I looked him in the eyes and dragged the conversation back to the violence. “Yesterday, your sister assaulted me. What are you going to do about it?”
He took a deep, dramatic breath. “I told you, I hit Tatum so hard verbally last night that she’s probably still upset. If you would just buy a small peace offering and go over there with me, this whole nightmare would be over.”
I laughed pityingly. “So, does that mean your sister understands she was wrong?”
“Yes,” he insisted.
“Did she text me an apology?”
“No.”
“Did she call?”
“No.”
I tapped my nails against the granite counter. “Then how, exactly, do you know she realized her mistake, Vance? Telepathy?”
He raised his voice, his face reddening. “Why do you constantly have to put me between a rock and a hard place?!”
At that exact moment, the last dying embers of my anger vanished, replaced by an absolute, terrifying clarity. It wasn’t peace I was feeling. It was the death of my love for him.
“Who put you there, Vance?” I asked softly. “When your sister assaulted me, you were too scared to react. When your mother demanded my salary, you were too scared to say no to her. And now you come home and demand that I apologize to them. Why? Because out of the three of us, you knew I was always the easiest one to compromise with.”
He tightened his jaw. He didn’t deny it.
Over the past three years of dating, I had compromised constantly. When he was hours late for dates because of “work emergencies,” I let it go. When his mother called at the last minute demanding he come out to the suburbs to fix a lightbulb, ruining our carefully planned weekend getaways, I smiled and didn’t complain. A month before our wedding, Loretta randomly demanded my parents wire her twenty-five thousand dollars for a “venue deposit formality,” even though the venue was already paid for. My parents didn’t want to rock the boat, and they had to fight tooth and nail to get the money eventually returned.
My family paid for half of our lavish wedding. This multi-million dollar condo was entirely mine. He bought a car that we both used, yet acted like a provider. I had always believed that marriage was about building a life together, not counting pennies with a calculator. Now I realized that just because I wasn’t holding a calculator, didn’t mean they weren’t frantically running the numbers behind my back.
Seeing my silence, Vance must have assumed I was finally caving. He softened his voice, stepping closer. “Sloan, we’re newlyweds. We shouldn’t ruin our bond over my family’s quirks. I promise I will talk to my mom. But please, just buy some pastries and drive out there with me tomorrow. For me.”
I looked up at him. “No.”
He blinked.
I added, “Unless it is a matter of life or death, I will never go to your parents’ house for a meal alone again. If you want to play the golden boy, you can drive to Oakbrook by yourself.”
His face darkened instantly, the mask slipping. “Are you seriously cutting my family off?”
“No,” I replied evenly. “Normal, polite interactions at neutral locations are fine. But dictating the rules of my life? No. Reaching their hands into my bank account? No. Assaulting me at a dinner table while you watch? Absolutely not.”
I picked up my plate and took it to the sink.
Suddenly, he threw a question at my back that made the hair on my arms stand up. “What about the condo, then?”
I stopped the water. “What about the condo?”
He cleared his throat nervously, leaning against the counter. “I’m talking about this one. The one we’re standing in.” He sounded like a man carefully testing the thickness of ice before stepping on it. “My mom mentioned yesterday that since we are officially married now, but living in a property you owned prior to the marriage… it might look a bit ‘off’ to outsiders.”
I spun around, gripping the edge of the sink. “A bit like what, exactly?”
He stammered, avoiding my eyes. “A bit like… like I’m a kept man. Living off his rich wife. Like a son-in-law with zero assets to his name.” He forced a dry, unnatural laugh. “It’s no big deal, really. Mom just suggested that maybe, when you have some free time this week, you should add my name to the deed. Just to establish marital community property. To make it equal.”
Just think about the timeline. Yesterday, my paycheck. Today, my real estate.
I stared at this man I had shared my bed with for three years, and I desperately wanted to ask him if all his pre-wedding claims of “I don’t want anything from you, I just want your heart” were genuine lies, or if he was simply too cowardly to ask for my assets before the legal paperwork was filed.
I took a slow step toward him. “Do you have any idea what a penthouse in River North costs, Vance? Do you know who paid the twenty percent down payment? Who ground themselves into dust making the double mortgage payments? Do you know the loan was paid off entirely before I walked down the aisle?”
He backed up slightly.
“I asked you a question. Who paid for the high-end Italian marble renovations? And why, exactly, do you feel entitled to be handed half of it just because you signed a piece of paper five days ago?”
His expression turned instantly hostile, his pride wounded. “Do spouses really have to nickel-and-dime each other over every little thing? I thought we were a team!”
I smiled, a bitter, vicious thing. “So, when it comes to your things, we don’t divide into yours and mine. We share. But yesterday’s crab legs? Your sister divided those with mathematical, age-based precision.”
He turned beet red and shouted, “Why the hell do you keep bringing up the damn seafood?!”
“Because the rules in your family operate on one very simple, predatory logic,” I fired back. “My corporate money is the family’s property. My luxury condo is our joint property. But your sister’s suburban house is only her house. Based on what legal or moral precedent, Vance?”
He pushed off the counter, shouting that I was too hyped up on feminism and paranoia, and he wasn’t talking to me anymore. He grabbed his keys off the console to leave.
I fired one final sentence at his retreating back. “I am never putting your name on this deed. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.”
He froze with his hand on the doorknob.
“This is my premarital asset,” I added, my voice echoing in the foyer. “And the fact that your family is suddenly circling it like vultures makes me question your entire motive for marrying me.”
Vance pressed his lips into a thin, white line. He didn’t say a single word in his defense. He opened the door, stepped out, and slammed it behind him.
I stood alone in the sprawling living room, looking at the heavy oak front door where the remnants of our “Just Married” decorations still hung playfully. I thought about how absurd, how utterly fragile it all was. Five days ago, two hundred people raised their champagne glasses to toast the perfect couple. Five days later, I was standing in my kitchen, terrified that my husband was actively plotting to steal my real estate.