Chapter 4

That evening, I reported to the lounge for my first shift.

After changing into the black-and-red uniform, I sat in the break room, chewing on a cold convenience store bagel.

The shift manager walked in, holding up his phone to compare my face with the screen.

"Hey, you look an awful lot like Mrs. Cross from the news. You aren't here pulling some undercover stunt, are you?"

I waved my hand dismissively, taking another bite of the bagel.

"You've got the wrong girl. I'm nobody's billionaire wife."

He looked me up and down, taking in my cheap sneakers and tired eyes, and let out a chuckle.

"Fair enough. Ethan Cross's wife wouldn't end up looking like a stray dog. Finish up and get to work."

Since it was my first day, I was clumsy.

The head server was walking me through the routine, but the lounge quickly flooded with high-profile guests.

"Natalie! Take this bottle of Macallan to VIP Suite 8. Don't keep the client waiting!"

I grabbed the tray and navigated nervously down the dim hallway.

Drunk men occasionally whistled and tried to chat me up, but I kept my head down.

At the end of the corridor, I found Suite 8.

Just as I raised my hand to push the door open, I saw a painfully familiar figure lounging on the velvet sofa inside.

Ethan Cross.

He had clearly been drinking. For a man with an ironclad tolerance, his cheeks were flushed.

He wore an unbuttoned black silk shirt, leaning back against the leather cushions, lazily lighting a cigarette.

"Is three hundred thousand a month really too little for an allowance?"

His friend on the sofa stared at him in disbelief.

"Did I hear that right? Natalie burns through three hundred grand a month and it's still not enough?"

I recognized the man. It was Lucas Cole, Ethan's college buddy.

Ethan blew out a thin stream of smoke and hummed quietly.

"I thought she grew up terrified of poverty because of her gambling father. I thought she'd be careful with money."

"But Bianca told me she drains the account dry every month. High-end spas, private clubs, exclusive parties... she never stops."

Lucas nearly jumped off the sofa.

"Ethan, could she be bankrolling some pretty-boy gigolo behind your back? Damn, she looks so innocent, but she's wilding out!"

Ethan glanced at him, his eyes narrowing as he crushed the cigarette into the crystal ashtray.

"These past few days, she's gotten out of hand. She even claimed she's pregnant just to make Bianca wire her more cash."

"Last night, she cried to me about being broke. I had another hundred grand sent over."

He paused, throwing back the rest of his whiskey in one gulp.

"And this morning? She texted me. Said if I can't afford to take care of her, we should get a divorce."

Standing outside the door, every single word felt like a nail driven into my skull.

If I hadn't seen my own bank statement showing eighty bucks a month, I would have believed his tragic story.

If he wasn't sending it to me... who the hell was getting that money?

Trembling with a rage so fierce it burned, I couldn't take it anymore. I kicked the door wide open.

Ethan froze the second he saw me.

"Natalie? What are you doing here?"

Lucas turned pale and instinctively stood in front of Ethan. "Natalie, hey, calm down."

Calm down?

I had spent countless nights starving on eighty dollars while he thought he was pampering another woman with hundreds of thousands!

I smashed the expensive bottle of whiskey onto the floor.

Glass shattered, amber liquid splashing everywhere.

Neither of them dared to move.

I stepped forward and slapped Ethan across the face with everything I had left.

"Tell me, Ethan Cross. Just how many wives are you keeping?!"

Ethan's eyes turned red. He clenched his fists, grinding out each syllable:

"Only you."

My throat locked up. A cold laugh escaped my lips.

"Then why the hell am I only getting eighty dollars a month?!"