I spent the rest of lunch smiling.

Kevin relaxed almost immediately.

His mother began talking about Lily’s apartment abroad.

Lily opened shopping websites and started comparing cars.

Apparently, eight million yuan wasn’t enough.

“Studying overseas isn’t cheap,” Lily said. “I’ll probably need another two million.”

I looked at Kevin.

“Then borrow it.”

He blinked.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

His mother smiled for the first time that afternoon.

“I knew Sofía was sensible.”

I smiled back.

Under the table, I sent one message to my lawyer.

Check my marital registration immediately.

Twenty minutes later, the answer arrived.

Registration incomplete.

Current legal status: unmarried.

I stared at those four words.

Then I locked my phone.

Perfect.

Kevin had borrowed eight million believing he had acquired a wife.

What he actually had was eight million yuan of debt.

And no wife at all.

That evening, Kevin followed me back to my apartment.

He walked inside as though he owned the place.

“This house is big enough,” he said. “When Lily returns during holidays, she can use the second bedroom.”

I looked at him.

“The second bedroom is my studio.”

“You can move your things.”

He opened the refrigerator.

“And my parents can stay here when they’re older.”

I almost laughed.

My parents had paid for this apartment.

Yet within hours, the Zhao family had apparently inherited it.

I poured myself water.

“Kevin, how did the bank approve eight million?”

He hesitated.

“Connections.”

“Your salary is eight thousand.”

“We’re married now.”

There it was again.

I leaned against the counter.

“So you used my financial information?”

He looked annoyed.

“Why are you making everything sound so serious?”

“I’m curious.”

Kevin sighed.

“I submitted your salary information and some household assets.”

“What assets?”

“The apartment.”

My fingers tightened around the glass.

“This apartment?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t own it.”

“But my wife does.”

I smiled.

Kevin mistook that smile for surrender.

He came closer.

“Sofía, don’t worry. Once Lily graduates, she’ll find a good job.”

“And repay the loan?”

He laughed.

“She’s my little sister. How could I pressure her?”

Of course.

The borrower was Kevin.

The beneficiary was Lily.

And the repayment plan was me.

That night, while Kevin showered, I photographed every loan document inside his bag.

Then I found something worse.

A printed property information sheet.

My apartment registration number was on it.

So was my parents’ address.

And beside my name were details I had never given Kevin.

I sent everything to my lawyer.

His reply came quickly.

Do not sign anything.

The next morning, I went to the Civil Registry alone.

The official remembered us.

“Your registration wasn’t completed because of yesterday’s system failure.”

“I know.”

“Would you like to reschedule?”

“No.”

She looked surprised.

“I want to withdraw the application.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, it was done.

Three years of dating Kevin Zhao ended with one signature.

Strangely, my hand didn’t shake.

Over the next three days, I pretended nothing had changed.

That turned out to be useful.

Kevin became increasingly careless.

On Wednesday, Lily messaged me:

“Transfer me 20,000. I need to pay the agency.”

I replied:

“Ask Kevin.”

She answered immediately.

“My brother says your salary pays my living expenses.”

Screenshot.

Then Kevin’s mother sent me her bank details.

“Send 5,000 before Friday. Family expenses.”

Screenshot.

Friday morning, Kevin called.

“Sofía, the bank needs your signature.”

“For what?”

“The additional loan.”

“How much?”

“Two million.”

I smiled.

“Bring the papers tonight.”

His voice became cheerful.

“I knew marrying you was the best decision I ever made.”

I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

At seven that evening, Kevin arrived carrying documents.

His mother and Lily came too.

Apparently, my signature had become a family celebration.

Kevin pushed the papers toward me.

“Just sign here.”

I picked up the pen.

Lily was already smiling.

“Once this is approved, I’ll upgrade the apartment near campus.”

Kevin’s mother added:

“And don’t forget the car.”

I lowered the pen.

Then stopped one centimeter above the paper.

“Kevin.”

“Yes?”

“I have a question.”

His smile faded slightly.

“What?”

“If I don’t sign, what happens to the original eight-million loan?”

