Chapter 2 When Love turns Cold.

The night dragged on slowly, with Caroline and I anxiously waiting for my husband, Richard to return. Sleep eventually overtook us, but it was uneasy and our minds clouded with worry.

Just as dawn broke, a loud bang echoed through the house, jolting us awake. The pounding continued, heavy and urgent, rattling the front door. I sat up, startled, while Caroline, still half-asleep, blinked in confusion, her heartbeat rising.

"Who's there?" she called out, her voice shaky. No reply came.

The banging grew louder.

With hesitation and fear in her chest, Caroline slowly approached the door and unlatched it. The door swung open and there he was.

Richard.

Drunk. Disheveled. Barely able to stand.

He collapsed straight into Caroline's arms, reeking of alcohol. Before she could even react, he vomited on her dress. Caroline gasped, trying not to scream, struggling to hold him up as I rushed to the doorway.

"Richard!" I exclaimed in shock. "What is wrong with you? Where have you been all night?"

But he said nothing.

His eyes were glassy, his words slurred and unintelligible. Within seconds, he passed out cold in our arms. Together, Caroline and I dragged him inside and helped him into bed, confused and frightened.

I wasted no time. I grabbed my phone and called the family doctor.

An hour later, the doctor arrived. He examined Richard thoroughly and, after checking his vitals, confirmed that there was no medical emergency. "He's simply heavily intoxicated and had likely fainted from fatigue and alcohol," the doctor said.

Caroline walked him to the door to thank him, and when she returned, Richard was slowly stirring awake.

He blinked against the morning light, looking around in confusion. "What are you doing in my room?" he asked, his voice hoarse and defensive.

My face hardened. "Oh, please," I snapped. "You stormed out yesterday without a word. You didn't come home all night. Do you have any idea how worried we were? Where were you, Richard? What happened?"

The air thickened with silence. Then, his face turned pale. His lips trembled as he finally spoke.

"I invested in a fraudulent company," he said quietly, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "They claimed they were developing high-performance IQ application software that would be released under my company's name. I thought it was the future... but it turns out, it was all a scam."

I staggered back, my hand flying to my chest. "What... what are you trying to say?" I stammered. "You're bankrupt?"

He nodded slowly, shame written all over his face. "Yes," he murmured. "I put everything into that investment. I was promised triple returns. It all made sense at the time. I wanted to take the company to the next level. But now... it's all gone."

Caroline's heart ached. I could see it in her eyes as she looked at her father. She took a step forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you sue them?" she asked softly. "There has to be a way."

Richard let out a dry, bitter laugh. "Sue them with what, Caroline? I have nothing left. Not even enough for legal fees. They disappeared. It was a ghost company. They vanished overnight, and I walked right into it like a fool."

Before she could respond, I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"What are you trying to say?!" I snapped, my voice rising sharply. "You won't give me money for my upkeep anymore? For my lifestyle? Don't even try to tell me that!"

He didn't answer. He only looked down, ashamed.

I hissed in frustration, turned on my heels, and stormed out of the room without another word. The door slammed behind me, my anger echoing through the silence.

I paced furiously in the sitting room, my mind racing. How could he? How could Richard be so careless?

A few minutes later, Caroline came in. "Mum, what was the meaning of what you said back there?" she demanded. "Why did you talk to Daddy like that? Do you even realize how much he's hurting? Do you know what it feels like to lose everything? Why were you so... angry? Is money really all that matters to you?"

I spun around, my eyes burning with fury. "Yes! Yes, Caroline, I care about money. So does your father! Don't be naïve," I snapped. "If not for money, would we be living in this beautiful house? Would you have attended the best schools? Would you have had the life you've enjoyed? No!"

Caroline's chest tightened. I could see the hurt in her face, but I didn't stop.

Money is security. Money is power. And I won't lose it," I continued, my voice rising. "I said those things to your father to wake him up to make him realize he has to fight, not sit there and sulk! I refuse to live in poverty. I'm allergic to it!"

With that, I turned and stormed off, my heels echoing through the house, leaving Caroline stunned in silence.

Days passed, and my attitude toward Richard grew colder. I couldn't help it. Every time I looked at him, I saw failure. I couldn't bring myself to speak kindly to him, to offer support, or even share his bed. The love that once defined our marriage had faded into resentment.

Richard felt it, I could tell. He wore his shame like a shadow, but inside, I knew he was angry too. Angry at the world, at himself, maybe even at me. Caroline noticed everything, the silence at dinner, the distance, the way he stared at his plate while I acted like he didn't exist. She often comforted him, staying up late to talk, to remind him that someone still believed in him.

Then one cold night, Richard lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while I stepped out of the bathroom. I wore a silk lingerie set, something I'd worn countless times before but not for him. It was simply part of my nightly routine.

As I walked to the closet to pick out my nightwear, I could feel his eyes on me. The room was quiet, but thick with tension. When I sat on the edge of the bed, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against my back.

I froze, then instantly recoiled, shoving him away in disgust.

"Instead of figuring out how to get back on your feet," I snapped coldly, "you're here begging for sex? No sex for a poor man."

Richard froze. His face hardened. Shame turned quickly to anger. "What do you want me to do?" he shouted. "Rob a bank?!"

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Why don't you ask Malcolm?"

At the mention of that name, his jaw clenched.

Malcolm Blackwood. One of California's top business moguls. Powerful, ruthless, wealthy beyond measure. A man known not just for his money, but for his unshakable discipline and street-smart instincts. He was respected and feared in the business world. To Malcolm, every fallen man was an opportunity. Every business collapse, a stepping stone to his next victory.

Richard shook his head. "Malcolm won't help me," he said bitterly. "He doesn't believe in charity. To him, another man's downfall is just good business."

I didn't flinch. I turned slowly, a sly smile creeping across my lips.

"Well," I said, my voice smooth and deliberate, "I have an idea."