My Fiancée Gave Away My Fortune, So I Called Off the Wedding

1: 1

In under six months, Madison Pruitt's childhood friend had come by our newlywed apartment nine separate times to haul things away.

Furniture, appliances, even the potted plants and the paintings off the walls. Nothing was safe.

I wanted to call the police every time, and every time Madison stopped me.

"Laurence doesn't come from money. He just started working, could only cover the down payment, and the place is completely empty."

"I told him he could borrow it. It's not like he won't give it back."

"What are you in such a rush about?"

So I swallowed it and bought everything again to fill the gaps.

The tenth time, Laurence carried off my figurine cabinet.

Inside it were pieces I'd collected for years, some of the finest in existence, worth tens of millions.

I'd finally had enough, and I followed him back to his place.

And there I found that the layout and design of his apartment were identical to our newlywed one, down to the last detail.

When I saw the giant wedding portrait of him and Madison hanging in the bedroom, I quietly took out my phone and posted a message in the building residents' group chat.

"Everything in unit 801, free to a good home."

"Anyone want it?"

That night, Madison didn't get home until eleven.

She kicked off her heels and peeled off her stockings.

Rubbing her ankle, she drew her words out long and soft. "I'm exhausted. I really don't want to work overtime."

I didn't answer, just watched the light flickering across the TV screen.

Two hours earlier, Laurence had updated his social feed.

A close-up of a movie ticket stub, with a dim theater and a pair of tightly clasped hands in the background.

On the girl's wrist was a bracelet exactly like the one Madison had worn out the door today.

That movie was one I'd been looking forward to for six months. After it opened, I'd asked her three times.

The first time, she said she had a project deadline.

The second time, she said her friend was in a bad mood and needed company.

The third time, just two days ago, she frowned with those delicate brows of hers and turned me down. "What's so great about that kind of shoot-'em-up sci-fi movie? All that noise gives me a headache. I'd rather rest at home."

So it wasn't that the movie wasn't good. It was a matter of who she'd watch it with.

She came over and sat down next to me.

"Rub my legs for me, they're so sore."

A faint smell of buttery popcorn and sweetness, mixed with men's cologne, drifted quietly off her.

I didn't move.

"Orson Dickerson, I'm talking to you. Why aren't you reacting at all?"

She nudged me lightly with her elbow, that familiar little note of complaint in her voice.

"Mm. I heard you."

There wasn't a trace of anything in my voice.

She seemed to notice something was off, and turned to study my face.

But maybe she was in too good a mood, because that flicker of doubt was quickly pushed aside.

She got up and headed for the bathroom.

"I'm dead tired. I'm going to take a shower first."

When she came out, she slipped under the covers trailing damp warmth and the floral scent of body wash, and curled toward my side the way she always did.

Her hand settled on my chest, fingertips tracing idle circles.

"Sweetie..."

Her voice went softer still, the last syllable rising in a sticky little lilt.

It was the tone she always used when she wanted something.

"Hm?"

"Laurence showed me this big round Italian-style bed today. It's really so beautiful!"

"The design is really luxurious, and the leather headboard looks so high-end just at a glance. It would look so impressive in the bedroom of our apartment."

She lifted her eyes, and in the dim glow of the bedside lamp they were bright and full of longing.

"Let's get a new bed, okay? The one we have feels too ordinary, and it's not that comfortable to lie on either."

I looked into her eyes. The outline of the ceiling light was mirrored there clearly, but it seemed unable to reach anything deeper.

The room was very quiet, quiet enough that I could hear her shallow breathing.

I didn't say yes right away the way I usually did, and I didn't say no either.

I just looked back at her calmly and spoke.

"Should we buy two?"

"And one of them, I'll just have someone deliver straight to Laurence?"

The air froze in an instant.

Madison's fingers went stiff against my chest.

The mood she'd been so carefully building drained clean off her face.

She snatched her hand back and shifted away from me, opening the distance between us.

"Orson, what nonsense are you talking about?!"

"Everything was fine, so why bring up Laurence? This is completely absurd!"

Her brows knit together tight, her lips pressed into a thin, displeased line.

"I just liked a bed and wanted to swap it out, that's all! Do you have to be this petty?"

"Laurence is out here in the city on his own, and it isn't easy for him. What's wrong with helping out a friend?"

"You're a grown man. Why are you always nickel-and-diming over this kind of thing?"

2: 2

Her words, as always, twisted the blame back onto me.

She recast my objection as being "petty," as "keeping score."

Every time it was this same script.

And every time, that tone of hers, laced with disappointment and reproach, made me wonder whether maybe I really was overreacting, whether I really was too narrow-minded.

Laurence Gilbert had it hard.

Laurence had just graduated.

Laurence came from a poor family.

So our wedding apartment could be stripped bare at his convenience.

Our life together could be disturbed without end.

And even the things I treasured most could be handed over to him with a wave of her hand.

Before, when I saw her like this, I would feel helpless, I would give in, I would tell myself to let it go.

It was just an object, not worth a fight.

But this time, no.

