Chapter 3The Price of Your Devotion

Chloe: "Babe, hasn't that plain Jane signed the papers yet? I wanted to drive the new ride to brunch with the girls tomorrow morning~"

Ethan: "Be patient, gorgeous. We had a little hiccup today. The dumb broad got a sudden stomachache and ruined the contract. I'll get it handled tomorrow."

Chloe: "Ugh, she's always such a useless headache. By the way, the fake clinic diagnosis didn't blow our cover, did it?"

Ethan: "Relax. I paid a street hustler twenty bucks to print that fake medical report. She doesn't know the first thing about fertility science. When the time comes, I'll trick her into booking fake IVF rounds, make up an excuse that the implantation failed, and all that cash will be ours clean and clear."

Chloe: "You're so bad, babe~ But I love it. Oh right, your mom said once the house sells, you have to save half the cash for your nephew Leo's wedding and dowry."

Ethan: "She can have whatever she wants. That idiot's townhouse was inherited before our marriage, but the moment I trick her into liquidating it into cash, it becomes marital property. I can spend it however the hell I want."

Staring at the screen, I bit down hard on my inner lip until the sharp metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.

My infertility was a lie.

His grand, tearful devotion was nothing more than an elaborate con.

Ethan didn't just want to steal the charity funds raised by well-meaning strangers; he wanted to strip me and my deceased parents of every single penny we had, chewing our bones to dust.

Even more sickening was the fact that he was already scheming to slice up my home's equity to hand over to his toxic mother and his deadbeat nephew.

That property was worth at least three hundred thousand.

That represented the life savings of an honest, hard-working family over two decades.

Ethan wanted to dump it for cheap to pocket a secret kickback and distribute the rest among his family of bloodsuckers.

I pulled out my own phone and snapped photo after photo of his screen.

The text exchanges, the PayPal and bank transfer receipts, and the explicit, provocative photos Chloe had sent him—I saved every single shred of evidence.

Once I was done, I put Ethan's phone back in its exact spot, carefully wiping away any stray fingerprints.

Slipping back under the covers, my heart hammered violently against my ribs.

I had to stay calm.

If I confronted Ethan right this second, it would end with nothing more than a messy divorce.

There was no guarantee the sixty thousand in charity money would ever be recovered, let alone that Ethan would face any real punishment.

I didn't just want out.

I wanted him ruined.

I wanted him rotting behind bars!

Ethan finally stepped out of the bathroom, carrying the cheap scent of floral body wash as he slid under the duvet.

He reached out to pull me close, but I shifted away.

"Ethan, my stomach is still really cramping up. Please don't touch me tonight."

He didn't push it. If anything, he let out a quiet sigh of relief, turned his back to me, and began tapping away on his screen.

I didn't need to look to know he was texting Chloe.

Lying in the dark with my eyes wide open, I meticulously plotted my next moves.

First, I had to lock down the evidence of that sixty-thousand-dollar GoFundMe fraud.

Second, I had to safeguard my home.

And third, I was going to send both of those vile scumbags straight to federal prison!