Chapter 2

Returning to that Brooklyn apartment—a mere six hundred and fifty square feet that had held all my aspirations and sacrifices for three years—the space felt exceptionally oppressive and cramped.

I didn't call Noah to demand when he would be home like a bitter housewife. Instead, like countless nights before, I started the washing machine and picked up the vacuum cleaner. Only this time, while organizing Noah's stuffed-to-the-brim closet, I put on a fresh pair of rubber gloves.

In the hidden inner pocket of his thick winter coat, I found an old-fashioned paper savings passbook, along with several hotel receipts tucked inside a hardcover copy of *The Great Gatsby* that he had never once opened. The dates spanned six months; the location, without exception, was the St. Regis in Midtown Manhattan.

Hah. The man who haggled over giving me eight hundred dollars a month for household expenses and complained that organic food was too expensive had absolutely no qualms about spending on rooms at the St. Regis.

At ten-thirty in the evening, Noah returned. He brought with him a cloying scent of Chanel No. 5 that definitely did not belong in this home.

He seemed a bit apprehensive as he entered, his eyes darting around to gauge my expression. Seeing me sitting quietly on the sofa watching a boring cooking show, holding a cup of herbal tea just as usual, with no sign of causing a scene, he visibly exhaled, his shoulders relaxing.

"Honey," he said, changing into his slippers and sidling up to me, plastering on that nauseatingly fake look of concern. "Today at the mall... that was truly a huge misunderstanding. Ivy, that young girl, she's new to the working world, doesn't know boundaries, and loves to joke. I was just maintaining a relationship with a key client. You know how it is, the economy is bad, and business is hard to expand..."

I turned to look at him, my eyes working hard to project a "bewildered" and appropriately aggrieved look. "A misunderstanding? But she said... you don't love me anymore."

I deliberately lowered my posture, my voice carrying a tremor so slight it was barely detectable.

A flicker of contempt passed quickly through Noah's eyes. He was a sucker for this, deeply convinced that I couldn't leave him, convinced that I was a pathetic creature who couldn't survive in society without the shelter of marriage.

"Oh, honey, how can you believe the nonsense of a little girl?" He tried to reach out and wrap his arm around my shoulder. "I've just been under too much pressure at work lately. By the way, my mom's rheumatism has been acting up again. I was thinking of bringing her to New York to stay for a while, maybe see a specialist here. What do you think?"

If it were before, I would have tactfully refused. The apartment had terrible soundproofing and was tiny, and my mother-in-law, Marjorie, was an incredibly difficult, controlling woman. But now...

"Of course," I nodded submissively, even forcing a smile of understanding. "Mom must be lonely in Ohio by herself. It's good to have her here, and the medical care in New York is certainly better."

Noah froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so readily. The triumph in his eyes nearly overflowed. "That's right! You've always been the most understanding one."

The very next day, Marjorie "graced us with her presence," carrying her massive LV tote bag.

It was less about recovering from illness and more about making my life hell.

"Lian, how did you mop this floor? Look here, there's still dust."

"Lian, Noah works so hard all day, how can you let him take out the trash? What kind of wife are you?"

"Lian, that office clerk job of yours, staring at a computer screen all day... the radiation is bad for your body. How will you get pregnant and give me a healthy grandson? Just quit. It's not like you make much money anyway."

Marjorie lounged on the sofa, scrolling through her phone while tossing tissues onto the coffee table I had just wiped, her mouth running in an endless, nagging stream.

Noah sat nearby, his fingers sliding rapidly across his phone screen, the corners of his mouth hooked in the unconscious smile of someone chatting with Ivy. He turned a blind eye to my plight, occasionally chiming in half-heartedly: "Mom has a point. Your job really has no future prospects. You should think about family planning sooner rather than later."

I agreed with lowered eyes and a submissive demeanor. "You're right. I'll keep that in mind."

They thought I was rolling over. They thought I had accepted my fate and was ready to be swept out the door.

In reality, I was waiting.

Waiting for news from my best friend—Beth.

Beth Zhang, a gold-medal lawyer practicing in Manhattan, specializing in family law and high-net-worth divorce litigation, famous for her sharp style and decisive tactics.

"The property rights issue on the apartment is basically clear," Beth's voice was crisp and efficient over the phone. "Although Noah bought this apartment before the marriage, a significant portion of the down payment came from suspicious sources. More critically, property records show that he privately took out a second mortgage on the apartment a year ago to cash out. The use of funds is unclear. Did you know about this?"

My grip on the phone tightened. "He never mentioned it."

"There's something even more 'exciting'," Beth sneered. "I contacted some people in financial crime investigation through a friend to get a side view. Noah's company is currently undergoing an internal audit, investigating possible commercial kickbacks and benefit transfers. As a regional sales manager, there are obvious discrepancies in the channel funds he handled. Preliminary signs suggest that several suspicious transactions were cycled through the private accounts of his little mistress, Ivy. These two... I'm afraid it's not as simple as just having an affair."

I inhaled a breath of cool air. "Is there enough to send him away?"

"As long as we can get solid evidence, federal commercial bribery and fraud charges start at a minimum of three years." Beth paused, her tone turning serious. "Lily, have you really thought this through? Once you step onto this path, it's a complete burning of bridges. There will be no warmth left to speak of."

I looked up toward the living room. Noah was crossing his legs, scrolling through his phone while directing Marjorie to peel a mandarin orange for him, acting every bit the pampered young lord.

"Warmth?" I watched the stream of car lights flowing over the Brooklyn Bridge outside the window, my voice calm and waveless. "That was incinerated along with the marriage certificate a long time ago."