I was helping my husband pay off his credit card, and when I logged into his banking app, I discovered something—the balance on his payroll account was over four million dollars. I looked at it three times. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. We had been married for three years, and he told me his monthly salary was five thousand. We split the bill for every meal, dividing every expense clearly. I couldn't even bring myself to buy a $399 coat. I stared at that string of numbers, my fingers turning cold. Arthur, who exactly are you? 1. It was a Wednesday. Arthur was going on a business trip, and before he left, he asked me to pay his credit card bill for him. "You know the password. Send me a screenshot when you're done." He sent a text message, complete with a kissing emoji. I said okay. We'd been married for three years, and we always split expenses 50/50. He said his monthly salary was five thousand, and mine was eight thousand. Rent was four thousand: he paid two thousand, and I paid two thousand. Utilities and HOA fees, split down the middle. Meals, split down the middle. He said, "It's not easy for either of us; splitting it 50/50 is the most fair." I thought that made sense. Even though my salary was higher, 50/50 was fair. So for three years, I lived very frugally. I ate at the school cafeteria for lunch, twelve dollars a meal. I bought all my clothes online, and if something cost more than two hundred dollars, I'd think about it for three days. Last month, I had my eye on a coat for $399. I tried it on three times but didn't buy it. I told myself to wait, to buy it when it went on sale for Black Friday. Arthur found out and said, "If you like it, just buy it." I said, "Never mind, it's not a necessity." He smiled. "You really know how to manage a household." At the time, I felt that even though money was tight, it was nice for the two of us to be working hard together. Until that day, when I opened his banking app. He had given me the password. A long time ago, he asked me to pay his phone bill once. Back then, I just paid the bill and logged out. This time, after paying off his credit card, I got ready to take a screenshot. While taking the screenshot, my finger slipped. I swiped to the "My Account" page. A number popped up on the screen. $4,171,283.67. I thought I misread it. I closed the app and opened it again. $4,171,283.67. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. I sat on the sofa, holding my phone, completely motionless. Someone was honking a horn outside the window. A child was crying downstairs. I couldn't hear any of it. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. He said his monthly salary was five thousand. We had split expenses for three years. I couldn't even bring myself to buy a coat. 2. Before we got married, Arthur told me he worked in sales at a small company. "Base salary is three thousand, with commissions it's about five thousand." He dressed very plainly, wearing Uniqlo and Gap. He drove a used Toyota with scratched paint. I never suspected a thing. I'm an elementary school teacher, making eight thousand a month. In this city, a combined income of thirteen thousand for two people isn't a lot, but it's enough to get by. When he suggested splitting expenses, I thought it was reasonable. "I don't make much, but I don't want you to support me. Splitting it 50/50 is about respect." Those words warmed my heart. My mom said, "Although this young man doesn't earn much, he has good character and knows how to respect you." So I married him. Life after marriage could be summed up in one word: frugal. We never went out to eat. I cooked, and we split the grocery bill. I used a budgeting app and recorded every single transaction meticulously. "Today's groceries were $23.50. You owe $11.75, and I owe $11.75." He would say, "I'll round up and give you $12." I'd laugh, "Alright, Mr. Generous." Back then, I thought these little calculations were quite sweet. On my birthday, he sent me a $520 red envelope. "It's the thought that counts." I accepted it, thinking it was nice. For his birthday, I bought him a pair of headphones for $899. He said, "Why did you buy something so expensive?" but even as he said it, his eyes were smiling. I didn't think anything was wrong. Until last winter. My cold turned into pneumonia, and I was hospitalized for a week. The medical bills were over six thousand. I asked if he could front the money for me, since I hadn't been paid yet. He thought for a moment. "How much will insurance cover?" "Probably about half." "Then put it through insurance first, and we'll calculate the rest." I said okay. On the day I was discharged, he calculated the bill for me. "Insurance covered $3,200, leaving $3,400. You pay $1,700, and I'll pay $1,700. Fair, right?" I said fair. I was still coughing that day. He drove me home and bought a box of pears. "Drink lots of water, get well soon." I felt he treated me well. Truly. He was just poor. And there's nothing shameful about poor people pinching pennies. That's what I thought at the time. Laughable, isn't it? Laughable. My mom was diagnosed with diabetes last year. She needed to take medication long-term, costing about eight hundred a month. I told Arthur about this. "I want to send my mom a thousand dollars every month." He was silent for a moment. "That's fine, but that's your family's business. It should come out of your share." I said okay. From