Chapter 3

Everyone around me stared in shock, but I simply smirked, a self-deprecating curve tugging at my lips.

For years, I’d been stuck using the oldest, most outdated equipment in the company.

Every time the company upgraded its tech, I’d submit a request for a new computer. And every time, Monica would reject it with a frown.

“Why are you so vain?” she’d say. “Your old computer still works, doesn’t it? Stop being wasteful.”

But when it came to Tim, she never settled for less. Anything he wanted, she gave him in full—except for her last name.

Once upon a time, the blatant disparity in how she treated us would’ve made my blood boil. It might’ve even broken my heart.

But not anymore.

Now, all I could feel was a strange sense of detachment, perhaps even amusement.

Monica couldn’t wait to help Tim rise to the top. This was what true love looked like, wasn’t it?

Shaking off the thought, I nodded at the HR manager, turned on my heel, and walked away from the company I had devoted my life to.

After leaving the office, I drove to a funeral supply store.

I figured if I was going to die, I might as well do it with a little dignity.

The clerk showed me the options, but my funds were limited. Most of my money had already gone to prepay the mortician for handling my body when the time came. So I settled for the cheapest burial suit they had.

Clutching the suit in my arms, I stepped out of the store, only to hear the roar of a motorcycle speeding past.

The exhaust fumes choked me, making me cough.

A few seconds later, the bike circled back and skidded to a stop in front of me.

From the backseat, a girl hopped off—a teenager with smoky makeup, a crop top, and an attitude to match.

It was Julia.

She sauntered over, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Well, well, look who’s still alive. Hurry up and transfer me ten grand. My boyfriend wants a new bike.”

Her words were like a slap to the face, but I forced myself to stay calm.

“I don’t have any money,” I said flatly.

Julia rolled her eyes, her heavily made-up face twisting in disbelief.

“Yeah, right. You’re broke? Please. Mom would never leave you without money.”

Her voice was filled with scorn.

And why wouldn’t she think that? To outsiders, I was the epitome of a kept man—a trophy husband in a wealthy family.

But the truth was far less glamorous.

Monica never trusted me with money. My salary went directly into her account, and every expense—no matter how small—had to be approved by her.

Even when I needed a pack of cigarettes, she’d insist I buy the cheapest brand.

To make ends meet, I took on side gigs to scrape together a little extra cash.

When I was diagnosed with the tumor, I brought the medical bills to Monica and asked for help.

Her reaction?

She accused me of scamming her, called me a liar, and demanded to know why I thought she’d hand over ten grand as if her money grew on trees.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she locked me in the house to “reflect on my behavior” and took Tim on a private flight to Alaska to see the northern lights.

While I was locked up, my mother passed away.

I never got to see her one last time.

When I heard the news, my relatives told me she’d died with tears streaming down her face, cursing me for being a selfish son who had married an even more selfish wife.

The memory still stung, but I forced it down and focused on the girl in front of me.

Julia smirked, clearly enjoying the situation.

“Fine,” she said, flipping her hair. “If you’re not giving me money, I’ll just ask Uncle Tim. He’s way better than you—rich, handsome, and actually fun to be around.”

Her words didn’t hurt me. Not anymore.

I stared at her for a moment, wondering how the sweet girl I’d raised had turned into... this.

When Tim first came back into our lives, Monica had all but abandoned us. I became both mom and dad, pouring everything I had into raising Julia.

She used to be on my side, throwing icy glares and sharp words at Monica and Tim.

But everything changed when she turned 17.

She fell for a dropout with bleached hair—a boy who dragged her into his chaotic world. She dropped out of school, started skipping curfews, and regularly demanded money from me.

I tried to stop her, to pull her back onto the right path.

But one day, when I confronted her boyfriend, he showed up with a group of his friends and beat me within an inch of my life.

And Julia?

She stood on the sidelines, cheering them on.

“Toughen up, old man!” she’d yelled. “Learn your lesson!”

After that, something in me broke.

I stopped trying to save her.

Later, when I was recovering from my injuries, she showed up, all smiles and apologies. She promised to make it up to me, even offering to spend my birthday with me.

I waited all day for her.

Instead, I saw a video Tim posted on social media.

In it, Julia was at a lavish dinner, hugging Tim’s arm and giggling as she said, “Happy vacation, Dad! Hope you and Mom have an amazing time in Florence!”

Then she accepted a fat red envelope from him with a bright, grateful smile.

I’d been in the kitchen preparing dinner when I saw the post. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor, my head pounding, the tumor finally catching up with me.

Now, standing in front of her again, I felt... nothing.

I let out a small sigh and said, “Go ahead. Ask Tim for the money.”

Then, after a pause, I added:

“Oh, and by the way, your mom and I are divorced now. You can stop calling him Uncle Tim. Just call him Dad—it suits him better.”