CHAPTER 2: THE TASTE OF CONSEQUENCES
The next morning, I walked downstairs with a thick black bandana wrapped tightly around my head.
I used makeup to create dark circles beneath my eyes so that I looked completely defeated and exhausted.
Evelyn was sitting in the kitchen eating pumpkin seeds, positioned like a royal queen in a house she neither owned nor paid for.
“Have you already submitted your formal resignation to the company?” she asked without even bothering to look up.
“Yes. I did it first thing this morning,” I lied, allowing my voice to shake with a false sense of defeat. “I am not going back to the office anymore.”
Her eyes gleamed with pure, predatory greed.
“Then take my card and go to the local market immediately.
“I want the finest beef shank, fresh bones for broth, seasonal fruit, and a jar of premium agave honey.
“Patrick needs to eat like a king.”
“Of course, Mom. Use the additional credit card I gave you. You already know the PIN.”
She left the house happily, swinging the designer handbag I had purchased for her during my last business trip.
Half an hour later, the phone I had kept hidden began buzzing with rapid notifications.
Transaction declined.
Transaction declined.
Transaction declined.
I closed my eyes and pictured Evelyn standing in front of the butcher, her face turning bright red with embarrassment while the neighborhood watched her struggle to pay for a simple kilogram of meat.
Then Patrick began calling me.
Once.
Five times.
Ten times.
I ignored every call.
He sent a stream of desperate messages.
“Why is the card being declined?”
“I am at a restaurant with my boss, and I have no cash!”
“Transfer money to me immediately. You are making me look like a fool!”
At seven o’clock that evening, he stormed through the front door, his face purple with rage.
His expensive shirt was wrinkled, his face was covered in sweat, and his pride was clearly shattered.
“What exactly did you do to my credit cards?” he shouted, pacing back and forth.
“I did not do anything,” I replied, calmly pouring myself a glass of cold water. “Since I quit my job, the bank froze all our accounts. I have absolutely no income anymore.
“Did you not say that you were the man of the house and responsible for the money?”
Evelyn entered the room behind him, carrying a completely empty grocery bag.
“You humiliated me in front of the entire neighborhood at the market!” she screamed.
“No, Mom,” I said, looking directly into her eyes. “Relying on a card you did not earn is what humiliated you.”
Patrick slammed his fist against the wooden dining table so hard that the glasses rattled.
“Do not play these sick games with me, Samantha.”
“I am not playing games. From this day forward, this household will be fully supported by your salary.”
The silence that followed was absolutely beautiful.
Patrick earned enough money to show off, but certainly not enough to sustain the high-maintenance lifestyle I had been funding for years.
The following days became a brutal but necessary lesson for both of them.
Bills for electricity, water, high-speed internet, and monthly maintenance fees arrived in the mail.
I took every one of them and placed them directly on the refrigerator.
Evelyn, who always insisted on keeping the air conditioning at its coldest setting, was horrified when the power company finally disconnected the service.
By midday, the house had become a sweltering oven.
Then the city disconnected the water supply.
The kitchen began to smell, the bathroom became unbearable, and the food inside the refrigerator started to spoil.
I spent my time working quietly in my private studio, using a small rechargeable fan, drinking cold-brew coffee, and focusing on my laptop.
The company had not accepted my resignation because I had never actually submitted one to human resources.
They granted me a week of remote work and promised to fully protect my executive position.
On the fourth day, Patrick was forced to borrow money from a dangerous private lender simply to reconnect the basic services.
That same night, I decided to confront him with another truth.
I had discovered dozens of messages on his old secondary phone concerning hidden bets, high-interest loans, and money transfers to a woman named Chloe.
“You owe more than a million pesos to these people,” I told him, throwing copies of his financial records onto the kitchen table.
“Gambling, bad loans, hotel stays—and you even stole the gold wedding coins my parents gave me as a gift.”
Evelyn turned pale, her mouth hanging open in shock.
“Patrick, tell me this is a lie.”
“It is all her fault!” he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at me. “She is always working! A real man needs attention, and I was neglected!”
I laughed at him.
It was a dry, bitter, cold sound.
“Did you also need your mother to hold me down and shave my head while I slept?”
That night, I installed small hidden cameras in the living room and main hallway.
I already knew that when a parasite loses its source of support, it eventually tries to strike back.
They did not take long to reveal their true intentions.
Evelyn tried to give me a cup of tea, claiming it would help me sleep after all the stress.
I poured it down the sink and pretended to fall into a deep sleep.
At midnight, she and Patrick crept into my room carrying a heavy flashlight and a set of tools.
They were desperate to break into my private safe and steal the deeds to the house.
After twenty minutes of struggling, they finally managed to force the heavy door open.
There were no property deeds inside.
Instead, they found a single printed sheet of paper.
It read:
“The house is registered solely in my name, and the documents are stored in a secure vault. Good night, thieves.”
The following morning, neither of them dared to look me in the eye.
But Patrick still had one final and deeply cruel card left to play.
Two days later, he walked into the house with a woman named Chloe.
She wore heavy makeup, revealing clothes, and had a belly that looked far too round and perfectly shaped.
“I would like you to meet the woman I truly love,” Patrick announced dramatically.
“She is carrying my child. This will be the first grandson of our family.
“So you are going to sign these divorce papers and leave the house to us.”
Evelyn began crying tears of joy and immediately rushed forward to stroke Chloe’s belly.
“Finally, an heir to continue our legacy.”
Chloe looked at me with a mocking, cruel expression.
“Love is not responsible for the fact that a wife does not know how to keep her husband interested.”
I did not bother answering her.
I simply studied her strange, high, firm-looking belly.
I looked at her ten-centimeter designer heels, her overpowering perfume, and the way she moved through the room without any of the natural caution of a pregnant woman.
A small, knowing smile touched my lips.
“Fine. You two may stay for a few days while I sort everything out with my lawyer.”
They genuinely believed they had won the war.
They had no idea they had just walked onto the stage where I had carefully planned to expose every one of their pathetic lies.
