Chapter 4

"Chloe, come, let me introduce you. This is Lawyer Jennifer, hired by your father-in-law."

On the third evening, my father-in-law, Richard Miller, arrived.

And he wasn't alone. William, Beatrice, Tiffany, Uncle George, Aunt Martha, and a short-haired woman named Jennifer—seven people in total—had spent fifteen minutes arguing with the front desk in the hallway.

The facility finally compromised, letting in three people at a time.

The first group: Richard, Beatrice, and William.

I had barely met Richard a handful of times. He lived in the suburbs, ran a small business, and was a man of few words, but when he spoke, he demanded absolute authority.

He didn't look at me when he entered. Instead, he scanned the room.

"How much does this room cost a day?"

"A thousand," William answered for me.

"Wastrel."

Richard finally looked at me. His gaze was identical to William’s—scanning me from head to toe, as if evaluating a discounted item.

"Chloe, you're thirty years old. What’s wrong with William managing the money for you? There shouldn't be any divide between husband and wife."

"He transferred 1.92 million from my account to a woman named Daisy Carter."

The room fell dead silent for a second.

Richard shot a glance at William.

William remained completely unfazed.

"She's lying."

"Do you want to see the bank records? A Mercedes C-Class, a rented apartment, and she's four months pregnant."

To my surprise, Richard’s expression barely changed. It was as if he already knew—or simply didn't care.

"It's normal for a man to have some entertainment outside."

"Entertaining her all the way to four months pregnant?"

"That's enough!" Beatrice slapped her thigh and stood up. "Are you ever going to drop this? Since you married into our family, what’s yours is ours!"

The second group swapped in. Aunt Martha started wiping away fake tears the moment she walked through the door.

"Chloe, you and William are husband and wife. You share a bond. What obstacle can't you overcome?"

Lawyer Jennifer sat in the corner, remaining quiet until Aunt Martha finished her dramatic performance. Then, she opened her briefcase.

"Miss Vance, I’ll get straight to the point. If William files for divorce and applies for sole custody—he has a stable residence and his parents' assistance. Meanwhile, you currently have no record of active income, and your bank account balance is less than ten thousand dollars."

"That’s because he stole my money."

"The facts on paper are the facts on paper," Jennifer said rapidly, devoid of warmth. "Furthermore, according to reports, your recent mental state has been unstable, with severe postpartum mood swings. If we request a psychiatric evaluation—"

"Are you threatening a woman who just gave birth?"

"I am merely stating possibilities."

Jennifer shut her folder.

"William's demands are simple. First, sign the joint asset agreement. Second, recover your health as soon as possible and prepare for a second child."

"There will be no second child."

"That is between you and your husband."

They left one by one. The footsteps in the hallway gradually faded.

Then, a light set of footsteps sneaked back.

Tiffany slipped through the door like a stray cat.

"Chloe."

"Get out."

"Chloe, look at this."

She held her phone in front of my face.

It was a Snapchat chat screen. The contact on the other end was named "Daisy."

The latest message was sent five minutes ago.

Daisy: "Babe, did she sign the asset agreement yet? Once she signs, dump her so we can be together legally."

Below was William's reply: "Soon. She won't be able to hold out on her own."

And another one below that—

Daisy: "Tiffany, did you list those bags for me yet? How much did that Birkin sell for?"

Tiffany's hand was shaking slightly as she held the phone.

"You see, Chloe. I'm telling you this because Daisy and I had a falling out. We agreed I’d get a thirty percent cut of the items sold, but now she told William not to give me a single dime."

"So you're not here to help me. You're here because you didn't get your share of the stolen goods."

"Chloe—"

"Get out."

She scurried away.

The room fell quiet again.

I leaned against the bed, my stitches throbbing.

Then, I pulled out the backup phone. I didn't call Uncle Arthur. I dialed another number.

It rang three times before connecting.

"President Vance?"

"Three things. First, prepare a complete audit report of all assets during my marriage with William Miller. Second, draft the layoff list for the latest round of restructuring at Vance Enterprises."

"Third—notify the board. I am returning to the office next Monday."