Chapter 2

I handed Leo over to Arthur, then walked into the bedroom, giving Eleanor a meaningful glance.

"Mom, I need to transfer my $27,600 to your account."

"Why?"

"Nothing, it'll just be safer with you."

Eleanor stared at me.

"You and Derek..."

"I suspect he's cheating," I whispered, "but I don't have concrete proof yet. I need to secure my money first."

Eleanor's face paled. "That jerk!"

"Mom, please don't make a scene. I need to deal with him slowly."

"You're going to divorce him?"

"Yes. But I need to get the evidence first, otherwise Leo and I will get nothing."

Eleanor squeezed my hand. "My dear, you've suffered so much."

"I'm not suffering. I just regret."

Regret what?

Regret that five years ago, when he said, "Just be a stay-at-home mom, I'll take care of you," I believed him.

Regret quitting my job, staying home full-time with our child, losing my financial independence.

Regret that after we got married, his "I'll take care of you" turned into "You're spending *my* money."

But there was no point dwelling on that now. I had to get back what was mine.

That night, I sat on my parents' balcony, opening Derek's credit card statement.

Bali, 32 transactions. A total of $17,000.

Last year, when my dad was in the hospital for stent surgery, I asked Derek for $6,900.

He said:

"The company's cash flow is tight right now. I can only give you $690, the rest we'll discuss at the end of the year."

$690.

I *begged* him. He transferred the $690 and then told me,

"Your dad has his pension. Don't always come to me for money."

I remembered that day, standing in the hospital corridor, looking at the $690 on my phone, wanting to smash it.

Later, I used all my pre-marital savings to pay for my dad's surgery.

$20,700, money I'd saved for eight years.

When Derek found out, all he said was,

"You're so filial."

And that was it.

Now, he was spending $17,000 on his mistress in seven days.

An average of $2,400 a day.

I took a deep breath and continued scrolling through the statement.

Chloe sent a message.

"Found her. Skylar, born in 1999. Parents run a business out of state. She joined Derek's company two years ago as an assistant. Monthly salary, about $1,100."

"Recent movements?"

"Her social media has most people blocked, but I have my ways."

Chloe sent several screenshots.

Skylar's Ins post, three hours ago: a Bali sunset by the ocean, captioned,

"The most beautiful scenery is having you by my side."

In the photo, she wore a long dress, and that necklace sparkled in the setting sun.

The comments section had seven or eight likes.

One read: "With your boyfriend?"

Skylar replied: "Yep, he's great to me."

*Boyfriend*.

I chuckled.

"Can you connect me with a lawyer?"

"Divorce lawyer?"

"Yes, a specialist. Someone who's handled a lot of divorce cases."

"Okay, I'll get you a contact tomorrow."

"Also, can you connect me with a private investigator?"

"You want..."

"I want concrete evidence. The kind that's admissible in court."

Chloe didn't say anything. A moment later:

"Any budget?"

"No, I have $27,600. I'll use it all."

"Alright, leave it to me."

I put down my phone, looking out at the night.

Derek, you probably expect me to cry, to make a scene, to corner you like some whiny mess.

But I won't.

I'll calmly collect the evidence, then I'll strip you clean in court.

Every single penny you spent on Skylar, I'll make you cough it up, principal and interest.