then on, my disposable income each month became even less. I switched from eating at the school cafeteria to bringing my own lunch. I'd cook extra the night before and bring it to school the next day. My colleagues asked, "Why are you always bringing lunch?" I'd smile, "It's healthy." When Arthur found out I was sending money to my mom, he said one thing. "Don't give too much, your mom still has your dad." I said, "My dad's pension is only two thousand." He said, "Then just do what you can." Do what you can. At the time, I thought those words were meant well. Thinking about it now, it's a joke. A man making fifty thousand a month telling his wife, who makes eight thousand, to "do what you can." But that night, I didn't explode in anger. I was very calm. Frighteningly calm. I took a screenshot of the balance. Then I logged out of the app. Then I sent Arthur the screenshot of his credit card payment. "It's paid." He replied, "Thanks, honey," with a heart emoji. I looked at that heart. Put down my phone. Went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Then I sat in the living room and started thinking. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. If his monthly salary was five thousand, his savings over three years would be eighteen thousand at most. Even if he lived extremely frugally, twenty thousand at the absolute maximum. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. This isn't something you can save up. This is a completely different level of income. I needed to know more. But I couldn't let him find out. I couldn't. 3. The next day, I took half a day off. Not to go to school. To see Mia. Mia was my college roommate and is now a lawyer specializing in family and marriage law. We met at a cafe downstairs from her firm. I showed her the screenshot. She took one look. "Over four million?" "Yes." "He said his monthly salary was five thousand?" "Yes." Mia set down her coffee cup. "What do you suspect?" "I don't know," I said. "I just feel something isn't right." "Do you know where he works?" "Yes. A company called Apex. He said he does building materials sales." Mia took out her phone and searched. "Apex Industries?" "That should be it." She scrolled through a few pages. "This company had a revenue of 1.2 billion last year and is preparing to go public." I was stunned. "1.2 billion?" "What does your husband do at this company?" "He said... sales." Mia looked at me. "A sales rep making five thousand a month at a company with 1.2 billion in revenue?" She didn't finish her sentence. I understood. Mia helped me organize my thoughts. "Don't alert him just yet. You need to do three things right now." "First, confirm his true income. Check his bank statements. Do you have his password?" "Yes." "Second, confirm where this money went. Four million is the balance. You need to see how much came in, how much went out, and where it went." "Third, confirm if he's having an affair." I looked at her. "You think he is?" Mia didn't answer directly. "A balance of four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. If his monthly salary is fifty thousand, that's eighteen million over three years. Subtracting the four million balance, where did the remaining fourteen million go?" Fourteen million. That number hit me like a ton of bricks. "It could be investments, it could be real estate, it could be something else," Mia said. "But the fact that he's hiding it from you is not a good sign." I nodded. "Find out the truth," she said. "Find out the truth before you decide what to do." She looked at me. "Don't cry, don't make a scene." "Find out the truth, and then do what needs to be done." I said okay. That night, Arthur hadn't returned from his business trip yet. I sat alone in the living room and opened his banking app. This time, I wasn't in a rush. I looked through every single transaction. Payroll deposits, arriving every month. Not five thousand. It was four hundred and eighty-seven thousand, three hundred and twenty-one dollars. Every month. On a fixed date, the 15th. Source: Apex Industries LLC. I scrolled down. Expenses. Transaction by transaction. There was a transfer, a fixed amount every month. $15,000. Note: Mortgage. Mortgage. We rent our apartment. What mortgage? I took a screenshot. I kept scrolling. Another series of transfers, varying amounts. Three thousand, five thousand, eight thousand, twenty thousand. Same recipient. Different notes. "Buy whatever you want, baby." "For you, don't hold back." "Happy Valentine's Day." I stared at the word "baby." My hands didn't shake. My heart didn't break. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over me, from head to toe. Freezing me to the bone. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt anymore. I kept scrolling. I found a massive transfer. Three million, two hundred thousand. Exactly 3.2 million. It happened a year and a half ago. The note was just two words: "Down payment." A 3.2 million dollar down payment. While I was eating discounted bread in our rented apartment. He was buying a house for someone else. I finished looking through all the statements. Closed the app. Stood up and went to the bathroom. Splashed water on my face. The person in the mirror had red eyes, but no tears. I looked at myself in the mirror. "Arthur," I said softly. "You're finished."
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "394956", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel