When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love - Chapter 30: Chapter 30
You are reading When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love, Chapter 30: Chapter 30. Read more chapters of When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love.
After that day, Marcus and I entered a cold war.
Or rather, I unilaterally shut down our communication channels.
He still kept track of expenses on schedule, sending me the monthly statements right on time.
I numbly transferred the money, not bothering to say a single word to him.
He probably thought I was being unreasonable and welcomed the peace, investing more energy in his stock charts.
The atmosphere at home was colder than our freezer.
One month before my due date, an even louder slap hit me completely out of nowhere.
That evening, Marcus was on the phone in the study with the door slightly ajar.
He probably thought I was asleep in the master bedroom.
His deliberately lowered voice carried a barely contained excitement, drifting out in fragments:
"...Yeah, Dad, it's all set! ...That new development on the east side, two-bedroom, good school district..."
"I scraped together $90k for the down payment, plus the $40k you guys are giving me—that'll cover it!"
"Put it under you and Mom's names? Sure! No problem!"
"The mortgage? Yeah, my 401k can cover most of it, the monthly payments won't be too stressful."
"Evelyn? She doesn't need to know! This is money I saved myself, has nothing to do with her!"
"She's about to pop, been moody as hell, walking around with this sour face all the time."
"The fifty-fifty thing? Ha, don't worry, she won't get a penny of our family's money! When the baby comes, I'll pay my fair share down to the cent, but anything that's not my responsibility, she can forget about it..."
I stood in the shadows of the hallway outside the door, hands and feet ice-cold, my blood seemingly frozen solid.
Ninety thousand dollars.
Marcus had quietly saved up ninety thousand dollars.
During our three years of strict fifty-fifty marriage, where every penny was accounted for, he'd managed to stash away ninety thousand dollars!
And me?
To "fairly" split the mortgage and living expenses with him, to pay for those damn "personal expenses" and half of our "shared responsibilities," my paychecks disappeared every month, and I'd even dipped into my meager pre-marriage savings.
After getting pregnant, with expenses skyrocketing, I had to think three times before buying myself a comfortable pair of shoes.
Turns out, his so-called "financial transparency" and "contractual spirit" only applied to me.
He was like a industrious worker ant, secretly and steadily moving "family" resources back to his own nest—his parents' place.
That house with his parents' names on the deed was his carefully constructed fortress, completely separate from me and our about-to-be-born child.
And he was still gloating on the phone: "She won't get a penny of our family's money!"
The massive absurdity and ice-cold rage wrapped around my heart like two venomous snakes, squeezing tighter and tighter.
I had to brace myself against the wall to keep from storming in there and tearing that hypocritical face apart.
The baby seemed to sense my intense emotional turmoil and started kicking restlessly.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm.
Burst in there for a screaming match?
Besides venting, it would be pointless.
It would only make him more cautious.
I silently retreated to the master bedroom and gently closed the door.
Back against the door in the darkness, I rubbed my violently heaving belly, my teeth grinding audibly.
No tears would come—just burning hatred.
Marcus, well, well, well.
You played this real smart.
If you want to play the numbers game, then let's play—a bigger one.
After that night, I completely changed.
With Marcus, I stopped giving him cold looks and stopped trying to communicate.
I became unusually calm, even "cooperative."
He'd send the bill, I'd transfer instantly.
He'd ask about prenatal appointments, I'd briefly give him time and location.
He'd fake concern with "how are you feeling today," I'd respond with "fine."
Like two precisely running programs that didn't interfere with each other.
Marcus seemed satisfied with this arrangement, thinking I'd finally "seen the light" and returned to being "rational."
He continued drowning himself in his charts and his upcoming new house.
A week before my due date, I applied for early maternity leave.
Marcus was slightly surprised: "This early? What about work..."
"My body can't handle it anymore. Doctor's orders to rest." I cut him off flatly.
He didn't say anything else, probably calculating that with my income gone, he might have to cover more of the month-end "shared expenses"—not very cost-effective.
But he didn't show it.
The second day of my leave, I called Riley.
"Riley, I need a favor."
"Shoot! You finally remembered I exist? Did that bastard Marcus mess with you again?" Riley was fired up on the other end.
"I need a lawyer—someone who specializes in marriage and property disputes, especially handling concealed asset transfers." My voice was steady as stone.
Two seconds of silence, then an explosion of volume: "Holy shit! Evie, you finally woke up?! Hold on! My cousin does exactly this! She's a total shark—eats guys like him for breakfast! I'll send you her contact info right now!"
"Thanks." I paused. "Also, help me find a reliable private investigator. I need some things looked into. Money's no object."
"Done! I've got you covered!" Riley's voice was full of fighting spirit. "Evie, you should've done this ages ago! Why keep trash like that around?"
After hanging up, I walked to the living room.
Marcus was sitting on "his" couch, using "his" tablet to browse real estate listings, with a barely detectable smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Sunlight streamed through the window onto him, but it couldn't warm the ice in my eyes.
