I Found His Marriage Certificate In His Suit Pocket Chapter 02

I Found His Marriage Certificate In His Suit Pocket Chapter 02

I froze for a split second, but Ethan was faster. He swung the door open before I could move.

A small, thin girl stepped inside, a rolling suitcase in one hand and a stack of textbooks in the other, stumbling slightly under the weight.

Ethan hurried to take the suitcase and books from her, “Let me get those for you.”

Her face was the same one in the marriage license photo.

This was Mia Reed.

Ethan dragged Mia’s suitcase toward the guest room, and when he passed me, he mumbled an explanation, his cheeks flushing with awkwardness:

“Mia’s my wife on paper, Sophie. I asked her to move in with us so her parents don’t get suspicious.”

“I’ll tutor her myself, and you can make her healthy meals. I know she’ll get into grad school next year with our help.”

“Thank you, Professor Cole.”

Mia blushed as she thanked him, but the moment her eyes met mine, her face went pale.

She pouted and muttered a reluctant thank-you, her voice barely a whisper:

“Thank you too, Mrs. Cole.”

Mrs. Cole?

Ethan and I weren’t even married. I was nothing close to his wife.

I set the bracelet gently on the table, ignoring the girl, and turned to pack my bags.

But Mia wasn’t about to let me leave in peace.

She bowed deeply to me, her small face set in a stubborn line:

“Professor Cole only married me to help me. He only loves you, Mrs. Cole.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll pay you back every penny of the $80,000 dowry Professor Cole gave my parents, and all the wedding jewelry too—when I get a job and make money. Thank you both for saving my life!”

As she spoke, Mia brushed a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear, “accidentally” revealing her diamond earrings, necklace, and bracelet.

They were exquisitely made, heavy, and obviously expensive.

Did fake marriages require a dowry and a fancy wedding jewelry set?

I fumbled for my banking app and opened it, panic rising in my chest.

Our $120,000 joint savings—all those zeros, gone in an instant. Only $300 was left in the account.

I clutched my chest, my insides twisting into a tight, painful knot that made it hard to breathe.

I turned on Ethan, screaming, my voice raw with despair:

“That money was ours! We saved it together! You took it and gave it to Mia for a dowry and jewelry without even telling me—that’s theft!”

Ethan had always prided himself on being an honest, upright man. The word theft made his face turn black with anger.

“If I hadn’t given her parents the dowry, do you think they would’ve let her leave that town? A human life—is that not worth $80,000 to you?”

“And the jewelry? What girl gets married without something nice to wear? Fake marriage or not, I couldn’t let Mia feel slighted. You’re a woman too, Sophie. Can’t you put yourself in her shoes?”

A metallic taste of blood rose in my throat.

$80,000. He said it like it was pocket change, like he could pull it out of thin air.

But that money was every penny we’d saved in seven years of working.

Ethan was a university associate professor; I owned a small fashion boutique in the city.

We’d had a comfortable income, but Ethan’s research ate up almost all his salary—his supplies were always so expensive.

I’d been the one to pay for every household bill, every daily expense.

I’d pinched pennies and skimped on everything to build that savings account. All for the day Ethan would propose, so we could have a beautiful wedding, the kind we deserved.

I’d never gotten that proposal.

Instead, I’d watched Ethan take our wedding fund and give it to another woman—for her dowry, for her jewelry.

“Cheapskate. It’s just money! When I graduate from grad school, this chump change will be nothing to me. I’ll pay you back double!”

“I thought Professor Cole’s girlfriend was someone special. Turns out you’re just like all those small-minded old ladies back in my town—all you care about is money. So vulgar.”

Mia grumbled under her breath, her voice not loud, but loud enough for both Ethan and me to hear clearly.

Ethan froze mid-step, but in the end, he said nothing to defend me.

He picked up a soft, silky set of bed linens and carried it to the guest room to make Mia’s bed.

It was the first time I’d ever seen him do any housework.

And he was doing it for another woman.

Mia shot me a cold glare, then skipped after him, her shoes tapping on the floor.