Chapter 3

I clenched my teeth.

My swollen eyes burned as my fingers shook over the keyboard.

I opened the synced banking records and checked every transaction.

Grad school prep course: $8,000.

Grad school tuition and housing: $40,000.

Four years in a luxury Shangara apartment: $96,000.

Four years of watches, electronics, and living expenses: $36,000.

Down payment for the condo we were supposed to buy: $40,000.

And last month, the money Mom had saved for our future—the money I'd sent him to keep safe: $50,000.

Total: $270,000.

For eight years, I'd worked myself raw for his so-called future, sending him every dollar I earned.

I zeroed in on the $50,000 Mom had left me.

It was everything she had.

Before cancer, she'd pressed it into my hands and told me to use it for my future.

The transaction history was brutal.

He'd never put it in the fixed-term account he promised.

The day after he got it, he transferred it to a company account called ViviTech.

Description: [Personal Project Investment]

I stared at the endless transactions and receipts.

Then I laughed.

Tears hit the keyboard.

He hadn't just used my money to support himself.

He and his whole family had plotted to drain me dry and bankroll the girl he never got over.

I took screenshots and downloaded everything—chat logs, transfers, hotel bookings from Havalia Island and every other city.

Then I connected to the shared printer outside the lounge.

It hummed to life, spitting out page after page of evidence.

I stood there, watching black words fill white paper.

Maybe it was a blessing Mom never had to meet him.

Just as the printer finished the last page, a new email popped up.

Same anonymous account.

No message this time.

Just a video attachment titled [Graduation Ceremony.]

Recorded four years ago. June.

It showed the backstage hallway at Tyler's grad school commencement.

Tyler wore his cap and gown.

Vivian stood in front of him in a sharp skirt suit.

In an empty corner, they pulled each other close.

Then they kissed.

The footage was clearly taken in secret, but it caught everything.

His arm around her waist.

The way he looked at her.

Like she was the only person there.

I stared at the timestamp.

My blood went cold.

What was I doing that day, four years ago?

Then I remembered.

Mom had just been diagnosed with a liver tumor.

She was in surgery.

I'd been alone outside the OR, shaking in a cold plastic chair while the red 'SURGERY IN PROGRESS' sign glowed overhead.

I was terrified.

So I texted him.

[Tyler, Mom's surgery just started. I'm scared. Can you stay and talk to me for a little while?]

His reply came back word for word.

[Lindsay, I'm busy with my graduation ceremony. My advisor and the university admins keep pulling me away to socialize.]

[I'll call you later. Your mom is strong. She'll be okay.]

That was what he'd been busy with.

Kissing another woman in an empty hallway.

And his so-called socializing?

Giving himself to the woman he'd never stopped loving.

For eight years, I wasn't just his personal ATM.

I was the placeholder he used whenever Vivian wasn't around.

I closed the video, gathered the evidence, and slid everything into a large envelope.

Then I went back to Mom's memorial table and placed a fresh flower beside her photo.

A week had passed since she died.

I took out my phone, opened Tyler's chat, and typed:

[I'm holding a memorial for Mom at the old apartment the day after tomorrow. Bring your parents. We'll settle the money and the condo then.]

He replied in under ten seconds.