Chapter 4: Trust, Broken

Those three were his childhood friends.

They went way back—private schools, summer camps, family holidays in Aspen and the Hamptons. They were more like brothers than friends, bound by secrets and shared history.

One was Derek, who took over the family business right after graduation and did spectacularly.

The kind of guy who never seemed to sweat, always in a pressed suit, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. He could turn a handshake into a million-dollar deal.

One was Caleb, from a family of artists, and a famous painter himself.

He dressed in paint-splattered jeans and turtlenecks, hair always in his eyes, talking in metaphors and half-finished thoughts. People paid fortunes for his work.

The last was Jonathan, from a political and business family, now a top lawyer.

Jonathan had this quiet power, the kind that comes from knowing every loophole in the book. He looked at people the way chess players look at pawns.

“Marc, is this the girlfriend you dated for three years in college?”

“She looks like she’s from an ordinary family—are you sure she’s not after your money?”

That was Derek.

Marcus paused for a while before replying, “Derek, don’t joke about this.”

His voice was tight, defensive. I could hear the strain—the need to believe in me, warring with the doubts his friends planted.

“You know my parents only gave me $150 a month in college. How could she be after my money?”

At that, Caleb spoke quietly.

“Marcus, weren’t you in the papers a few times? What if she knew your identity and approached you on purpose?”

His words were soft, but the accusation was sharp. Caleb had a way of cutting to the core, even when he sounded gentle.

“Caleb, why are you joining in on Derek’s nonsense? Natalie isn’t that kind of person.”

Caleb just smiled and said nothing more.

A small, knowing smile—like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.

“Marcus, you can’t be too careful. You know, for families like ours, the thing we fear most is property disputes.”

“If you find out after two years of marriage that it doesn’t work, she could take half your assets.”

“I suggest you keep your guard up, sign a prenup, and manage her bank account.”

“After all, you know my dad lost out this way before—lost tens of millions..."

Jonathan, the lawyer, spoke every word with calculation and caution.

He made it sound like a business transaction, not a marriage. Love, to him, was just another risk to be managed.

I didn’t listen any further.

I slipped away, heart pounding in my chest, their words echoing in my head.

After all, as his friends, it was understandable for them to warn him to be careful.

I tried to convince myself they meant well. That maybe they’d just had their hearts broken one too many times.

But I believed Marcus knew what kind of person I was.

I clung to that belief like a lifeline, telling myself he’d never doubt me—not really.

Yet the next day, Marcus handed me a prenuptial agreement.

The paper was crisp, the words clinical, as if love could be measured in clauses and signatures.