Chapter 3 - The illusion of Wealth
To Derek Halston, the world was a stage, and he was born to play the wealthy prince.
For six years, he had driven luxury cars, worn tailored suits, and hosted lavish dinner parties at the Grandview estate. He bragged to his fraternity alumni and business partners about his family's deep roots in Virginia real estate and his wife's quiet, submissive nature.
What Derek conveniently forgot—or chose to ignore—was the reality of how his lifestyle had been maintained.
That evening, after Audrey left, Derek sat in the living room sipping bourbon while Savannah lounged on the velvet sofa, scrolling through her phone. Evelyn sat across from them, tapping her long nails against her teacup.
"She's playing dramatic," Evelyn declared, setting her cup down with a sharp clink. "She thinks leaving with the baby will make you panic and beg her to come back. She wants leverage."
"She looked really calm, though, Derek," Savannah murmured, looking up from her phone. "Are you sure she won't do something crazy? Like lock your bank accounts?"
Derek chuckled arrogantly, leaning back against the leather cushion. "Lock my accounts? With what power? Audrey doesn't even work. She's been writing her little children's books at home since we got married. I bring in the money. I pay the mortgage on this mansion. She’s just a soft-hearted girl who got overwhelmed."
"Exactly," Evelyn agreed smoothly. "Her family was always quiet about their background. No real status in our social circles. When she realizes she can't even buy formula without your credit card, she’ll crawl back and apologize for creating a disturbance."
Derek smiled, reassuring himself. He remembered when he first met Audrey six years ago at a charity gala. She was modest, dressed simply, and never bragged about money. He had assumed she came from a middle-class background and was swept off her feet by his charm and his grand lifestyle.
He didn't know that Audrey’s silence was born of true, generational wealth—the kind of wealth that doesn't need to yell, flash designer logos, or buy sports cars to feel secure.
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Derek stood up and poured himself another drink. "Tomorrow afternoon, I'll call her uncle or whoever she's staying with and give her a chance to apologize. Tonight, we celebrate."
Little did Derek know, while he was pouring his second glass of bourbon, legal servers were already printing three hundred pages of binding legal notices, court filings, and property deeds in downtown Richmond.
