He Married Me as a Bet

The day before our wedding, Mason suddenly demanded I buy him a Mercedes.

He looked utterly helpless. You're pregnant and can't work. Buying a new car is just for my job, and to make it easier to take care of you and the baby.

To help me, my mom used all her life savings.

But three months after we got married, Mom was diagnosed with stomach cancer.

I begged Mason for help, but he refused.

"You're already asking me for money right after getting married!" he said. "You think having my child gives you leverage over me? Honestly, I'm not short on women who'd have my kids!"

I worked desperately to earn money, but Mom still passed away.

On the way back from the funeral, I overheard Mason talking to a woman.

"Turns out poor people are all the same, always calculating," he said. "I thought Mia was different from other women, but she's just after my money! I lost the bet. Pick out whatever car you want."

So he'd been pretending to be poor all along.

And marrying me was just a bet.

But when I finally gave up all hope and turned to leave, he cried and fell to his knees, begging me not to go.

"I told you before, poor people have no genuine feelings!" the woman, Tiffany, said smugly, snuggling into his shoulder. "I just feel bad for you, getting played. She showed her true colors after only three months. How boring."

I couldn't see Mason's expression, only that he calmly swiped his card.

"A bet's a bet. I misjudged her this time," he said. "It doesn't matter anyway. Mia's pretty and has a good figure. I'll just consider it like keeping a call girl for two years. No loss there."

Tiffany couldn't hide the joy on her face as she pulled Mason into the new car.

I knew that car dealership all too well.

During the months Mom was sick, I worked there part-time as a mechanic, eagerly taking on every dirty, exhausting job I could find.

I was actually coming back now to pack up my things and quit.

Watching that flashy, limited-edition Ferrari peel out of the lot, I slowly approached.

Sarah, the car salesperson, was still beaming and chattering away.

"That's the son of our city's richest man!" she said. "Casually dropping millions on a luxury car. I don't even want to work hard anymore. Marry a guy like that, and you'd instantly save yourself ten years of effort!"

I stood there, clutching Mom's urn, frozen for a long time.

Mr. Davies, my supervisor, settled my remaining wages, sighed, and patted my shoulder.

"My condolences," he said. "If you ever want to come back, you're always welcome here."

Less than two thousand dollars--not enough for even half a day of Mom's medical bills.

Now it was all I had left in the world.

I trudged home, completely distraught.

My landlord, Mr. Henderson, was waiting at the door.

"Mia, you're two months behind on rent," he said. "The deposit won't cover it if you can't pay up soon."

I forced a weak smile, clutching the cash in my hand.

"There's been an emergency," I said. "I can't pay. I'll move out as soon as possible."

Mr. Henderson's eyes held a hint of amusement.

"Bought a new place?" he asked. "I saw your husband driving a luxury car home the other day. You two certainly keep things under wraps, don't you?"

I lowered my head with a bitter smile, unsure how to explain, just as Mason stepped out of the elevator.

He spotted me, clicked his tongue impatiently, and carelessly tossed his bag at me.

Mr. Henderson immediately spoke to Mason.

"If you terminate your lease early, the deposit isn't refundable," he said. "You'll also need to pay these two months' rent. I know you two aren't short on cash. Don't make this difficult for me."

After Mr. Henderson finished speaking, Mason shot me a cold glare.

"You didn't pay the rent?" he said. "Waiting for me to bail you out, huh? Mia, do you really have to stoop so low? Your schemes are practically hitting me in the face. Is it really worth it for a little cash?"

I replied almost instinctively, "Yes, it is."

My mom's half-million dollars, saved over a lifetime, was nothing but pocket change to him.

Yet that money, or the lack thereof, had literally dragged her to her grave.

He scoffed, pulled a wad of cash from his bag, and slapped it hard against my face.

"Here, how much do you want?" he said. "I'll give it to you!"

Bills fluttered to the floor.

Days ago, I would've swallowed my pride and scrambled to pick them up.

But now they meant nothing to me.

I counted out two months' rent, handed it to Mr. Henderson, and opened the door to go inside.

Mason and I had lived in this apartment for two years; every corner held traces of our life together.

