My Husband's Boss Owns Me

"Chloe, you need to find a real job. This waitressing thing isn't working."

I looked up from my math homework spread across our tiny kitchen table. Derek stood in the doorway wearing his lucky poker shirt - the faded blue one with holes in the sleeves. He only wore it when he planned to gamble.

"I have a real job," I said. "Two of them, actually."

"Part-time jobs don't count." Derek grabbed his wallet from the counter. "We need serious money. Like, now."

I watched him count the bills inside. Twenty-three dollars. That was all we had until my next paycheck on Friday. It was Tuesday.

"Where are you going?" I asked, though I already knew.

"Out with the guys from work. Networking." Derek avoided my eyes. "Might be late."

"Derek, we can't afford—"

"Can't afford what? A few drinks with potential business contacts?" His voice got that sharp edge it always had when I questioned his spending. "Some of us are trying to build a future here."

I bit back my response. Fighting never helped. Derek would just get angrier and stay out later. Maybe lose more money we didn't have.

"Take a jacket," I said instead. "It's cold tonight."

He kissed the top of my head like nothing was wrong. "Don't wait up, babe."

The door slammed behind him. I stared at my accounting textbook, trying to focus on balance sheets when my own life was anything but balanced. The numbers blurred together as I listened to Derek's car engine fade down the street.

My phone buzzed. A text from my coworker Jessica: "Can you cover my shift tomorrow? Family emergency."

I texted back yes before I even thought about it. Another twelve-hour day at the diner meant another sixty dollars in tips. We needed every penny.

I closed my textbook and walked to our bedroom window. Derek's car was already gone, probably heading to that casino downtown. The one owned by his boss, Mr. Zhang. Derek claimed he only went there for work events, but I'd found casino chips in his pockets too many times to believe that.

My reflection stared back from the dark glass. Twenty-eight years old and I looked forty. When had the circles under my eyes gotten so deep? When had my shoulders started curving inward like I was trying to disappear?

Three years ago, I was finishing my MBA. I had plans, dreams, a future mapped out in five-year increments. Then I met Derek at a coffee shop near campus. He was charming, funny, full of big ideas about the construction business. He made me feel special, like I was the missing piece in his grand plans.

Now those plans felt like fairy tales.

I heated up leftover soup for dinner and ate standing at the counter. Our dining table was covered with my school papers and Derek's job applications - the ones he printed but never actually sent. I'd learned not to ask about them.

The apartment felt bigger when Derek was gone. Quieter. Sometimes I wondered if I preferred it that way, then felt guilty for thinking it.

At ten o'clock, I gave up pretending to study and went to bed. Derek's side was cold and would probably stay that way until morning. I pulled his pillow against my chest and tried not to think about where he might be or how much money he was losing.

My phone rang at 2:47 AM.

"Mrs. Martinez?" The voice was unfamiliar, professional.

"Yes?"

"This is St. Mary's Hospital. Your husband Derek Martinez was brought in tonight. He's stable, but he's been asking for you."

My heart stopped. "What happened? Is he okay?"

"He was involved in an altercation downtown. Some cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. Can you come pick him up?"

I threw on clothes and drove to the hospital with shaking hands. Derek sat on a bed in the emergency room with a black eye and split lip. His lucky shirt was torn and bloody.

"Hey, babe." He tried to smile but winced. "Sorry to wake you."

"What happened?"

Derek looked away. "Just a misunderstanding. Guy thought I was cheating at cards."

"You were gambling."

"It wasn't like that. It was a work thing, I swear. Some of the guys wanted to play a few hands after dinner. I was just being social."

I helped him to the car without saying anything else. What was the point? Derek would have an excuse for everything. He always did.

"Chloe, I know you're mad, but—"

"I'm not mad." I was tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushing tired. "I'm just... tired."

We drove home in silence. I helped Derek clean his cuts and gave him ice for his eye. He fell asleep immediately, probably from whatever painkillers the hospital had given him.

I lay awake staring at the ceiling. Something had to change. We couldn't keep living like this, paycheck to paycheck, crisis to crisis. Derek's gambling was getting worse, not better. Tonight was proof of that.

But what could I do? Leave? With what money? Go where? My parents had made it clear they wanted nothing to do with my "poor life choices." I had no friends left - Derek had slowly isolated me from everyone over the past three years.

I was trapped.

At 6 AM, Derek's phone buzzed with a text message. I glanced at it automatically and froze.

The message was from someone named K. Zhang: "Hospital visit noted. Time to discuss your debt. My office, 9 AM sharp. Don't be late."

K. Zhang. As in Kai Zhang, Derek's boss. The man who owned the casino.

Derek stirred beside me, still asleep. His face looked younger without the constant stress lines, almost like the man I'd fallen in love with. But that man might have been a lie too.

Another text came through: "Bring your wife.”