He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
You are reading He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters?, Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Read more chapters of He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters?.
My dad suddenly collapsed—massive heart attack. Needed emergency bypass surgery.
The surgery would cost three hundred thousand.
We were just a regular working-class family. There was no way we could pull together that kind of money on short notice.
After calming down my mother who was crying so hard she could barely breathe, I hung up and immediately called Nash.
This was the first time I'd reached out to him in months.
The phone rang forever before he picked up.
"Yeah?" His voice sounded distant, with ocean waves in the background.
"My dad's in the hospital—he needs three hundred thousand for emergency surgery. Can you—"
"I'm in a meeting right now," he cut me off. "We'll talk later."
"Nash, this is life or death!" I was practically screaming.
A few seconds of silence, then his irritated voice: "Got it. Company's having some cash flow issues right now. I'll figure something out."
Then he hung up.
Cold, emotionless, so strange.
I stood there in the hospital corridor, gripping my phone, feeling like my soul had been drained from my body.
Then, all the afternoon, no call, no text.
Around evening, a friend sent me a message.
A screenshot from a car dealer's Instagram story.
In the photo, Sofia was beaming next to a brand-new red Porsche convertible.
The man standing beside her was—Nash.
The dealer's caption: "Congrats to Miss Sofia on her new ride! Thanks to Mr. Nash's generosity—relationship goals right here!"
I recognized this car - a Porsche 718.
Nash had mentioned it to me before, priced around $600,000. Enough money for my dad to have the surgery twice over.
So his cash flow problems only applied to me.
So my father's life wasn't worth as much as his mistress's smile.
I stared at that photo for the longest time.
Suddenly laughed.
I pulled out my phone and transferred fifty thousand to my mom—my entire savings.
"Mom, I'll figure out the rest. Don't worry."
Then I texted the lawyer.
"I've got enough evidence. Let's start the proceedings tomorrow."
In the nest day, when I slammed the divorce papers and a thick stack of photos, receipts, and chat screenshots in front of Nash, he was reviewing some documents in his office.
He looked up, saw the pile, seemed stunned for a second, then broke into that familiar, contemptuous smirk.
"Lila, what's this drama now?"
He pushed the evidence aside without even glancing at it.
"Is this really worth all this fuss?"
"All this fuss?" I stared at him, this man who'd become a complete stranger.
"Nash, what would be worth it in your eyes? Do I need to be dead for it to matter?"
My words caught him off guard. His brow furrowed.
"Why do you have to be so extreme?"
"Who's being extreme—me or you?" I pointed at the red Porsche photo.
"My dad's lying in a hospital bed needing money to survive, and you're buying your side piece a six-hundred-thousand-dollar car! And you're calling me extreme?"
My voice was loud, almost hysterical.
All the hurt, rage, and despair from these past months came pouring out at once.
Nash's expression finally shifted. He picked up the photo, looking conflicted.
"This isn't..." He seemed to want to explain.
"Don't bother." I cut him off, my voice returning to a calm, dead-water kind of stillness. "Look over the agreement. All our assets split 70-30—you're the guilty party. If you don't agree, we'll see each other in court. This evidence is enough to destroy your reputation and business completely."
He stared at me for the longest time, speechless.
He probably never expected that mild-mannered me would say something like that.
Finally, he grabbed a pen and quickly scrawled his signature on the divorce papers.
"Lila," he threw the papers at me, his voice cold as ice, "you're gonna regret this."
I picked up the agreement, didn't even look at him, turned and walked away, leaving only one sentence:
"My biggest regret is marrying you in the first place."
The surgery would cost three hundred thousand.
We were just a regular working-class family. There was no way we could pull together that kind of money on short notice.
After calming down my mother who was crying so hard she could barely breathe, I hung up and immediately called Nash.
This was the first time I'd reached out to him in months.
The phone rang forever before he picked up.
"Yeah?" His voice sounded distant, with ocean waves in the background.
"My dad's in the hospital—he needs three hundred thousand for emergency surgery. Can you—"
"I'm in a meeting right now," he cut me off. "We'll talk later."
"Nash, this is life or death!" I was practically screaming.
A few seconds of silence, then his irritated voice: "Got it. Company's having some cash flow issues right now. I'll figure something out."
Then he hung up.
Cold, emotionless, so strange.
I stood there in the hospital corridor, gripping my phone, feeling like my soul had been drained from my body.
Then, all the afternoon, no call, no text.
Around evening, a friend sent me a message.
A screenshot from a car dealer's Instagram story.
In the photo, Sofia was beaming next to a brand-new red Porsche convertible.
The man standing beside her was—Nash.
The dealer's caption: "Congrats to Miss Sofia on her new ride! Thanks to Mr. Nash's generosity—relationship goals right here!"
I recognized this car - a Porsche 718.
Nash had mentioned it to me before, priced around $600,000. Enough money for my dad to have the surgery twice over.
So his cash flow problems only applied to me.
So my father's life wasn't worth as much as his mistress's smile.
I stared at that photo for the longest time.
Suddenly laughed.
I pulled out my phone and transferred fifty thousand to my mom—my entire savings.
"Mom, I'll figure out the rest. Don't worry."
Then I texted the lawyer.
"I've got enough evidence. Let's start the proceedings tomorrow."
In the nest day, when I slammed the divorce papers and a thick stack of photos, receipts, and chat screenshots in front of Nash, he was reviewing some documents in his office.
He looked up, saw the pile, seemed stunned for a second, then broke into that familiar, contemptuous smirk.
"Lila, what's this drama now?"
He pushed the evidence aside without even glancing at it.
"Is this really worth all this fuss?"
"All this fuss?" I stared at him, this man who'd become a complete stranger.
"Nash, what would be worth it in your eyes? Do I need to be dead for it to matter?"
My words caught him off guard. His brow furrowed.
"Why do you have to be so extreme?"
"Who's being extreme—me or you?" I pointed at the red Porsche photo.
"My dad's lying in a hospital bed needing money to survive, and you're buying your side piece a six-hundred-thousand-dollar car! And you're calling me extreme?"
My voice was loud, almost hysterical.
All the hurt, rage, and despair from these past months came pouring out at once.
Nash's expression finally shifted. He picked up the photo, looking conflicted.
"This isn't..." He seemed to want to explain.
"Don't bother." I cut him off, my voice returning to a calm, dead-water kind of stillness. "Look over the agreement. All our assets split 70-30—you're the guilty party. If you don't agree, we'll see each other in court. This evidence is enough to destroy your reputation and business completely."
He stared at me for the longest time, speechless.
He probably never expected that mild-mannered me would say something like that.
Finally, he grabbed a pen and quickly scrawled his signature on the divorce papers.
"Lila," he threw the papers at me, his voice cold as ice, "you're gonna regret this."
I picked up the agreement, didn't even look at him, turned and walked away, leaving only one sentence:
"My biggest regret is marrying you in the first place."
End of He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? book page.