Chapter 1 - Four Bowls of RamenDominic slammed his palm onto our custom walnut dining table, sending hot yellow broth splashing over the rims of the porcelain bowls.
My Husband Earns $25,000 a Month but Gives It All to His Mother: "I Can Have 100 Wives, but Only One Mother." That Night, I Served 4 Bowls of Ramen. He Had No Idea Who Really Owned the Penthouse.
"I give my entire paycheck to my mother!" he shouted. "I'm a businessman. Mom is the elder. She knows how to manage household expenses and invest for our future! Are we really going to sit here and nickel-and-dime each other over groceries?"
His mother, Rosalind, sat nearby, surrounded by luxury shopping bags from Fifth Avenue. She lifted her chin.
"Exactly. The wealth my son generates is safe in my hands. If you, as a wife, can't do anything to help his career, the least you could do is stop trying to turn him against his own flesh and blood."
I stared at my husband. I was heavily pregnant, in an oversized gray sweatshirt, while the man who'd once promised to treat me like a queen happily let his pregnant wife's savings absorb the entire cost of our Manhattan lifestyle.
"Shut your mouth!" Dominic snapped.
His expression had gone colder than I had ever seen it.
"I'll say this exactly once. There are plenty of women in this world. If it's not this wife, I'll easily find another. I can have a hundred wives, but I only get one mother. If you can't live with how things are run under my roof, pack your bags and get out."
I can have a hundred wives, but I only get one mother.
That sentence destroyed the last illusion I had about my marriage.
I didn't cry. I stood slowly and looked straight at him.
"You're right," I said quietly. "You only have one mother. But listen carefully, Dominic. Your precious mother hasn't been investing a single dime of that money for our future."
Rosalind's smile vanished.
"She's been wiring most of your twenty-five thousand a month straight to your brother in Ohio, so he can build himself a mansion."
Dominic's face twitched. Rosalind gasped.
"And this penthouse?" I went on. "Every inch of it was bought with money belonging to the wife you just treated like a burden. Starting tomorrow morning, anyone who wants to live here or eat here pays for it themselves."
Dominic blinked rapidly. "What kind of garbage are you talking about? I pay the mortgage on this place!"
Rosalind's handbag slipped from her hand and hit the floor. For the first time, both of them looked genuinely nervous.
But neither of them had any idea who I actually was behind the stay-at-home-wife image they'd built for me.
And they definitely had no idea whose name was on the deed to the five-million-dollar penthouse we were standing in.
Dominic recovered just enough to sneer. "Pregnancy hormones are making you delusional, Vivienne. Maybe you've spent too much time reading those ridiculous romance stories online. I applied for the mortgage when we got married. I work myself to death paying that loan every month. You do a few translation jobs online that barely cover diapers. What gives you the right to say this house belongs to you?"
"Exactly," Rosalind jumped in. "Other daughters-in-law are respectful and grateful. This one gets pregnant and suddenly thinks she runs my son's house." She turned to Dominic. "You're an executive. You have a master's degree. You could buy ten houses like this. Stop arguing with her. Go change. I'll order real food. Nobody's eating this ramen."
I watched mother and son talk each other back into their preferred version of reality. Then I turned, walked into the master bedroom, and locked the door behind me.
From the hallway came Rosalind's exaggerated laughter. A moment later I heard Dominic pouring himself a drink.
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They assumed I'd gone in there to cry.
Instead, I sat down at my desk, opened my laptop, and called Reginald Ashford — my family's chief legal counsel.
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