Chapter 12

A scoff came from the other end of the line, followed by that unmistakable cool, aristocratic voice in my ear. "Isabella, you wrote in the divorce agreement yourself that you'd leave without taking a dime." "And look at you now — first it’s mental distress, now it’s a breakup fee. All this drama, just for money, isn’t it?" "Admitting you're materialistic is that hard?" Even over the phone, I could picture Ronald with that smug smirk, eyes full of arrogance. I narrowed my eyes, voice ice-cold. "Materialistic? Ronald, give it a rest. You never say anything nice. "I'm not in the mood to argue. Think whatever you want, but that breakup fee? You're paying it." "And why on earth should I?" he shot back, tone chilly as ever. I clenched my teeth. "Because for the past year, I've been cooking your meals and picking out your clothes. "Yeah, you make money — good for you. But I wasn’t freeloading either. I ran every corner of that house, took care of your family. Hiring a full-time housekeeper would’ve cost you. I was more than that, and now I’m asking for some compensation. Seems fair, no?" That’s just this lifetime. If we count the last one too, I served him like a full-time maid for six years. Asking for a mere million... I’d say I'm still coming out short. Ronald didn’t care — his voice was calm, almost bored. "That’s what a wife is supposed to do. You want a medal for that?" I felt like my cheeks were burning. Nothing is more humiliating than having to ask someone for money. I didn’t even want to in the first place. But my uncle is seriously ill and needs the money. I have no choice. "Sure, a wife should care for her husband. But a husband’s supposed to look after his wife too, isn’t he? Have you ever taken care of me even once? Honestly, if it weren’t for me, your stomach would’ve been a wreck ages ago from your junk food habits. "Let’s put it this way — I cooked, I cleaned, stayed on your mom’s good side, and kept the peace at home. Given all that, can’t you be even the tiniest bit decent in our divorce?" He went quiet for a few seconds before speaking again, voice low and emotionless. "So what’s your point?" "My point?" I chuckled dryly. "My point is — fork over the money, and I’ll disappear from your life completely. You’ll never see me again. Deal?" Ronald sneered. "Funny, your dad already called me. Said something about his company launching a new project. Sound familiar? You're suddenly begging for a divorce… not ‘cause of love or pride, but because you're after the money, right? "I'll give him the money. But you? You’re going to attend one family dinner with me." My face fell instantly. So my dad had gone behind my back and talked to Ronald. I’d told him I’d handle it on my own. Guess he didn’t trust me after all. I didn’t respond, and Ronald's deep voice came through again, cold as ever. "Grandpa likes you. As long as you show up at the dinner, I’ll fund your dad’s project. That way you can go back to him with something to prove. Stop with the tantrums and divorce talk." Jeffrey Wright really did like me. The old man was still spry despite his years, had that sage-like aura about him. He was the only one in the Wright family who treated me kindly. He’d even brought Ronald along in person to propose the marriage. Said I was graceful, smart, and perfect for his grandson. He promised, too — if Ronald ever bullied me, I could go straight to him and he’d take care of it. And Ronald definitely bullied me. I just never had the courage to speak up back then. "And what if I don’t go?" I asked flatly, throwing the question at him with more than a hint of challenge.Ronald’s voice was calm and cold. "This past year, how many times have you begged me to help your dad? Tell me, when have I ever said no?" "If you add it all up, it's easily over a million. That still can't buy you a ticket to one family dinner with me? Who do you think you are?" I fell silent. Honestly, he wasn’t wrong. My dad did shamelessly ask for money like it was his birthright, and Ronald always stepped up. As a son-in-law, he did his job. Even as a husband, he never crossed the line. Just... he never loved me. So when I got hurt, he didn't care enough to lift a finger. And me? I wasn't exactly innocent either. We were a business match, and both families profited from it. But feelings? Once mixed with benefits, even real ones feel fake. "Fine," I agreed lightly. "From now on, don’t worry about my dad. Whatever trouble he gets into, that’s on him. But I want one million for the divorce. If you agree, I’ll go with you to the dinner." He gave a low, mocking laugh. "Whatever. I’ll pick you up tomorrow." "Okay. I won’t be at home, I’m at—" I was about to give the address when he cut in, straight-faced. "Emma’s place." I was stunned. "How do you know that? Were you following me?" He scoffed again. "Don’t flatter yourself. You’re broke, didn’t go back to your parents’ place, can’t afford a hotel. Where else would you go?" Was he seriously looking down on me again? My face flushed with anger. I gritted my teeth and snapped, "Ronald, we’re partners now. Try watching that tone next time." He knew Emma was my only close friend. I had mentioned her after we got married, though not the fallout we had… because of him. Him figuring it out wasn’t surprising, but it still stung. "Mm." He responded so casually, like it didn’t matter at all. I was so angry I could scream. And when I finally calmed down, I cursed myself again. Being a simp is bad enough, but being one for someone who’s rich, powerful, smart, and completely out of reach? That’s just pathetic. He could crush me financially, look down on me, and still be ten steps ahead in every move. Every piece of me was in his hands—what pride could I even cling to? In my past life, how was I ever this blind? But if he really was useless, I wouldn’t have fallen so fast for him either. I took a breath. "Come pick me up at ten tomorrow." "Okay." Thing is, there was a dinner just like this one in my last life too. And boy, did his mom tear me apart at that one. She shamed me for not being able to have kids, called me worthless in front of everyone, and just wouldn’t let it go. I didn’t fight back. I kept smiling, kept trying to please her—because I loved Ronald, and I thought loving him meant loving his family. But she just got nastier. Verbal abuse wasn’t enough. She actually forced me to drink some weird herbal stuff in front of everyone. Pinched my face and poured it down my throat. That scene still burns in my memory—his cold family watching like I was some circus act. And Ronald? Just stood there like an outsider, eyes blank, doing nothing. I still made excuses for him back then, thought he just didn’t want to argue with his mom. Now, in this life, I’ve already clashed with her once. And tomorrow, I know she’ll go even harder. Just thinking about all that made my chest tighten. I suddenly wanted to ask. To Ronald, what the hell do I even mean? He married me—doesn’t he feel even the tiniest bit of love? I was just about to speak when a sweet voice chimed in from behind, “Mr. Wright, where did you put the medicine? Your stomach’s acting up again—you can’t keep ignoring it.”