Theater: NovelMaster | Language: English | NEW
Synopsis
My husband was known as the ultimate family man.
Never stayed out late, and always handed over his entire paycheck.
Yet today, on payday, he suddenly dropped a bomb on me. He wasn’t going to give me his paycheck this month.
Standing across from me, his tone sounded almost breezy.
"I think I’ll manage my own money starting this month. We’ve been married for eight years, and you’ve always controlled everything. I just need a little personal space."
Eight years. He had handed over every single cent since day one. He had never once complained.
My chest tightened. I instantly remembered how out of character he had been last month, asking me for extra cash several times. At the time, I thought it was just unexpected expenses and didn't pry.
Looking back now, he was definitely hiding something from me.
Still, I just nodded and kept quiet, pretending to be unbothered as I turned toward the kitchen to pour a glass of water.
Only after he went into the bathroom to shower did I pick up his phone. It had been over a year since I last checked it.
The passcode was still the same.
The moment I opened his SnapChat, my entire body went numb.
The pinned chat wasn't me.
"Chloe Lin."
My finger hovered over the screen. That top spot had belonged to me for eight solid years. Now, it was occupied by a name I had barely even heard of.
I tapped into it.
I scrolled through their messages, from yesterday all the way back to the middle of last month.
Strictly business. Nothing out of the ordinary.
It looked completely harmless, like they were just colleagues.
But if she was just a regular coworker, why was she pinned to the top?
More importantly, he had never mentioned her to me. Not once.
My husband always talked about work when he came home. Who got a promotion, who got transferred, which fresh intern messed up, or which coworker was being a pain in the ass. Little things, big things—he shared them all.
Yet, when it came to this Chloe, he had never breathed a single syllable.
I exited the app, my hands trembling as I opened his banking app.
I knew the passcode to this, too. Over all these years of marriage, I had access to every shared financial account.
The transaction history popped up.
On the 10th of last month, a jewelry store charge: $3,500.
On the 15th, a high-end department store charge: $1,800.
On the 20th, another luxury shopping charge: $1,200.
I stared at those figures, my ears ringing violently.
Last month, he asked me for money three times. The first time, he said it was to take a client out to dinner. The second time, he claimed his car needed a major tune-up. The third time, he told me a coworker needed an emergency loan.
I hadn’t questioned him. I transferred the funds straight from our joint account.
I held his debit card, meaning he didn't keep large amounts of cash on hand. Whenever he needed money, he had to ask me.
Turns out, every single dollar went somewhere else.
Fine jewelry. Designer bags.
I hadn't received a single one.
Our anniversary had just passed, my birthday was months away, and Valentine’s Day wasn’t anywhere near.
Where had those gifts gone? The answer was glaring right in front of me, but I was terrified to let my mind go there.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, my palms slick with cold sweat.
I heard the bathroom door click open.
"Babe, I'm done. Shower's all yours," his voice drifted in from the living room.
I gripped the phone tightly, my knuckles turning bone-white.
My mind was a swirling mess of those transactions, the messages, and that unfamiliar name.
I thought our marriage was solid.
Eight years together, and everyone around us praised what a perfect match we were. My friends always said he was devoted, my coworkers said I hit the husband jackpot, and even my mom kept telling me men like him were one in a million.
I took a deep, shuddering breath and put his phone right back where it was.
Grabbing my glass of water, I walked out into the living room.
He was sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. Looking up as I approached, he offered a warm smile.
"What's wrong? You look pale."
"Nothing," I murmured, taking a sip before sitting down on the armchair across from him.
"Is this about what I said earlier? About keeping my paycheck?"He set his phone facedown and leaned forward.
"Look, I just want a little pocket money of my own. It doesn't mean I’m not supporting this house. I'll still cover my share of the bills every month, and whatever is left over, I’ll hand it to you."
He sounded so earnest, almost walking on eggshells as if he genuinely worried about hurting my feelings.
The knot in my chest pulled tighter.
"I'm not mad."
"If you want to manage your own money, go ahead."
He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, leaning back against the cushions and picking his phone back up.
"Don't worry, I won't waste it. I just want to buy things without constantly having to ask you for cash. You know, like grabbing lunch with coworkers. It’s just more convenient."
I sat there, my thoughts tangled in knots.
I wanted to confront him, but where would I even begin?
I had no concrete proof. No smoking gun. With just a pinned chat and a few retail charges, he could easily spin an excuse and talk his way out of it.