I looked at her cheeks flushed faintly pink under the light, at the undisguised favoritism and defense in those pretty eyes.

An overwhelming exhaustion and emptiness swept through me.

Heavier than anger, more complete than disappointment.

So it turned out that when your heart went cold enough, you didn't even have the urge to argue anymore.

The quieter I stayed, the angrier Madison got.

She shot to her feet, her voice suddenly climbing: "Orson, do you think I have no one else to marry but you?"

"If you keep this up, we're done!"

This was her go-to move.

Before, the moment she brought up breaking up, I would soften, apologize, give in.

But this time, I raised my eyes to her and calmly nodded.

"Fine. Then let's break up."

For a second she froze, as if she hadn't heard right, the anger locking on her face.

Then her whole face flushed fast, mortification and disbelief rushing up at once.

"Fine! You've really got nerve! Orson, don't you dare regret this!"

She practically screamed it, then got up and started putting on her dress and doing her makeup.

Ten minutes later she grabbed her bag, stormed out the door, and slammed it hard behind her.

I took out my phone and called my father.

"Dad," I said. "I'm not going through with this marriage."

"Can you ask the Masons whether the engagement Grandfather arranged still stands?"

There were a few seconds of silence on the other end. My father didn't ask why, didn't try to talk me out of it.

In the end he only sighed.

"Son, I told you a long time ago."

"You have to marry someone from the same kind of family."

I gave a bitter smile.

A little past one in the morning, my phone lit up.

It was a message from Madison's best friend.

"Orson, you'd better come quick."

"Madison's drunk, she keeps calling your name."

"She's even saying she's going to slit her wrists!"

Below the message was a video.

In a dimly lit pool, Madison slumped to one side, her hair a mess.

More than half the water had gone red.

I stared at the screen for a full ten seconds.

In the end, I still picked up my car keys and left.

When I reached the private room at the spa and bathhouse, the laughter inside was grating.

Madison lay draped in a towel, perfectly fine, stretched out on a chair.

There was a smug smile on her face, and a half-finished fruity cocktail in her hand.

The moment I pushed open the door, her circle of friends burst out laughing.

"Ooh, if it isn't the great lover boy. That was fast. Run any red lights?"

"See, Madison? I told you he can't let you go."

"Just dumped some red wine in the pool and reeled him right in."

Madison stood up and walked over to me.

"Since you were so worried about me, I'll forgive you this time."

Her tone was light, as if that whole argument earlier had only been something I imagined.

I said nothing and just looked at her quietly.

Right then, the door to the room swung open again.

Laurence walked in.

He carried a bag of iced coffee and headed straight for Madison.

He took out one cup and handed it to her, his voice tender enough to drip: "Madison, you're on your period these few days, you can't have anything cold, so I made sure to order yours at room temperature."

Madison took the cup, and her face broke into a smile at once, a little bashful.

"Thanks, Laurence. You're always so thoughtful."

Her friends beside her looked on with envy, all talking over one another.

"Look how sweet Laurence is!"

"Right? Way better than certain official boyfriends. At least he doesn't make Madison angry."

"Madison, honestly, you should think it over. Who's really right for you isn't so certain after all!"

3: 3

Laurence acted like he was only now noticing I was there.

He turned his head and gave me a flawless smile, though his eyes were like needles dipped in poison.

"Orson, so you're here too?"

His tone was familiar, but his gaze swept over what I was wearing with clear intent, finally settling on the watch on my wrist.

"That's a real eye for detail you've got there, especially the watch. Madison's always had great taste when she picks things out."

His words were a soft blade, praising me on the surface while quietly reminding me underneath.

A lot of what I had on, this watch included, the one Madison gave me when we got engaged.

Maybe all of it had passed through her hands, carrying the shadow of another man.

Madison didn't seem to catch any hidden meaning at all. If anything, Laurence's "compliment" only made her more pleased with herself.

She hooked her arm through his and shot me a chiding look. "Orson really doesn't have any taste. If I hadn't stepped in with my opinions, who knows what our wedding home would've ended up looking like."

"And he's so petty. He doesn't know the first thing about being considerate."

Laurence patted the back of her hand, the picture of patience and tenderness.

"Madison, don't say that. Orson's just a bit old-fashioned in his thinking, a little careless with people, that's all."

"He really does love you."

Every line was meant to "let me off the hook," and every line pushed me into a worse light.

Hearing it, her friends started shaking their heads at me one after another.

I watched the scene in front of me without a word.

Madison nestled against Laurence, her face warm with a genuine smile and reliance on him.

I suddenly wanted to laugh.

Not at them. At myself.

At the fact that I'd actually come rushing over because of a fake message.

At all the times before this that I'd chosen to tolerate and to believe.

Laurence spoke again, his voice gentle.

"Orson, I know why you argued with Madison."

"It's just because she lent me a few things without asking you first, isn't it?"

He looked straight at me, without a trace of guilt or evasion.

"Don't worry. I'll give it all back tomorrow."

He made the promise flatly, like it was already settled.

Then he turned back to Madison, his eyes softening at once into endless tenderness.

