holding me close like I meant the entire world to him.

What a sick joke.

I locked my phone, slipped all the stamped financial records carefully into my tote bag.

This wasn't the end. This was just the opening act.

Ethan. Chloe.

We are going to settle every single cent of this debt.