What if I was just overthinking?
"Babe?"
He called out to me again.
"You really don't seem like yourself today."
"I said I'm fine."
I stood up, set the glass on the coffee table.
"I'm going to take a shower."
As I walked into the bedroom, I glanced back at him over my shoulder.
He was looking down at his screen, a faint, lingering smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
That night, I tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep.
He came in past eleven, switched off the lights, and slipped under the covers beside me.
"Asleep yet?" he whispered.
I didn't answer, keeping my eyes squeezed shut, pretending to be out cold.
After a while, his breathing settled into a steady, rhythmic pattern.
I rolled onto my side and stared at his back.
I had looked at this back for eight years. It used to make me feel so safe and protected, but right now, he felt like a total stranger.
Tears spilled over without warning.
I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my face into the pillow, choking back every sound.
The next morning, the alarm jarred me awake.
His side of the bed was already empty, the sheets neatly tucked.
I checked the clock—7:20 AM. He usually left the house by seven.
On the dining table sat a cup of iced coffee and a warm bagel, weighted down by a sticky note: *Breakfast is on the table. Make sure you eat.*
A note like that used to warm my heart.
Now, seeing it only made my chest ache with suffocation.
He could still buy me breakfast so casually, still leave sweet little notes, pretending everything was perfectly fine between us.
Yet everything in my world had shattered.
I arrived at the office ten minutes late, my fingers trembling as I badged in.
I spent the first half-hour staring blankly at my monitor, unable to process a single word on the screen.
My coworker, Zoey, passed by my cubicle and poked her head in. "Claire, you look exhausted. Bad night?"
"Yeah, didn't sleep much," I forced a tight smile.
"Take care of yourself, okay?"
I nodded and forced myself to pull up a work file.
By the afternoon, I couldn't take it anymore. I took half a day off and went home early.
I sat on the couch for hours.
Deep down, I already knew the truth.
Yet I still wanted to hear it straight from his mouth.
I wanted him to look me in the eye and tell me who those luxury items were for, who this girl was, and why he looked me in the face and lied.
At seven in the evening, the front door clicked open."Babe, I picked up some ribs for dinner," he called out cheerfully.
He turned around, noticing me on the sofa. "You're home early today."
"Took the afternoon off."
"Feeling sick?"
"No. Just tired."
He didn't push any further, turning back to prep dinner in the kitchen.
Sitting in the living room, the aroma of garlic and seasonings wafting from the stove made my stomach turn violently.
During dinner, he acted just like he always did, carving off the tenderest piece of meat and placing it onto my plate.
I kept my head down, picking at my food, completely silent.
Whenever he asked something, I answered with flat, one-word replies, never once looking him in the eye.
"Are you still upset about the paycheck thing?"
He set his fork down, his voice carrying a hint of helplessness.
"I'm not."
### 小说标题
The Devoted Husband's Hidden Tab"Then what is wrong? You’ve been acting weird since last night."
I put my bowl down and finally looked up at him.
His face was painted with genuine confusion and concern. His brow was slightly furrowed, his fork resting against the rim of his plate.
I parted my lips, desperate to ask him, but not a single sound came out.
The words caught completely in my throat.
"I'm really fine."
I looked down.
"Work's just been stressful lately."
He studied me for a beat, didn't push any further, and picked up his fork to continue eating.
Neither of us said much that night.
While he did the dishes, I went back to the bedroom, lying in bed scrolling through my phone, though my eyes didn't register a single thing on the screen.
After finishing the kitchen, he watched TV in the living room for a bit and didn't come in until past ten.
My back was turned to his side. I listened to his footsteps approach the bed, felt the mattress dip, and heard the soft click of the lamp turning off.
In the pitch black, his steady breathing drifted right by my ear.
Smooth, rhythmic—just like every single night over the past eight years.
"Austin," I said softly.
"Hmm?" His voice was thick with drowsiness.
"I want to see your phone."
Silence.
It lasted maybe two or three seconds, but those few seconds felt like an entire endless winter.
"Why do you suddenly want to check my phone?"
His tone still sounded lazy, but beneath it, I caught a sharp, sudden edge of tension.
"Just felt like looking through it."
I rolled over to face him, though I couldn't make out his expression in the dark.
"Is that a problem?"
"Of course not. Go ahead."
He reached under his pillow, pulled out his phone, and hesitated for a fraction of a second before handing it over.