"Just please don't be angry with Madison anymore. Don't be so petty."

The whole speech was noble-sounding and airtight.

Madison was deeply moved.

She tilted her face up at Laurence, a clear film of tears gathering in her eyes.

It was a tenderness I'd never once seen from her.

"Laurence, don't be like this."

"Money's tight for you right now. Take the things and use them, there's no rush to return them."

"Orson and I aren't getting married for a while yet."

That look on her face chilled me more than any sharp word could have.

I couldn't stand to watch anymore.

Every extra second felt like cruelty to myself.

I turned and left without a word.

The instant the door closed, I heard her friends whispering behind me.

"See, I called it. He's jealous again for sure."

"Right? That thin a skin... honestly, only Madison could put up with it."

Last came Madison's careless voice.

"Ignore him."

"A few words tomorrow and I'll have him talked around."

The hallway light was dim and murky, the air thick with the cloying mix of smoke, liquor, and perfume.

I didn't pause. I walked straight for the exit.

The next morning at breakfast, my phone buzzed.

A message popped up in the building residents' group chat. A girl I didn't really know had tagged me.

"Hi, about the things in unit 801, are they really all free for the taking?"

I gave a short reply. "Yes."

Then I posted all the photos I'd taken the night before to the group.

Furniture, appliances, decorative pieces, even the curtains and the rugs.

The pictures went up one after another, the sent-successfully chime sounding over and over.

After breakfast I came to the door of the wedding home and heard the racket coming from inside.

Laurence was directing a few workers assembling a round Italian bed.

He was dressed casually, completely at ease.

As if he were the one who owned this wedding home.

The moment Madison saw me she came over quickly, a bright smile on her face.

She hooked her arm through mine, her voice sugary. "Orson, you're right on time!"

"Laurence ordered us that round Italian bed. It just got here. Don't forget to pay for it in a bit."

4: 4

She spoke with the corners of her eyes tilting up, her tone taking it all for granted.

I slowly drew my arm free of her grip, met her eyes, and kept my voice low but perfectly clear.

He bought the bed. Why should I pay for it?

The smile froze on Madison's face.

Her brows knit, and displeasure rose fast in her eyes. Orson, what's that supposed to mean?

It's barely morning. Are you trying to start a fight again?

That was when Laurence walked over.

He wore just the right amount of concern, his voice gentle. Madison, don't be like this.

Then he turned to me, his gaze earnest, but carrying a faint, barely-there sneer.

Orson, if you think the bed's too expensive, I can help cover it.

There's no need for the two of you to fall out over a little money like this.

I laughed all of a sudden.

A mere eighty grand. You think I'd call that too expensive?

My gaze slid across that lavish bed they'd just finished assembling, then settled on Laurence's slowly stiffening face.

Laurence, that rosewood tea table you borrowed from me goes for four hundred sixty thousand on the market.

That top-of-the-line imported built-in kitchen suite? The invoice came to one point two million.

And that blue-and-white porcelain vase from my study, the Qianlong-era one. It sold at Christie's last year for three point eight million.

I kept my pace steady, every word crisp and unmistakable.

Oh, right. And there's that last figurine cabinet.

Any out-of-print piece in there is worth six figures, easy.

Do you want me to go through them one by one?

With each number I named, the color drained a little more from Laurence's face.

He didn't dare meet my eyes, glancing in a fluster toward the few workers nearby who had stopped what they were doing and were straining to listen.

The workers' looks had already shifted from curiosity to shock, and then to open contempt.

Madison's face changed too.

First disbelief, then anger taking its place.

Her cheeks flushed red fast, not from embarrassment, but from the hot rush of humiliation and rage.

Orson!

She cut me off with a shriek, her voice trembling slightly with fury.

Shut your mouth! Who told you to say all this?!

She lunged a step forward, practically jabbing a finger at my nose.

So Laurence took a few of your things, so what?

I said it was borrowing! Is that too hard for you to understand?

A grown man, keeping such careful accounts. Doesn't that disgust you?

Do you have to be this petty about it?

Fine! There's no living with you!

Break up! You hear me? We're breaking up!

She screamed the last words and stared me down.

Expecting to see me panic the way I always had, give in, apologize.

Behind her, Laurence kept his eyes lowered, trying to hide the awkwardness on his face.

But those pressed-tight lips and the faint twitch at the corner of his eye gave away just how humiliated he was.

I smiled again, took out my phone, and looked at the workers.

Guys, how much is the bed plus installation, all in?

They named a figure, and I transferred the money on the spot.

When the payment confirmation chimed, Madison's face eased a little, the corners of her mouth lifting again.

Thinking I had finally, once more, bent to her will.

Right then, the doorbell rang.

I turned and opened the door.

A pretty young woman stood outside.

Long, softly waved hair, big eyes, fair skin.

A few neighbors trailed behind her.

She looked at me a little timidly and asked in a small voice.

Hi, we're here to take the things. Is now a good time?

I nodded with a smile.

Of course. Help yourselves, everyone.

Take whatever you like, no charge.

And if anything's too heavy to carry, I can lend a hand.