The game was just beginning.
Or rather, I unilaterally shut down our communication channels.
He still kept track of expenses on schedule, sending me the monthly statements right on time.
I numbly transferred the money, not bothering to say a single word to him.
He probably thought I was being unreasonable and welcomed the peace, investing more energy in his stock charts.
The atmosphere at home was colder than our freezer.
One month before my due date, an even louder slap hit me completely out of nowhere.
That evening, Marcus was on the phone in the study with the door slightly ajar.
He probably thought I was asleep in the master bedroom.
His deliberately lowered voice carried a barely contained excitement, drifting out in fragments:
"...Yeah, Dad, it's all set! ...That new development on the east side, two-bedroom, good school district..."
"I scraped together $90k for the down payment, plus the $40k you guys are giving me—that'll cover it!"
"Put it under you and Mom's names? Sure! No problem!"
"The mortgage? Yeah, my 401k can cover most of it, the monthly payments won't be too stressful."
"Evelyn? She doesn't need to know! This is money I saved myself, has nothing to do with her!"
"She's about to pop, been moody as hell, walking around with this sour face all the time."
"The fifty-fifty thing? Ha, don't worry, she won't get a penny of our family's money! When the baby comes, I'll pay my fair share down to the cent, but anything that's not my responsibility, she can forget about it..."
I stood in the shadows of the hallway outside the door, hands and feet ice-cold, my blood seemingly frozen solid.
Ninety thousand dollars.
Marcus had quietly saved up ninety thousand dollars.
During our three years of strict fifty-fifty marriage, where every penny was accounted for, he'd managed to stash away ninety thousand dollars!
And me?
To "fairly" split the mortgage and living expenses with him, to pay for those damn "personal expenses" and half of our "shared responsibilities," my paychecks disappeared every month, and I'd even dipped into my meager pre-marriage savings.
After getting pregnant, with expenses skyrocketing, I had to think three times before buying myself a comfortable pair of shoes.
Turns out, his so-called "financial transparency" and "contractual spirit" only applied to me.
He was like a industrious worker ant, secretly and steadily moving "family" resources back to his own nest—his parents' place.
That house with his parents' names on the deed was his carefully constructed fortress, completely separate from me and our about-to-be-born child.
And he was still gloating on the phone: "She won't get a penny of our family's money!"
The massive absurdity and ice-cold rage wrapped around my heart like two venomous snakes, squeezing tighter and tighter.
I had to brace myself against the wall to keep from storming in there and tearing that hypocritical face apart.
The baby seemed to sense my intense emotional turmoil and started kicking restlessly.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm.
Burst in there for a screaming match?
Besides venting, it would be pointless.
It would only make him more cautious.
I silently retreated to the master bedroom and gently closed the door.
Back against the door in the darkness, I rubbed my violently heaving belly, my teeth grinding audibly.
No tears would come—just burning hatred.
Marcus, well, well, well.
You played this real smart.
If you want to play the numbers game, then let's play—a bigger one.
After that night, I completely changed.
With Marcus, I stopped giving him cold looks and stopped trying to communicate.
I became unusually calm, even "cooperative."
He'd send the bill, I'd transfer instantly.
He'd ask about prenatal appointments, I'd briefly give him time and location.
He'd fake concern with "how are you feeling today," I'd respond with "fine."
Like two precisely running programs that didn't interfere with each other.
Marcus seemed satisfied with this arrangement, thinking I'd finally "seen the light" and returned to being "rational."
He continued drowning himself in his charts and his upcoming new house.
A week before my due date, I applied for early maternity leave.
Marcus was slightly surprised: "This early? What about work..."
"My body can't handle it anymore. Doctor's orders to rest." I cut him off flatly.
He didn't say anything else, probably calculating that with my income gone, he might have to cover more of the month-end "shared expenses"—not very cost-effective.
But he didn't show it.
The second day of my leave, I called Riley.
"Riley, I need a favor."
"Shoot! You finally remembered I exist? Did that bastard Marcus mess with you again?" Riley was fired up on the other end.
"I need a lawyer—someone who specializes in marriage and property disputes, especially handling concealed asset transfers." My voice was steady as stone.
Two seconds of silence, then an explosion of volume: "Holy shit! Evie, you finally woke up?! Hold on! My cousin does exactly this! She's a total shark—eats guys like him for breakfast! I'll send you her contact info right now!"
"Thanks." I paused. "Also, help me find a reliable private investigator. I need some things looked into. Money's no object."
"Done! I've got you covered!" Riley's voice was full of fighting spirit. "Evie, you should've done this ages ago! Why keep trash like that around?"
After hanging up, I walked to the living room.
Marcus was sitting on "his" couch, using "his" tablet to browse real estate listings, with a barely detectable smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Sunlight streamed through the window onto him, but it couldn't warm the ice in my eyes.
The game was just beginning.
End of When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love Chapter 30. Continue reading Chapter 31 or return to When He Chose Her Over Justice, I Chose Revenge Over Love book page.