The room became quiet.

Kevin frowned.

“Why wouldn’t you sign?”

“Just answer.”

He shifted in his chair.

“I’ll handle it.”

“With eight thousand yuan a month?”

His mother immediately interrupted.

“Sofía, husband and wife shouldn’t calculate money so clearly.”

I nodded.

“You’re right.”

Everyone relaxed.

Then I put down the pen.

“But Kevin and I aren’t husband and wife.”

Silence.

Kevin laughed.

“What are you talking about?”

I placed the Civil Registry document on the table.

His smile disappeared.

He read it.

Then read it again.

“Application withdrawn?”

“Yes.”

His face slowly turned white.

“You withdrew it?”

“This morning.”

“You can’t do that!”

“I already did.”

His mother snatched the document.

“What does this mean?”

“It means your son is unmarried.”

Lily suddenly stood.

“What about my eight million?”

I looked at her.

“You said the money was yours.”

“It is!”

“Then enjoy it.”

Her expression changed.

“But who pays the loan?”

I turned toward Kevin.

Three heads turned with me.

Kevin looked as though someone had removed the floor beneath him.

His mother grabbed my arm.

“You tricked us!”

I removed her hand.

“No.”

I looked at Kevin.

“He took out an eight-million-yuan loan before confirming that his marriage had even been registered.”

Kevin slammed the table.

“You knew!”

“Not when you borrowed it.”

“You deliberately encouraged me to borrow more!”

“Yes.”

His eyes widened.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to know whether eight million was your limit.”

I pushed another folder across the table.

Inside were copies of his loan documents.

Messages.

Property records.

Every demand his family had sent me.

“It wasn’t.”

Kevin stared at them.

“You went through my documents?”

“You submitted information about property you don’t own.”

His face changed.

Just slightly.

But I noticed.

So did my lawyer, who entered the apartment at that exact moment.

Kevin turned around.

“Who is this?”

“My attorney.”

His mother started shouting.

I ignored her.

My lawyer placed another document on the table.

“Mr. Zhao, we have formally notified the bank that Ms. Chen is not your spouse and has never authorized her apartment to guarantee your personal borrowing.”

Kevin stopped breathing for a moment.

Lily whispered:

“Brother?”

Then his phone rang.

The bank.

Nobody spoke while he answered.

“Yes?”

His face drained of color.

“What review?”

Silence.

“No, there must be a misunderstanding.”

Another pause.

“I can explain.”

The call ended.

“What happened?” his mother asked.

Kevin didn’t answer.

I did.

“They’re reviewing his loan application.”

Lily grabbed his sleeve.

“My money is safe, right?”

Kevin turned toward her.

“How much have you spent?”

She froze.

“Lily.”

“About…”

“How much?”

“Two million.”

His mother nearly screamed.

“You spent two million already?”

“It was for the agency, tuition deposit, apartment and—”

Kevin sank into the chair.

For the first time, eight million no longer looked like free money.

It looked like debt.

I thought that was the end.

It wasn’t.

The following Monday, my lawyer called.

“Sofía, we found something strange.”

“What?”

“The bank discovered an earlier application associated with Kevin.”

“How much?”

“Three million.”

I frowned.

“When?”

“Eleven months ago.”

My hand stopped.

Kevin and I hadn’t even been engaged eleven months ago.

“Was it approved?”

“No.”

“Then why does it matter?”

“Because you were listed as guarantor.”

I stood.

“What?”

He sent me the document.

My name.

My identification number.

My apartment address.

And beneath everything—

my signature.

Except I had never signed it.

My stomach turned cold.

Then I noticed another name at the bottom of the page.

The person who had verified my supposed signature.

I recognized it immediately.

It wasn’t Kevin.

It was someone I had trusted for years.

Someone who had attended our almost-wedding that morning.

Someone who had hugged me before I entered the Civil Registry and told me:

“You’ve chosen a good man.”

I stared at the name.

And suddenly I understood.

Kevin hadn’t spent three years investigating my family alone.

Someone inside my own family had been helping him.