Chapter 1The Debt You Owe Me

When Victoria's family lost everything, I lived in a cramped, windowless basement with her. I worked three jobs a day to help her rebuild her empire from the ground up.

When she finally reached the pinnacle of success, she promised to give me a real home.

Yet, in the third year of our marriage, I accidentally stumbled upon the property deed to our marital home. Under the owner's name, I saw the name of her first love.

With red, tearful eyes, she explained, "This is what I owe him."

I nodded slowly. I pulled out a photograph from our days in that suffocating basement, showing a tiny folding table completely buried under a mountain of debt collection notices, and pushed it across the table.

"You paid off your debt to him with a house. So, how are you going to pay back what you owe me?"

* * *

I gently slid the property deed across the table toward Victoria.

The words "Owner: Tristan" stung my eyes like shards of glass.

Victoria's face instantly drained of color. She instinctively reached out to snatch the paper away, but her hand froze in midair.

"Joey, please listen to me..."

Her voice was hoarse, her eyes rapidly turning red. It was a look I knew all too well. Whenever she felt guilty about wronging me, she would put on this innocent, fragile expression.

There was a time when that look would break my heart.

"Alright. I am listening," I said, picking up my glass of warm water. My tone was unnervingly calm.

She stared at me, a flicker of panic flashing through her eyes. My absolute composure seemed to terrify her.

"Tristan... he hasn't been doing well."

She struggled to get the words out. "Years ago, my parents violently opposed our relationship and forced us apart. It triggered severe depression for him. He had to drop out of college, and his entire life was nearly ruined."

"So, this house is my way of compensating him. Joey, this is what I owe him."

I nodded, signaling that I understood.

"And what about what you owe me?"

Victoria froze, looking at me as if I were speaking a foreign language.

I didn't spare her another glance. I pulled out my phone and brought up a photo I had kept for years.

It was taken in the cramped, hundred square foot basement in Brooklyn we used to rent. The image showed a battered folding table entirely buried under a mountain of final notice bills. In the corner of the frame, you could barely make out her slumped silhouette, radiating absolute despair.

"You paid off your debt to him with a house. So, how are you going to pay back what you owe me?"

She looked down at the screen, and her body jerked violently.

The photo clearly dragged her back to the agonizing, suffocating memories of us struggling to survive together.

To help her pay off the astronomical debts her family left behind, I quit my stable corporate job. I started working three different shifts. I did freelance design during the day, drove a ride share all night, and took on odd jobs every weekend.

For three solid years, I never slept more than four hours a night.

Once, I caught a severe fever. To save money on a doctor's visit, I wrapped myself in thick blankets and tried to sweat it out, nearly developing fatal pneumonia in the process.

Victoria had held me and cried uncontrollably that night. She swore to the heavens that she would give me a real home and never let me suffer again.

She kept her word.

She rebuilt her empire and became a ruthless titan of the business world.

She also gave me a home. A home with another man's name legally bound to it.

"Joey." Victoria looked up, the guilt in her eyes practically overflowing. "I know you are the one I have wronged the most. But Tristan and I are completely over. You are the man I love, and you will be my only husband."

"I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Please?"

She reached out, her tone bordering on begging. "Tristan already lost me. He cannot lose everything else. Think of this house as a final period marking the end of our past."

I smoothly dodged her hand.

"Alright. I understand."

Seeing that I wasn't screaming or throwing a tantrum, her posture visibly relaxed. She genuinely believed I had accepted her absurd justification.

Meanwhile, beneath the table, I opened my messages and quietly texted my lawyer, instructing him to draft a divorce agreement immediately.