Chapter 1
I was Vincent Chase's wife—on paper, at least. But even a bottle of water required OA approval.
My mother's surgery was days away. I submitted an emergency loan application. His secretary, Emma, finally approved it.
Three minutes later, my phone buzzed. 200,000 KRW deposited.
I only understood what those letters meant when the billing desk told me my balance was a hundred and thirty-eight dollars.
I called Vincent immediately. His voice was ice-cold.
"Emma signed off on it. Stop being greedy. I'm busy." Then the line went dead.
I sent the KRW screenshot to Emma. Three seconds later, her voice message came through, dripping with fake sweetness.
"Oh dear, Madam. I must have clicked the wrong currency. But it is what it is, right? You've been burning through cash lately—really need to tighten the belt."
That afternoon, my mother missed the window for emergency care because I couldn't pull together the surgery fees.
Almost at the exact same moment, Emma posted an update on her i********:. "Tagging along on Mr. Chase's medical tour of Korea." Nine photos, perfectly arranged. And there she was, tucked against my husband, wine glasses clinking, smile in full bloom. Location: Four Seasons Hotel, Seoul.
*****
I called Vincent like a woman possessed. After a dozen attempts, someone finally picked up. A woman's voice. Quiet background. "Mr. Chase is in the shower. Can I help you?"
Emma.
Something gripped my throat. "Emma, put Vincent on. My mother is dying. I need the money."
A soft little laugh. "Money? File an OA request, won't you? Oh, here's another thing—I rejected the last one. Remember to attach a full drug pricing breakdown. Every single pill. Down to the penny."
She hung up. I redialed. The phone was off. My screen lit up again. OA notification: "Your loan application has been REJECTED."
Reason: Amount excessive. Please provide a detailed cost breakdown, including the unit price of all medications.
Phone in hand, I sank to the floor, like a soulless husk.
My mother hadn't even had the surgery yet—where exactly was I supposed to get a per-pill price list?
A red dot popped up on my i********:. Emma. Nine more photos. Location: a hotel in Seoul.
The last picture—just the edge of the frame—a man's wrist. The Patek Philippe I knew by heart. "Traveling with Mr. Chase in Seoul. And that woman is causing drama at home again."
I stared at that photo until my vision blurred.
The light above the ER doors went dark.
The doctor walked out. He pulled off his mask. Shook his head.
"I'm so sorry. Even twenty minutes earlier..." The rest of his words dissolved into static. "Could I... see her?" I couldn't even tell if the words left my mouth.
The head nurse nodded. I put on the sterile gown. My hands were shaking so badly I couldn't manage the ties.
My mother was lying in the farthest bed, a web of tubes running into her body.
I walked over and took her hand. When she saw me, something flickered in those clouded eyes. Her lips trembled. I leaned in close. "Lydia... Lydia..."
"I'm here, Mom." I pressed her hand to my cheek. Tears flooded up. I swallowed every one of them. "It's okay, Mom. The money's almost here. The surgery—"
She shook her head. So, so slowly. With the very last of her strength, her finger traced something across my palm.
A pause. Then I understood.
"Lydia... don't let them... break you..."
The faintest nod, as if she were signing off on her final piece of unfinished business. "Lydia is... free now..." Every breath-stealing word was draining the life right out of her. "Build a good life... Mommy loves... you..."
"Mom, stop talking. Save your strength. Once you have the surgery—" I was rambling, falling over my own words. She shook her head again. Her eyes slid shut.
My mother died that night, for a hundred and thirty-eight dollars.
I stayed on my knees by that bed, holding her hand as the warmth left it, as it turned stiff.
The nurses had to ask me three times before I finally let go. Outside the hospital, the sky had gone black. The streetlamps stretched my shadow long and thin—exactly the way three years of marriage had drained away my dignity, inch by inch.
I pulled out my phone and sent Vincent a single message.
"We're getting a divorce."
