Chapter 3
From that day forward, our house becomes a full-blown “contract enforcement zone.”
I stop being the silent wife who does everything and waits for Derek to graciously deposit that twenty percent “labor compensation.”
I buy a timer.
Every single minute I spend cooking, cleaning, doing laundry-all meticulously logged.
Then I create a detailed service price list and stick it right on the fridge.
Washing one dress shirt: $3 Ironing pants: $5
Dinner with two sides: $35, groceries extra Mopping floors: $20…
End of each month, I send Derek an itemized bill with timer logs attached.
He stares at spreadsheets more detailed than his law firm’s billing statements, face turning purple, but he can’t say jack shit.
Because my pricing is based entirely on market research from a case where he tried to screw over some divorcing woman, demanding compensation for “lost domestic services.”
Found that gem “accidentally” while cleaning his office.
He has to grit his teeth and transfer every penny.
Our conversations shift from normal couple talk to cold contract recitations.
‘Derek, per our agreement, after 11 PM is designated personal time. Your sports broadcast noise is violating my rest ights.”
‘Jess, this soup’s too salty. Doesn’t meet our agreed health standards. I’m requesting a remake.”
Sure thing. Remake fee is sixty dollars since that’s a custom request outside the standard package.”
Derek’s jaw drops. Can’t even argue. Ends up choking down the soup while glaring daggers at me.
The house temperature drops to sub-arctic.
We’re like roommates now, splitting everything fifty-fifty with zero warmth between us.
He probably thinks I’ve lost my mind.
16:11 C
I’m on the Operating Table and You Venmo-Request HALF?! Die Mad Bro!
7.8%
But I know I’ve never been more clear-headed.
No more fantasies about him, which means no more getting hurt.
During the day, I handle housework strictly by “contract”-not a minute more, not a second less.
The rest of my time? I camp out in his office.
Like a dried-up sponge, I soak up every boring legal detail I can find.
Family law, contract law, civil code… I devour it all.
Because I know these little “rule reversals” aren’t nearly enough.
Derek’s foundation is his professional expertise and that airtight prenup we signed.
f I want to actually beat him, I need to find the cracks in that agreement.
The opportunity comes fast.
Derek’s parents are visiting from out of state for a few weeks.
Right on schedule, Derek drafts another contract-“Temporary Agreement Regarding Parental Visit Responsibilities and Obligations.”
Every detail of their care falls on me, down to how many times daily I need to check his parents’ blood pressure.
He hands it over with that same hospital attitude-condescending, like he’s issuing orders.
take the contract and read every word carefully.
Then I look up with the sweetest, most understanding smile.
‘Honey, this agreement looks perfect. Just one tiny detail we might want to add?”
‘What detail?” His brow furrows.
‘Well,” I point to a corner of the document, speaking slowly, “this covers all our obligations but doesn’t mention rights.
Your parents are so gracious-what if they’re really happy with my care and want to give me a tip or a little gift? According to our main agreement, gifts during marriage become joint property unless specified otherwise. To avoid future disputes, maybe we should add a clause here?”
Derek studies me, clearly trying to figure out my angle.
But I look completely genuine, like I’m just trying to “prevent complications.”
16:11
I’m on the Operating To
Finally, his ego beats out his suspicion.
“You make a good point.”
He grabs his pen and adds to the contract:
“During this visit service period, any cash or material rewards that Jessica Blake receives from Party A’s parents for quality service shall be considered personal compensation for her individual labor and remain her sole property.”
He finishes writing and blows on the ink, looking pleased with himself.
I stare at those words and smile internally.
Derek, you just took the bait.
16:11
I’m on the Operating Table and You Venmo-Rerniest HALF?! Die Mad Bro!
8.3%
