Model Wife's Secret Performances - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

My mother was a hurricane in human form—unyielding, controlling, the undisputed queen of our household.
That's exactly why I bolted the second I graduated and never looked back, not even after marriage.
Once she set her mind to something, there was no negotiating.
If she threatened to break my legs? She'd do it without blinking.
I shot Sophia a bitter smirk. "Bravo. You even had her fooled. Oscar-worthy performance."
Sophia's eyes welled up, her voice quivering with fake devastation. "Baby, it was just a misunderstanding. Why can't you let it go?"
Isabella rolled her eyes at me. "I was the one who almost got scammed, and I'm not throwing a tantrum. Why are you being so dramatic?"
Even my dad piled on, urging me to "take the high road."
Before I could fire back, my mother seized my ear and hauled me into the bedroom like a misbehaving child.
"Just us now. We're settling this. Sophia, don't worry—this idiot won't dare cross me."
The door clicked shut behind us. She adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses, eyes sharp as a blade.
"You're not divorcing her. Not yet."
I scoffed. "I can't even stand the sight of her. Every word out of her mouth is a lie."
She didn't flinch. "I know. But the properties, the shops, the cars—they're all marital assets."
"Divorce now, and you walk away with nothing."
I snapped. "So what? You expect me to sell my dignity—my sanity—for a paycheck? Play the happy idiot while she makes a joke out of me?"
"Not everyone's like you, Mom. Not everyone treats people like transactions. You lawyers—always strategizing, always cold. Is that really living?"
"I just want a normal life. Real emotions. Real trust."
She sighed, disappointment carved into her face. "Did I stop you? When I warned you not to marry her, did you listen?"
"You're just like your father—all impulse, no foresight. No wonder you'll never get anywhere."
I opened my mouth, but she cut me off.
"Fine. Divorce her—but not yet. If they scammed my son, they'll pay for it first."
"Give me the evidence. I'll handle the rest."
Then it hit me.
"Mom… you—"
A slow smirk curled her lips as she adjusted her glasses. "Did you really think I'd fall for that cheap act?"
I exhaled hard and pulled up the email from two nights ago.
New photos.
There was Theodore—that greasy, bloated bastard—groping Sophia and Isabella in some VIP booth.
He smeared food over their skin like some perverted "art project."
After our fight, I'd almost caved. Almost believed her.
These pictures burned whatever hope was left.
The rage had burned out. Now there was just… nothing.
I didn't know what I felt anymore—just the need to run. Run from the lies. Run from the woman who'd played me for a fool.
But there was more. A recording.
"Sophia, your husband didn't catch our little code last night, did he?"
"Please. If he had, I wouldn't be here. Though he took his frustration out on me. At least I won't embarrass myself tonight."
"Oh? Embarrassment never stopped clients from paying for your… special services. You've done it before."
"Ugh. Last time, the guy left marks everywhere. Took layers of makeup to hide it from him…"