Chapter 4

"Mr. Harding says if you ask for money again, next month's allowance gets cut in half."

Right after that came a transfer. Two hundred dollars.

I stared at the transaction record for a long time before I finally tapped to accept it.

At least breakfast was covered now.

It was just that this marriage, one where I had to beg just to afford enough food, was suffocating me.

After a long while, I sent Denys a text.

"Since you can't afford to keep me, let's get divorced."

That night, I went to my bar shift at the agreed time.

After changing into the black-and-red uniform, I sat in the break room, eating a bread I'd bought on the way.

The manager held up his phone, comparing it against me, glancing from me to the screen and back.

"Interesting, you look an awful lot like that Mrs. Harding. You're not here for some ulterior motive, are you?"

I waved him off and took a bite of the bread.

"You've got the wrong person. I'm not Mrs. Harding."

He looked me up and down, then let out a breath.

"Right. The wife of the Harding CEO could never end up in a state like this."

"Finish up and get to work."

It was my first day, and I was still getting the hang of things.

The floor supervisor walked me through the daily tasks, but there were so many customers that night that she couldn't keep up.

"Claire, take this bottle up to VIP Room 8. Don't keep them waiting."

I wasn't familiar with the bar, but I had no choice. I took the bottle and nervously searched for Room 8.

After carefully dodging every guest who tried to strike up a conversation, I finally found Room 8 at the end of the hallway.

Just as I was about to push the door open, I saw Denys sitting on the couch.

He looked like he'd had a fair amount to drink. He usually held his liquor well, but a faint flush had crept into his cheeks.

Right now he wore only a black shirt, the top two buttons undone.

He lounged against the couch and lazily lifted a hand to light a cigarette.

"Three million dollars a month in pocket money for my wife. Is that really not enough?"

The buddy beside him whipped his head around.

"Did I hear that right? Your wife gets three million a month and still says it's not enough?"

I knew this man— Benjamin Finch, Denys's childhood friend. I'd met him a few times.

Denys blew out a ring of smoke and gave a flat little hum of agreement.

"I always figured that after growing up with a gambling-addicted father, she'd know better than to throw money around, even if she had plenty of it."

"But Ivy says she never has enough, always in and out of luxury clubs, never a quiet day."

Benjamin shot up off the couch, stunned.

"Denys, don't tell me your wife's keeping some boy toy on the side. Who'd have thought? She looks so quiet and demure, but behind closed doors she really knows how to have fun."

Only then did Denys turn his head toward him.

His eyes narrowed as he stubbed out the cigarette in his hand.

"These past few days she's gotten more and more out of line. She even claimed she was pregnant, demanding Ivy wire her money again and again."

"Last night she was practically crying about how broke she was, so I had someone send her another million."

He paused, then tipped back the rest of the drink in his glass.

"But this morning she texted me, said if I couldn't afford to keep her then don't bother, and told me we should get divorced."

I stood outside the door, taking in every word.

If I hadn't just pulled up my own deposit records and seen the eight hundred dollars that landed each month, I might almost have believed it.

If it wasn't me, then it was someone else.

I was shaking with rage, and I couldn't hold it back any longer. I shoved the door open.

The instant Denys saw me, he froze.

"Claire, what are you doing here?"

Benjamin went white and instinctively stepped in front of him.

"Easy now, take it easy."

I couldn't calm down.

I had been scraping by on eight hundred dollars for months, while he'd been handing another woman three million.

I slammed the drinks in my hands onto the floor, sending liquor and shattered glass flying.

Neither of them moved.

I couldn't hold back another second. I slapped Denys hard across the face.

"Tell me. Exactly how many wives do you have?"

Denys's eyes were bloodshot. He clenched his teeth and bit out each word.

"Only you."

At that, I froze where I stood, my throat tightening.

"Then why do I only get eight hundred dollars a month?"