My gaze fell on a photo on the wall--two slightly awkward figures, leaning close, smiling radiantly.

It was the first photo we'd taken when we first got together.

After graduation, in the breakroom of my internship company, he told me he was an intern in another department.

I still remembered how his eyes crinkled when he smiled, bright and innocent, claiming he knew nothing and needed my guidance.

I couldn't forget his youthful innocence.

He sought me out, and I couldn't help but fall for him.

I truly wanted a good future with him, so I worked desperately, striving for a full-time position, trying to make a stable life for myself in this city.

For two years, we supported each other, comforted each other, slowly building our story in this apartment.

But now everything had dissolved into thin air.

All my hopes for the future were just a rich kid's elaborate game.

A ridiculous feeling spread through my heart.

Mason didn't notice anything different about me and simply sat on the couch.

"Satisfied, Mia?" he said. "Finally got your money, feeling good about yourself? Your greed is disgusting. How did you become like this? You used to have some integrity. Think about it, how many times have you asked me for money these past few months? All for a Mercedes, and you completely showed your true colors. Were all your talks about working hard and our future just empty words?"

I looked at him.

He was different now, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, his hair meticulously styled.

He clearly wasn't going to keep up the act anymore.

The disappointment and helplessness in his eyes pricked at me.

I didn't respond to his accusations, just said faintly, "Let's get a divorce, Mason."

A strange silence stretched for a long time before Mason suddenly laughed.

"Shouldn't I be the one saying that?" he said. "To get me to pay that half-million, you'd even lie about your mom having cancer? You know I hate being lied to! Two years wasted. I was clearly blind. If anyone's getting a divorce, it's me calling it."

His voice was filled with anger.

He pulled a paper from his bag and signed it directly.

"Get over here, sign it, and let's get this done," he said. "I don't have time to waste on you."

So he'd been prepared all along.

I carefully placed the paper box containing Mom's ashes and her photo on the cabinet.

Then I walked slowly toward Mason.

I took the pen and signed, without hesitation.

Out of the corner of his eye, he was eyeing me up and down.

I felt nothing but disgust and weariness.

After I signed, he scoffed and tossed a bank card onto the floor.

"Your money's all in there, untouched," he said. "Consider these two years a gift from me. I misjudged you."

I looked back at him, really looked at him.

I remembered just a few days ago, when Mom was critically ill, she'd whispered that she wanted to see Mason, to know we were okay.

He'd already lost patience with me after I'd begged him for money, but for Mom, I swallowed my pride and called him.

It took a whole night to get through, and when he finally picked up, I was met with a torrent of mockery.

"Calling for money again?" he said. "What's the excuse this time?"

I suppressed my anger and whispered, "Mom's not doing well. Could you... just come see her once, let her know we're okay? That's all."

Suddenly, a loud laugh erupted on the other end.

"Wow, your storytelling has really improved," he said. "You think I'll pity you, believe you, and transfer you money now? I'm not a fan of this act. Go practice some more. Next time, come up with something more touching, and maybe I'll actually fall for it."

The call was disconnected.

When I tried to call back, he'd blocked my number.

He never came, not even when Mom passed away.

I couldn't forget the last words Mom said to me.

She said, "When you have a baby, I won't be able to help you during your postpartum period. That's a crucial time for a woman, and I wanted to tell him to treat you well."

"Couples need to understand each other," she said. "He's a good boy. You two should live a good life together."

Until her last moment, Mom wanted Mason and me to stay together.

But Mom didn't know that the day after I begged Mason for money, he dragged me to a forced abortion.

He said he wouldn't be threatened by a child and wanted to crush any hopes I had.

Right after the abortion, I had no time to rest.

Hounded by hospital bills, I worked non-stop odd jobs, day and night.

What was he doing then?

Partying it up every night with other women?

Or venting to his buddies about how I'd supposedly 'schemed' against him?

I couldn't even feel angry anymore, only sad and ridiculous.

I picked up the card.

It held the money Mom had saved her entire life--it was hers, and I needed to get it back.

As I picked up the card, Mason let out a disdainful scoff, clearly sneering at my actions.

I ignored him, secured the card, and started packing.

Half a million dollars--enough to buy Mom a proper urn and a decent burial plot.