"Passcode's the same."
I took it. When the screen lit up, the glow illuminated his face.
He was lying on his side, his expression masked by the shadows.
I purposely clicked into other apps first. I skimmed through his photos—just work screenshots and random landscape shots, no selfies.
Then I checked his texts—all two-factor authentication codes and delivery notifications.
Only then did I open SnapChat.
My thumb hovered above the screen, my peripheral vision locked onto him.
He moved.
He shifted from his side onto his back, crossing his hands tightly over his stomach.
His breathing turned heavier than before, like he was deliberately trying to keep it steady.
I tapped the messages. Pinned right at the very top was Chloe Lin.
"Who is this Chloe Lin?"I asked, keeping my voice as deadpan as possible.
"A coworker," he answered quickly.
"She's new. We collaborate a lot on projects."
"Oh."
I nodded, scrolling down until I found my own chat with him.
"Then why did you unpin me?"
He didn't answer right away.
"Having too many pinned chats got annoying," he finally replied, a stiff awkwardness bleeding through his words. "I unpinned a few people. It wasn't about you."
He turned his head to look at me.
"What is up with you today? Are you checking up on me?"
He forced a light chuckle on the words *checking up*, but I heard the sharp bite of irritation underneath.
I didn't press. I just handed the phone back to him.
When his fingers brushed mine, his skin was noticeably cold.
"Let's sleep," he said, turning his back on me.
He was panicking. I knew it.
Every single answer he just gave was pure deflection. Not a word of it was genuine.
After a while, his breathing settled into a steady rhythm again.
I whispered his name. No answer.
Slowly, I sat up, leaning back against the headboard, burying my face in my pulled-up knees.
The tears came rushing back, unstoppable this time.
"Who did you buy those things for last month?"
His back instantly stiffened.
"What things?" He didn't turn around, his voice muffled.
"The jewelry, the designer bags, the high-end department store charges. Last month, you spent almost twelve thousand dollars. Who did you buy all that for?"
Silence stretched out between us.
It lasted so long I thought he would never speak again.
Finally, he rolled over to face me.
"You went through my bank statements?"
"When you asked me for cash, you told me it was for client dinners, a car tune-up, and an emergency loan for a coworker. But every single dime went straight to luxury counters and jewelry stores. Austin, who are you buying gifts for?"
I heard his breathing shift—from slow to shallow, then sinking into a heavy, dark silence.
"Do you think I'm cheating on you?" he asked.
"Are you?"
He didn't answer.
I waited. I waited for him to say no, waited for him to give me any plausible excuse.
Even if the excuse was laughably flimsy, I would have forced myself to believe it.
I had already made up excuses in my head for him—it was a gift for his boss, an appreciation present for a huge client, or something for his mother.
Anything. As long as he gave me a reason, I was ready to buy it.
But he said nothing.
He just lay there in silence, like a cold brick wall erected between us.
"Why aren't you saying anything?" My voice began to shake.
"What do you want me to say?"
"You already dug through my bank statements. You've already made up your mind, haven't you?"
"I haven't made up my mind! I just want you to explain it to me!"
"You're going through my phone in the middle of the night, auditing my statements—isn't this all just because I didn't hand over my paycheck this month?"
His voice suddenly spiked, before he quickly swallowed it down.
"Claire, do you actually think I'm having an affair? Or are you just furious that you don't have my money anymore, and you feel like you're losing control over me?"
My mouth fell open, tears spilling over instantly.
It wasn't just how cruel the words were—it was the horrifying realization that this was genuinely how he saw me.
He thought managing our finances was all about control. He thought eight years of devoted care was nothing more than toxic possessiveness.
"You think this is about money?"
He kept his mouth shut.
"Fine."
I took a ragged breath.
"Then tell me: what did that twelve thousand dollars buy? Where is it? Who did it go to? Answer that, and I won't say another word."
A long, suffocating pause hung in the air.
"It went to someone."
He finally spoke, his voice so quiet it was barely a whisper.
"Who?"
"You know who."
When those three words dropped, the final tether inside my brain snapped cleanly in two.
"Chloe Lin?"
He didn't deny it.
"You bought her jewelry? You bought her designer bags? What right do you have?!"
My voice cracked, rising hysterically as hot tears flooded down my cheeks.
"Who the hell is she to you? What is going on between you two?!"
Chapters (4)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Watch & Promotions
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