Chapter 1
My fiancé, Paul Gonzalez, gave me the cold shoulder for half the day because I ordered a thirty-dollar steak dinner.
He said, "Camila Stephens, you know what situation we're in right now. Every single cent needs to be spent where it counts. Can't you just endure it a little longer?"
I looked at the few pathetic pieces of beef in the takeout container and silently put down my fork.
Seeing me back down, he finally softened his tone, walked over, and hugged me. He added, "Good girl. Once the company goes public, I'll take you to every Michelin-starred restaurant. Going public with our relationship now will only make others think you're suffering with me. I don't want you to be looked down on."
For three years, I had heard words like these countless times. I believed him.
I gave up the life my family had planned for me, moved into this three-hundred-square-foot rental apartment, and "worked" alongside him. He knew the password to my bank card and could use it as he pleased. He said this was "our startup fund."
That was until last night, when his mother was hospitalized with acute appendicitis. He was out of town in a meeting with an important investor and couldn't get away.
He called and said, "Camila, go to the hospital first and pay the surgery fee for me. Take the card; you know the password."
At the hospital's self-service payment machine, I entered that familiar password—insufficient funds.
I was stunned. Just the day before yesterday, he had told me that a key payment had come in and the hard days of tightening our belts were almost over. I had no choice but to use my own card instead.
Sitting on the bench in the hospital corridor, I found myself opening my banking app and checking that card's transaction history. On the fifteenth of every month, there was a recurring transfer of $50,000. It had been going on for two full years. The payee memo showed three glaring words: Claire Carlson's living expenses.
The cold crept through me, inch by inch.
With the account number, tracking her down online took nothing at all. An account under "Viyaa (Mrs. Gonzalez)." Her most recent post was from yesterday. Tagged location: a five-star resort out in Maridia. She was in a bikini, leaned back against some guy's chest, grinning ear to ear. That man, I'd know him even burned down to ash. Paul.
Claire: [Said running a business was wearing him out, so he wanted to bring me out here to unwind.]
Thousands of comments, every single one gushing.
A: [Mr. Gonzalez and Claire are the cutest couple!]
B: [Claire, you lucky girl. Mr. Gonzalez is such a catch, and he still spoils you like this!]
I scrolled all the way back through the account.
The oldest post was from two years ago. Right around the time he was eating instant noodles with me every night for a month straight, telling me we had to tighten our belts to fund the core tech. Turned out he'd taken that same money and dropped a hundred grand on a Hermès bag for her.
So he was never broke. He just wasn't willing to spend a dime on me.
I closed the app, cool as anything, and fired off a message to the family's longtime butler.
Camila: Raymond, get me in touch with Philip.
