Clement lifted his chin, staring down at me with naked contempt, as if the money were already in his pocket.
"Absolutely certain. I'm about to be a millionaire. And you?" He looked me up and down, wagging his finger dismissively. After a long moment, he shook his head with a mocking click of his tongue. "Tsk, tsk. The daughter of a butcher—tell me, what exactly made you think you were ever worthy of me?"
"I always said I'd make it big someday. When we got married, I asked your parents to buy me a Porsche, and they refused. Well, look at me now—I've hit the jackpot! Someone must be drowning in regret."
He shot a pointed glance at my mother, then quickly looked away.
Whistling cheerfully, he sauntered from room to room, clearly in high spirits.
"Mom! Come out! Your son's here to take you to claim the prize!"
After searching for a while, Clement turned to glare at my mother and me, his eyes full of suspicion.
"You're trying to keep the lottery ticket for yourselves, aren't you? You've hidden my mom somewhere! Bring her out right now, or I'm calling the police!"
He spoke as though he held the moral high ground, which only made it more infuriating.
I squeezed my mother's hand, offering her silent comfort.
When I looked back at Clement, my gaze was ice cold.
"Just because your own mind is filthy doesn't mean everyone else's is."
I snatched up the divorce papers from nearby, signed my name in one swift stroke, and shoved them hard into his chest.
"Signed. Now get out of my house. Or have you forgotten that my family paid for it?"
I'd never seen it before, but now, looking at this man I'd been married to for three years, I realized I'd never truly known him at all.
There was no telling what schemes he might cook up regarding the house, so I figured I'd remind him preemptively.
Clement had always been obsessed with saving face. At my words, his eyes flickered, but he kept his expression haughty. "Of course I haven't forgotten. This dump? I've been wanting to upgrade for ages!"
He cast a disdainful look around the room. His mouth said one thing, but his feet stayed planted—clearly reluctant to leave.
I grabbed the suitcase I'd already packed for him from beside the sofa and dropped it at his feet. "Your things. Get out."
I don't know where Clement ended up going. My mother and I traveled to the provincial capital together.
The next morning, we collected the prize without any issues.
Mom declined any media coverage, but she did donate ten million dollars to impoverished mountain regions.
Once all the paperwork was done, I finally had a chance to check my phone.
Messages flooded the screen.
Mutual friends of mine and Clement's were all asking what was going on. Everyone knew Clement's mother had won the lottery—they just didn't know how much.
I replied to each of them the same way: "No idea. Clement and I are divorced now."
After responding, I opened Clement's social media feed out of habit.
He'd been showing off nonstop. Luxury hotels. Five-star meals.
A photo from a car dealership, captioned with ridiculous bravado: "Just a little Mercedes. Consider it mine."
I raised an eyebrow, utterly speechless.
The comments were full of mutual friends fawning over him.
His female coworker—probably terrified he'd dump her now that he had money—had somehow convinced him to post about her constantly over the past few days.
That's just how the world works. People mock the poor, never the shameless.
Because of money, everyone wanted to cozy up to Clement. Not a single person called him out for cheating, for being faithless.
Instead, they congratulated him on landing such a beauty.
Wished him and his "new lady" a lifetime of happiness together.
While waiting for the divorce to finalize, I listed the apartment online.
A week later, I brought potential buyers to view it. Clement blocked my way.
Looking at this man I hadn't seen in days—face glowing with self-satisfaction—my expression turned cold.
"Move. This is my house. You have no say in what I do with it."
Clement stood there, one hand on his hip, his growing belly jutting out. He curled his lip into a sneer. "All you want is money, isn't it? Fine—name your price. I'll buy it."
