C9 9

After finishing his breakfast, David pulled out his wallet. He leafed through it, found very little cash, and eventually settled on a bank card, which he slid across the table toward Chloe.

Chloe raised an eyebrow.

"You’ll need money to buy things for the house. Use this card. The PIN is..." He grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper, scribbled the numbers down, and pushed it toward her.

"This will be for household expenses. I’ll transfer a portion of my salary into it every month on payday. However, I’d like you to keep a record of what you buy. I don’t mind how much you spend, but I want to know where the money is going."

When they had first registered, Chloe had asked about "going Dutch," but he had refused. In his mind, since they were married, they were a family, and he didn't mind giving her money to spend. After all, his wealth was so vast he couldn't even count it; he spent very little of it himself due to his work schedule. Supporting a wife was essentially just a way for someone to help him spend a bit of his fortune.

But he wasn't about to be a fool. In his eyes, Chloe was still a "scheming woman," and he needed to stay on guard. As long as the money was spent on their home, he wouldn't say a word.

Chloe, however, bristled at his tone. It felt less like a husband providing for his wife and more like a boss auditing an employee.

She pushed the card and the paper back to him without even glancing at the PIN.

"Mr. Jones, this home doesn't just belong to you. I live here too. You bought the apartment, and by living here, I’m already saving a fortune on rent. I can't let you shoulder all the daily expenses alone. I'll pay for the household items."

She looked him in the eye. "Unless we’re buying a major appliance or furniture over two thousand Dollar, I’ll handle it. If it’s something big, I’ll talk to you, and you can contribute a bit then."

Her income was more than enough to cover groceries and utilities. She didn't need his charity, especially when it came with strings attached. His attitude—assuming she was after his money and demanding she "keep accounts"—rubbed her the wrong way. She kept books for her shop, but she had no intention of being audited for buying a head of cabbage.

David was no fool. On the contrary, he was exceptionally sharp. He realized immediately that his cold, business-like approach had bruised her pride. He went silent for a moment before pushing the card back again, his voice softening slightly.

"I know you run your own shop and you're your own boss, but how much can a bookstore really make? Since you said this is our home, how can I let you bear the entire burden of the expenses? Take it. If you don't like keeping accounts, then don't."

He changed the subject to break the tension. "What about the car? Have you thought about it? I can pay the down payment for you. With your income, the monthly installments shouldn't be a problem."

He hadn't officially investigated her finances, but he figured someone who could run a shop in front of the city’s top middle school had to have some ability. In this day and age, women and children were the easiest markets to profit from.

"My shop is close by," Chloe replied. "The e-bike is fine. Toronto’s traffic is a nightmare during rush hour. Four wheels aren't nearly as fast as my two."

David choked on his words.

She wasn't wrong. He usually structured his day to avoid peak traffic. On the rare occasion he was caught in a jam, he found himself wishing he could just take his private jet to the office.

"A car is still more convenient," David argued. "On weekends, you could drive your sister and nephew out for a trip."

He remembered his grandmother saying that Chloe’s sister and nephew were the most important people in her life.

"Maybe later," Chloe said. "We just got married and we barely know each other. Spending so much of your money on a car makes me uncomfortable. Honestly, I have enough savings to buy a car myself, but I’d rather save for a house. A house makes a home. I guess I’m just not like you men—men always seem to prioritize the car."

"By the way," she added, "my sister wants to meet you. I told her you were away on business, so I’ll bring you over to see her in a few days."

David grunted an affirmation.

After their chat, Chloe went to the balcony to hang her laundry. David sat in the living room, reflexively looking for a newspaper. Finding none in the sparsely furnished apartment, he settled for scrolling through the news on his phone.

"Did you wash your clothes?" Chloe asked, glancing at him from the balcony.

"I’ll handle it myself," he replied without looking up. His suits were all custom-made and had to be sent out for professional dry cleaning.

Chloe pursed her lips and didn't push. She moved on to sweeping and mopping the floors.

David watched her out of the corner of his eye. Seeing her bustle around doing "servant's work," his brow furrowed. In his world, there were people hired specifically for this. But he knew that in ordinary households, wives often bore the brunt of the chores.

Luckily, his butler had sent professional cleaners before they moved in, so the place was already spotless. Chloe did a quick lap with the mop and found almost no dust.

Once she finished, she went to her room to grab her bag. "Mr. Jones, I’m going to check on my sister and then head to the shop. What time will you be back tonight? Send me a text so I can leave the door unlocked for you."

"Unless I’m traveling, I’ll be back every night. If I have to leave town, I'll tell you in advance."

"Got it."

"Bishop... Chloe." David stood up and walked over to her, holding out the bank card one last time. "Take this."

He looked at her, his expression more sincere than before. "I apologize for my tone earlier. I’m sorry."

Chloe studied him for a moment. Seeing the genuine apology in his eyes, she finally reached out and took the card and the paper with the PIN, tucking them into her pocket.

"I’m leaving now."

"Alright."

David stood by the door and watched her leave. As the door clicked shut, he let out a long, slow breath.

Husband... This was a role he wasn't playing very well yet.

Returning to the sofa, he picked up his phone and dialed the butler at the Jones family estate.

"Uncle," he said into the receiver. "When Grandma wakes up, tell her this: bring my parents and the rest of the family to Square Garden for dinner this weekend. She’ll know what it’s about."