The thought brought a familiar pang of sadness to my nose, and my eyes welled up.

I'd never been one to cry easily.

I hadn't cried while caring for Mom, or even after she passed.

Until now, I'd always thought that if I just tried harder, maybe everything would turn around.

But the pain had only been delayed.

Only now was the reality of Mom's absence slowly sinking in.

Tears slowly streamed down my face, and my hands trembled uncontrollably as I packed.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Mason went to open the door, and I looked over.

The person was familiar--it was Sarah, the car salesperson from the dealership, the 'little white flower' who'd driven away in the new car.

I saw her smile at Mason.

"Mason, I was worried she might get desperate and pull something crazy," she said. "Cornered poor people can be terrifying, you know. Is the agreement signed? I'm here to take you home."

Mason's gaze instantly softened.

"You're always so thoughtful," he said.

Tiffany looked down and chuckled, then her gaze landed on me.

"Pleasure to meet you," she said. "I've heard Mason talk about you often. I honestly thought you might be different from other lower-class people, but it turns out you're just a terrible actress, a clumsy liar. Oh, and the 'dutiful daughter' act? Now that you have your money back, you can drop it. Go ahead, raise your mom from the dead. Wouldn't want those 'unlucky' words to actually come true, right?"

Her mocking tone, her disdainful gaze--the anger coiling in my chest finally snapped.

Saying things about me was one thing, but about my mom? I wouldn't tolerate it.

It was almost instinct.

My hand flew out, landing a punch squarely on her face.

By the time Mason roared, Tiffany was already sprawled on the floor.

"Mia, are you crazy?" he yelled. "Did I hit a nerve? Do you even know who you just hit?"

Did it matter who she was to the person I was now?

I had nothing left to lose.

I ignored his threats, dragged Tiffany up, and slapped her hard again.

But before I could finish, several burly men in black suits burst through the door and pinned me to the floor.

Tiffany scrambled up, looking disheveled, and burst into tears, burrowing into Mason's arms.

"Mason, I'm okay!" she sobbed. "I provoked her on purpose! I already recorded her hitting me with my tiny camera. I can press charges right away!"

Pinned to the ground, I couldn't move an inch, only watch her through gritted teeth.

She pulled out a tiny camera from her neckline and gave me a sinister smile.

"It's all recorded now!" she said. "Mason, you *have* to get revenge for me!"

Mason stared at me, his face grim.

He slowly took off his shoe, patted my face with it mockingly, then swung his hand back.

The pain arrived as expected--a harsh, stinging slap.

My tears instantly welled up and spilled over.

A flicker of regret crossed his eyes, but his gaze was full of disappointment.

"I never thought we'd end up like this," he said. "You were almost there, almost passed my test. But at the last moment, you showed your true colors."

"We did have two years together, and I truly loved you once," he continued. "This slap is just Tiffany returning the favor. Let's just part ways. You and I, we're simply not meant for the same road."

Tiffany, still held back, sounded indignant.

"Mason, you're too soft-hearted!" she said. "That's why this gold-digger had you wrapped around her finger. Look at her, still unrepentant. If she knew your real identity, she'd probably be on her knees begging to get back with you."

Mason looked down at me, his eyes full of pity, as if he felt sorry for me.

Yet in our two years together, he'd never once given me a gift.

Instead, I'd been constantly struggling to meet his demands.

Maybe that was another part of his 'test,' but truly, I owed him nothing.

I spoke coldly to Mason.

"Is it fun to play with someone's genuine feelings?" I asked. "In this relationship, I never owed you anything. Maybe I wasn't 'good enough' for a rich heir, but you have no right to insult me."

"From beginning to end, you're the only one who wronged me."

No sooner had I finished speaking than another angry slap landed.

"I wronged you?" he shouted. "I spent two years on you! Do you honestly think those cheap little things you gave me can buy back two years of my youth? You know I'm a rich heir! Do you even comprehend how valuable my time is, someone like you?"

Mason's face flushed crimson with anger, and Tiffany beside him laughed, clearly enjoying the show.

"Mason, didn't I tell you?" she said. "These people are hopelessly unrepentant. You try to give her an inch, and she'll take a mile."