Chapter 1

On the day we got our marriage license, my fiancée added her male best friend's name to the deed of my newly purchased house.

I had just emptied my life savings for the down payment and hadn't even received the title deed yet.

Right inside City Hall, she shoved a document into my face: Agreement on Transfer of Property Profits.

"Sign this first," she said coldly. "From now on, this house is a joint business asset."

I refused.

She threw the pen onto the counter with a loud clatter. "You won't sign? Fine. That thirty thousand dollar non-refundable wedding deposit your parents scraped together? Gone down the drain."

My hand trembled, but I signed.

Three days after our wedding, her best friend moved in with a suitcase, claiming he needed to "coordinate the mortgage payments."

When I came home from work, he walked out of the master bedroom wearing my bathrobe, telling me to get lost and sleep in the guest room.

The next morning, I packed my bags, moved into a temporary trailer at my construction project, and planted hidden pinhole cameras all over the house.

A month later, the mortgage money in my account vanished every month. She brushed it off as "routine business investments."

Then came the bank's foreclosure notice. The mortgage was severely delinquent, and a massive secondary loan had been taken out against my house.

I rushed to the County Recorder’s Office, only to discover she had used the photocopies of my ID and forged my signature to obtain the title deed behind my back.

Worse, using the excuse of a "joint business venture," she had previously tricked me into signing a blank loan guarantee. Now, someone had filled in three million dollars, siphoning the entire amount straight into her best friend’s shell company.

That very afternoon, I froze our joint accounts, filed a criminal complaint with the police, and served her with divorce papers.

The moment Marcus heard a criminal case was opened, he booked a midnight flight out of the country, leaving behind a company balance of barely three hundred bucks.

Chloe called him frantically, but his number was already dead.

When the bank's final demand letter arrived, demanding three million dollars from her as the co-borrower, she finally shattered.

She threw herself onto her knees, sobbing and begging for my mercy.

I opened the door and looked down at her calmly.

"It’s too late. The court has accepted the case. See you in mediation tomorrow at nine."

On the day we registered our marriage, the harsh lights of City Hall made my eyes sting.

Chloe pulled a folder from her designer bag and pushed it across the counter.

It was a Transfer of Property Equity and Profits Agreement.

Under the recipient section, two names sat side by side: Chloe Vance and Marcus Cole.

Marcus was her male best friend.

My fingers instantly turned to ice.

I had just drained my parents' retirement savings to pay the down payment on that house. I hadn't even held the title deed in my hands yet.

Chloe tapped the signature line with her freshly manicured, blood-red nail. Her voice sounded as if she were talking about the weather.

"Sign this first. The house will be treated as our joint operational asset."

"Joint asset? Ours? Or yours and his?"

She clearly didn't expect me to push back. Her eyebrows shot up, and the fake sweetness melted off her face.

"Ethan, what are you implying? Marcus is my most critical business partner. Isn't it normal for partners to help each other with liquidity?"

"It’s our marital home," I gritted out. "Why the hell am I paying off his debts?"

My fists clenched inside my pockets until my knuckles turned stark white.

Chloe lost her patience. She slammed the pen onto the desk, creating a sharp crack.

"You're not signing? Fine. Let’s call off the wedding right now. No marriage."

She crossed her arms and leaned back, her eyes brimming with cold calculation.

"Oh, let me remind you," she added, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. "Your parents paid the thirty thousand dollar deposit at the Hilton. Thirty tables, non-refundable. If you back out now, how are you going to explain that to them?"

Thirty thousand dollars!

That money included what was left of my mom's bypass surgery fund—the cash saved for her critical follow-up treatments.

Chloe knew. She knew every single detail.

She was striking right where it hurt the most.

Blood rushed to my ears, buzzing violently. The laughter of nearby couples sounded like razor blades cutting into my eardrums.

Seeing my reddened eyes, Chloe smiled, thoroughly satisfied with my torment.

She picked up the pen and forced it into my hand, even gently wrapping her fingers around mine.

"Be a good boy. Sign it, and we’re still a happy couple. Once the business takes off, I’ll cover all of your mom’s medical bills, okay?"

She leaned in, whispering softly against my ear. Her warm breath felt like a blast of arctic wind.

My hand shook so hard I could barely write. Every stroke of the pen felt like carving an open wound into my chest.

The moment I wrote my name, I caught Chloe exchanging a triumphant smirk with Marcus, who was standing casually by the exit.

Right there and then, they crushed my dignity beneath their shoes.

We walked out of City Hall with the marriage certificate. The afternoon sun was warm, but I felt frozen to the bone.

Chloe clung to Marcus’s arm as they walked ahead, giggling.

I trailed behind them like an unwanted shadow.

Once we reached Marcus’s BMW, Chloe finally gave me a second glance.

"Marcus and I have a business meeting tonight. Call your parents and tell them to supervise the wedding details."

She gave the order as casually as if she were talking to an intern.

I didn't answer. I just stared into the rearview mirror, locking eyes with Marcus’s smug, deceitful face.

Halfway into the ride, my phone rang. It was the loan officer from the mortgage bank.

"Hello, Mr. Miller. Regarding your primary mortgage, the approval is through. However, the disbursement requires you to sign a final confirmation document in person."

My heart skipped a beat.

"Does it have to be me in person?"

"Yes, Mr. Miller. That’s strict policy. We must verify your personal consent."

I hung up and stared out at the passing streetlights.

Chloe. Marcus.

You think you've played me into a corner?

This game has only just begun.