That’s why, despite our marriage, he only allowed me to withdraw a measly three hundred dollar a month from the housekeeper.
So naturally, his secretary thought a one hundred thousand dollar ring was an extravagant gift, something I should be grateful for.
But today, by accident, I had sat in that chair.
The one custom-made by a master craftsman.
The one designed specifically for Yvonne.
It had cost ten million.
And in that grand master bedroom—where I had never been allowed to step foot—there were billions worth of gifts for her.
I pushed aside the tablet the secretary had handed me to choose a ring design.
"You pick."
It didn’t matter.
That ring would end up destroyed by Tyler anyway.
Just like everything else David had ever given me, even the meaningless some freebies.
And even if it survived, I wouldn’t wear it.
I dismissed the secretary and not long after, Tyler walked back in.
He carried a thermos, opened it and without warning, flung the scalding porridge straight at me.
"You’d better get the hint and leave on your own," he spat. "Next time, it won’t be porridge—it will be sulfuric acid."
His hands weren’t strong enough; most of it landed on the blanket, but some splashed onto my arm.