Chapter 4

Quinn frowned and caught my wrist.

"Tessa, stop making trouble."

"Cindy got her period out of nowhere and ruined her clothes, so she couldn't make it to the Michelin place."

"That's why I came back to cook for her myself, to fix her something to eat."

When a person is truly speechless, they really do laugh out loud.

"Dean Matthews. You're the boss, cooking for your secretary."

"And her period, that's a private thing. How did she even feel comfortable telling you about it?"

I was six months pregnant, and I'd wanted to eat something Dean cooked with his own hands.

Instead, Cindy blocked the money for my groceries.

Said the allowance was over the limit, that I could apply again next month.

When I got my period, Dean thought even buying me a pack of pads was too much trouble.

And on top of that, his germophobia.

That whole week he'd insist on sleeping in a separate room.

Yet now he was willing to lower himself, to cook for his little secretary.

"Tessa, pregnant women really can get short-tempered. Why don't you go rest for a while first? I'll call you when the food's ready."

Cindy, of all people, had taken on the airs of the lady of the house.

"Besides, I only came to your home for work. Don't read too much into it."

I'd had my fill of being angry. I grabbed the shopping bags and went straight back to the bedroom.

The clothes worth keeping went into the suitcase.

I took down the wedding photos.

And that whole stack of love letters Dean had written me back then went straight into the trash.

By the time I'd finished all that and came out to pour myself a glass of water, the two of them were already eating.

No one had called me.

Steaming dishes sat in front of Cindy.

Dean pulled a gift box out of his pocket.

"You've worked hard lately. Here, a gift from your boss."

Cindy took it, thrilled.

"Wow, isn't this the necklace I saw at the counter a few days ago?"

"This one's worth five million. And you're just giving it to me, like that."

Dean lifted his glass with a light smile.

"Of course. After all, the money you've saved me lately is worth more than this."

Cindy stood up happily. "Would you mind putting it on for me, Mr. Matthews?"

Dean gave her a doting smile and, sure enough, got to his feet.

I let the sarcasm fly.

"Don't you love saving money?"

"Dean Matthews, why are you so generous with your little secretary?"

"Five million, handed over just like that. So your money-saving rules only ever applied to me."

Dean frowned.

"Tessa, you're pregnant, you don't earn a single cent, and yet here you are trying to manage me."

He said it was a bonus and a gift for her.

Because of her money management.

Because she'd saved him so much.

He laid out a whole justified speech.

Right. No matter how they spent, there was always a reason for it.

But when I spent, it was waste.

"Tessa, you don't earn money, so you don't know how expensive daily life is."

"You used to throw money around far too carelessly."

"Now that Cindy helps manage your finances and cuts out the unnecessary spending and waste, that's a good thing."

Cindy. He said it so intimately.

Without either of us noticing, the two of them spent more time together, day and night, than I did as his wife.

"Since she's so good with money, then just divorce me and live with her."

I lifted my head and spoke with a sneer.

"And another thing, Dean Matthews. Is today the first day you've known me?"

"You knew exactly how wasteful I was, so why did you marry me in the first place?"

My words caught in his throat and his face went white.

He said one cold thing, "You're impossible," and turned and walked away.

The next day I woke up.

All the new clothes and the new bag Quinn had bought me.

Every last one confiscated by Cindy.

I stormed over to confront her, and Cindy folded her arms and spoke coldly.

"Tessa, I told you. Anything unreported can't be used without permission."

"You've already overdrawn next month's living allowance by three thousand. Pay that back first, and then we'll talk."

But I knew. Confiscated was just a word.

All of it had become her own personal property.

And I didn't want to endure it one second longer. I called Quinn right then.

"Are you free tomorrow morning? Come to the marriage license office."

On the other end came the sound of a glass shattering.

"Yes! Absolutely!"

"I'll cancel every meeting, cancel everything on my schedule. Even if the sky falls, I'll be there."

"Tessa, do you know? I've waited eight whole years for this day."

I tugged the corner of my mouth.

Eight years ago, Quinn and I started our companies at the same time.

He chased me for three years. I turned him down three times.

Back then I thought he was too immature, not my type at all.

He said childish things every day, and around me he was even more like a little kid.

Later I chose Dean.

Because he seemed honest, dependable, steady.

On my wedding day, Quinn was the only one who didn't come.

That night, dead drunk, he sent me a voice message.

"If the day ever comes when you can't go on, I'm here, anytime."

I never imagined those words would still hold, three years later.

Early the next morning, before I dragged my suitcase out of that house.

I went straight into the family account, entered the password, and transferred out the two hundred grand in savings I'd deposited with my own hands.

That was the money I'd set aside for my future child's diapers and formula.

Since I didn't want Dean anymore, of course the money should come with me.

Just as I was about to head out, my phone buzzed.

A group message from Cindy.

The group was called "the Matthews household finance chat group," with three members: me, Dean, and Cindy.

Cindy: "@Tessa Winfield, explain the purpose of the 200k transfer ten minutes ago. Minimum 500 words required, or double the amount will be deducted from next month's allowance."

Below it, Dean replied right after.

"Why on earth would you transfer out two hundred grand?"

"Tessa, the process still has to be followed. Don't put Cindy in a hard spot."

Transferring my own money, and I still had to explain myself to someone else.

I'd had more than enough of this kind of life.

I stared at the screen for three seconds, then typed my reply: "Divorce."