Chapter 1

My husband likes to save money.

Six months ago, he paid fifty grand a month to hire a young secretary named Cindy Farley, who came with the title of "money-management expert."

From that day on, every dollar I spent had to be approved.

A hundred-dollar set of pajamas. Denied.

The reason: I already had pajamas, and buying more was wasteful extravagance.

Two hundred dollars of cold medicine. Denied.

"A box of cold medicine is eight bucks. Can't you save your boss a little money?"

Even pregnant, my fifty-dollar request for a prenatal checkup

was turned down by that same little secretary.

"Tessa, whose kid needs two checkups a month? Mr. Matthews said using checkups as an excuse to squeeze out cash isn't acceptable."

The nurse kept pressing me to pay.

In the end I had to borrow from strangers all around me just to cover the bill.

On the way back from the hospital, big belly and all, I asked my husband for ten dollars for a cab.

On the other end, the secretary answered for him in seconds.

"Take the bus. If you take a cab, cab fare can't be reimbursed."

All at once I felt so tired. I dialed a number.

"Didn't you want to be my baby's godfather?"

"A stepdad. The kind written into the same household record. You want the job?"

1

"Of course I do!"

The voice on the other end was almost giddy.

"Don't tell me all my praying finally paid off. Heaven's finally looking out for you, and you've come to your senses."

"You're finally kicking that penny-pinching man to the curb?"

I sighed.

"It's enough that you said yes."

"Oh, and can you lend me ten dollars? For a cab."

Quinn Sanchez went quiet for a moment.

"You don't even have ten dollars in your pocket?"

"I don't."

I hung my head and sighed.

There was fifty-two cents left in my account. Not even enough for a roll.

Before I got married, I made a hundred grand a month.

A five-thousand-dollar Chanel bag without blinking. A thousand-dollar bracelet whenever I felt like it.

But after marrying Dean Matthews, after the wedding and the pregnancy,

I turned into Dean Matthews's personal asset too.

Not just the company accounts. Even the household assets he handed over entirely to his little secretary, Cindy Farley, to manage.

From then on, every cent I spent had to be approved by Cindy.

Five hundred dollars of clothes. Rejected.

Two hundred dollars of cold medicine. Also denied.

Worse than that, even the fifty-dollar checkup fee was something I had to scrape together myself.

And now I couldn't even cover ten dollars of cab fare.

"Dean Matthews is a complete bastard!"

Quinn cursed under his breath.

"Send me your address."

"Stay right there. I'll come get you now."

I shook my head. "Don't go to the trouble. Just transfer me the money and I can grab a cab."

The moment the message went out, two thousand dollars landed in my account.

"Spend it however you want. Don't shortchange yourself."

My eyes went damp.

My husband of three years cared about me less than a childhood friend I hadn't talked to in six months.

"Thank you."

Afraid he'd hear my voice catch, I thanked him and hung up.

I stood at the curb with my big belly, getting ready to hail a cab.

Then a black car pulled up in front of me, and the window rolled down.

Behind it was my husband, Dean Matthews.

"Tessa Winfield, what are you doing standing here?"

I looked at Cindy Farley in the passenger seat, all dolled up. "Waiting for a ride."

Cindy, in the middle of touching up her makeup, frowned when she heard that.

"Tessa, why are you out here trying to catch a cab again?"

"Didn't I tell you? Your budget for the month only covers the bus."

"So spoiled. You've got a baby in there. Careful, all this wastefulness will end up raising the kid wrong."

I clenched my fists. "Cindy, I'm pregnant."

I'd just let three cabs go by. The second the drivers saw I was pregnant, they refused to take me.

"What if something happens to you and you pin it on me? I don't take pregnant women."

But hearing all that, Dean only spoke in an offhand tone.

"So you're pregnant. So what?"

"There are plenty of pregnant women in this world. Nobody else makes such a fuss about it."

"You think you're special?"

All I could do was fire back coldly, "Other women have husbands to pick them up. What about me?"

My husband spent every day using work as an excuse, busy eating, drinking, and playing around with his little secretary.

Right then, Cindy spoke up in that fake, sugary tone.

"Tessa, I'm really not trying to give you a hard time."

"Scientifically speaking, it's good for a pregnant woman to walk around more."

"Besides, we live in a society of laws now. The bus isn't as miserable as you think."