Chapter 3
603 Words
Late at night, when Allen walked in wearing a loose bathrobe that showed off his chest muscles, he found me wrapped up from head to toe.
"What kind of game are you playing now, playing hard to get?" he said with dissatisfaction.
I was about to explain, then quickly realized what was happening. Allen had misunderstood.
I couldn't really blame him for thinking that way. In the past, the only thing I had going for me was my body.
Whenever we fought, I was always the first to give in—waiting for him to cool down, waiting for him to agree to see me, then humbly wrapping myself up as a gift of apology.
Even if I ended up covered in bruises, I never dared say no, afraid he'd lose interest and walk out.
But this time, I pretended not to notice his displeasure and handed him a share transfer agreement.
Allen let out a scornful laugh, giving me a look that said, "You're still as money-grubbing as ever," and took it.
But gradually, his face turned pale.
"Ten percent share transfer? Are you crazy? Why do you need so much money when I take care of you? What do you know about dividends? Do you even understand how the company is run?"
I glanced at him coolly.
"You're not thinking of backing out, are you? If the great Mr. Kent can't afford such a small compensation, then don't make promises you can't keep. I might as well just take the humiliation you and Annie gave me today and call it even. After all, I'm Mrs. Kent in name only—my own husband can't even have a child without another woman doing it for him."
The moment those words left my mouth, Allen's expression shifted through a range of emotions.
He understood that I knew whose baby Annie was carrying.
To buy my silence, he snatched the contract, signed it, and threw it back at me.
"There, Lucy Brown, are you happy now?"
I watched as he signed the very last page, the one hidden beneath the share transfer agreement.
My mind drifted, and suddenly I remembered ten years ago.
It had also started with a contract, except that one had been a mistress contract.
In the first year I met Allen, I was a high school dropout working as a hostess.
The second year, I became his kept woman, never having to dig through garbage bins for leftovers again.
The fifth year, I endured until he accompanied me to sign the papers at the marriage registry, becoming the glamorous Mrs. Kent by his side.
The tenth year, I had to trick him into signing the share transfer while sneaking a divorce agreement onto the last page.
I lowered my head to hide the trace of tears.
Numbly, I took a photo of the contract and uploaded it to Twitter with the caption:
A little compensation from my husband, ten percent of Kent Group's shares! The most generous man in the world, the one who loves me the most!"
Twitter exploded instantly. The trending topics were all filled with envy for me.
Allen's face turned cold enough to hail.
"Is this really necessary? You have to post about everything on Twitter, afraid people won't know how vain you are."
He didn't know. I just wanted, after our inevitable divorce in the near future, to have at least some money to fall back on, so I wouldn't end up homeless on the streets.
Suddenly, a terrified scream came from outside.
"Oh no! Somebody help! A pregnant woman just jumped into the sea!"
- Writer
