My Husband Told Me to Give Up My $6 Million Inheritance,Then I Found Out He Was CheatingChapter 1

Over dinner, I told my husband about the upcoming demolition payout for our family's old house.

He waved it off without a second thought, urging me to let it go.

"We've got two good hands and steady paychecks. There's no reason to touch Mom and Dad's money."

At first, I was genuinely surprised.

Then he added, "I've still got two younger brothers. They need that money more than we do."

That's when it clicked. He had the wrong idea entirely.

I nodded, playing along. "Sure. If you say we don't need it, then we don't need it."

After all, the property being demolished was on my side of the family.

——

It was past eleven when my husband finally came home.

He reeked of liquor, swaying as he kicked off his shoes and peeled off his jacket.

I'd been sitting on the couch for nearly three hours.

"Mom called today. The old house back home is getting demolished."

I got straight to the point.

He cracked his eyes open slowly, brow furrowed, staring at me.

That expression was nothing new.

Every time something came up involving money, he wore the exact same look. Like gears were turning behind his eyes, calculating.

"The demolition payout and the replacement housing," I continued. "Mom and Dad said they'd split everything evenly. They want to know if we'd rather have a unit or take the cash."

He sat up straighter. The drunkenness seemed to drain right out of him.

"Here's what I think," he said. "We both earn decent salaries. We're perfectly capable of supporting ourselves. There's no reason to go after Mom and Dad's demolition money."

I stared at him. This was completely unlike anything Clement Chavez had ever said.

And the conviction in his voice. He sounded downright noble.

I started to wonder if I'd heard him wrong.

Normally, he inserted himself into every last thing involving my family. Last year, when my father pulled strings to get him a job, Clement had no trouble accepting every gift that came with it. The year before that, when my brother Derek brought back specialty goods from out of town, Clement cherry-picked the best of the lot. He'd even insisted on taking live chickens from my parents' farm so he could have them freshly slaughtered as gifts for his boss.

And now, suddenly, he was turning down money? Had hell frozen over?

When I didn't respond, he kept going.