A photo from a car dealership, captioned with ridiculous bravado: "Just a little Mercedes. Consider it mine."
I raised an eyebrow, utterly speechless.
The comments were full of mutual friends fawning over him.
His female coworker—probably terrified he'd dump her now that he had money—had somehow convinced him to post about her constantly over the past few days.
That's just how the world works. People mock the poor, never the shameless.
Because of money, everyone wanted to cozy up to Clement. Not a single person called him out for cheating, for being faithless.
Instead, they congratulated him on landing such a beauty.
Wished him and his "new lady" a lifetime of happiness together.
While waiting for the divorce to finalize, I listed the apartment online.
A week later, I brought potential buyers to view it. Clement blocked my way.
Looking at this man I hadn't seen in days—face glowing with self-satisfaction—my expression turned cold.
"Move. This is my house. You have no say in what I do with it."
Clement stood there, one hand on his hip, his growing belly jutting out. He curled his lip into a sneer. "All you want is money, isn't it? Fine—name your price. I'll buy it."