I spent the rest of lunch smiling.

Kevin became increasingly relaxed.

His mother ordered another bottle of wine.

Lily was already searching for apartments near her future university.

And I listened while they planned how to spend money they believed belonged to me.

By dessert, Kevin had become ambitious.

“Actually, eight million may not be enough.”

I put down my spoon.

“How much do you need?”

His eyes brightened.

“Maybe another two million. Lily will need a car overseas.”

His mother immediately agreed.

“A safe one. Don’t buy something cheap.”

I nodded thoughtfully.

“Then apply.”

Kevin stared at me.

“You really agree?”

“Of course.”

Lily laughed.

“I told you she’d understand eventually.”

I smiled at her.

What none of them knew was that beneath the table, I had already sent three messages.

One to my lawyer.

One to my father.

And one to the Civil Registry official whose number I had saved that morning.

The reply arrived ten minutes later.

Registration incomplete.

Marriage certificate not issued.

Legal marital status: unmarried.

I read those words twice.

Then locked my phone.

Kevin had made one very expensive mistake.

He had borrowed eight million believing that, once our marriage was registered, my income and assets would somehow become his safety net.

But legally?

I was still Sofía Chen.

Single.

And his debt was his alone.

That evening, Kevin came home carrying flowers.

My home.

The apartment my parents had purchased entirely in my name three years earlier.

He kissed my forehead.

“You were amazing today.”

“Was I?”

“I was worried you’d be selfish.”

I nearly laughed.

Instead, I helped him pour wine.

“Tell me something.”

“What?”

“How did the bank approve eight million?”

His hand paused.

Only for a second.

Then he smiled.

“My uncle knows someone.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Kevin avoided my eyes.

I continued calmly.

“Your monthly salary is eight thousand. Even if you didn’t spend a single yuan, you’d need decades to repay that principal.”

He drank.

“I told them about your income.”

There it was.

“And?”

“Our combined financial situation is strong.”

“Combined?”

He frowned.

“Why are you asking so many questions?”

“I’m curious.”

He relaxed again.

“I submitted copies of your employment information and details about the apartment.”

My smile disappeared.

“You submitted information about my apartment?”

“Don’t make that face. We’re married.”

“No.”

He blinked.

“What?”

I smiled again.

“I said, no problem.”

He stared at me for another moment before walking toward the shower.

The second the bathroom door closed, I called my lawyer.

By midnight, we knew more.

Kevin had not merely mentioned my salary.

He had submitted documents implying that I was his legal spouse and that our household possessed significant assets.

Some of the documents contained information I had never given him.

My property registration number.

My parents’ addresses.

Even an old copy of my identification card.

That changed everything.

The next morning, I behaved normally.

Kevin went to work.

At 9:17, Lily sent me a message.

“Sister-in-law, send me 20,000 today. I need to pay the study-abroad agency.”

I replied:

“Ask your brother.”

Three dots appeared immediately.

“He said you’re responsible for my expenses now.”

I took a screenshot.

Then another message arrived.

“And Mom says transfer 5,000 to her too.”

Screenshot.

By noon, I had twenty-seven messages.

They were doing my lawyer’s work for him.

For the next three days, I let Kevin believe I had surrendered.

I even encouraged him.

At dinner on Thursday, I casually asked:

“Did you apply for the extra two million?”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“The bank wants additional proof.”

“What kind?”

Kevin hesitated.

Then smiled.

“Nothing important.”

That night, I discovered what “nothing important” meant.

He had left a folder beside his laptop.

Inside was a property consent form.

My apartment address appeared at the top.

At the bottom was a blank signature line.

My name was printed underneath.

I photographed every page.

The next morning, I changed the locks.

Kevin came home at six.

His key didn’t work.

He called me immediately.

“Sofía, something’s wrong with the door.”

“No.”

“What?”

“The door is fine.”

Silence.

Then he understood.

“Sofía, open it.”

I did.

But I didn’t invite him inside.

Two suitcases stood behind me.

His.

“What is this?”

“Your belongings.”

His face darkened.

“Are you insane?”

“No.”

“We’ve been married for four days!”

“That would be impressive.”

He stared at me.

I handed him a document.

“Unfortunately, we’ve been married for zero.”

He read the first line.

Then the second.

His face changed.

“What is this?”

“Confirmation from the Civil Registry.”

“That morning, registration was never completed.”

He looked up sharply.

“But we signed!”

“We submitted documents. The system failed before registration was finalized.”

“Then we’ll go tomorrow and finish it.”

I laughed.

Kevin actually looked confused.

“You think I’m still marrying you?”

His expression hardened.

“You agreed to everything!”

“Yes.”

“Then why—”

“Because I wanted to know what else you would do.”

He went silent.

I handed him another folder.

Screenshots.

Loan documents.

Messages from Lily.

Copies of the property form.

His face became paler with every page.

“You searched my things?”

“You used my personal information to support an eight-million-yuan loan.”

“It was for my sister!”

“That doesn’t make it mine.”

“We’re a family!”

“No, Kevin.”

I pointed at the Civil Registry document.

“That is precisely the problem.”

His mother arrived twenty minutes later.

So did Lily.

Apparently Kevin had called them.

His mother stormed toward me.

“You tricked my son!”

I almost admired the accusation.

“I broke the Civil Registry computer too?”

“You knew you weren’t married!”

“I discovered it after your son announced that I would spend twenty years paying for Lily.”

Lily stepped forward.

“What about my eight million?”

I looked at her.

“What about it?”

Her face went white.

“The money is already in my account!”

“Congratulations.”

“Who will repay it?”

I turned toward Kevin.

Three people followed my gaze.

For the first time, Kevin looked genuinely frightened.

His mother grabbed my arm.

“You can’t do this! Kevin earns eight thousand!”

I removed her hand.

“Then perhaps borrowing eight million was unwise.”

“But he’ll never repay it!”

“That sounds like something he should have considered before borrowing it.”

Lily suddenly shouted:

“I already paid the overseas agency!”

Kevin spun toward her.

“How much?”

“Nearly two million.”

His face collapsed.

His mother staggered backward.

I felt no satisfaction.

Only clarity.

For three years, I had wondered why Kevin was so interested in my parents’ finances.

Now I knew.

I had never been his partner.

I had been his financial plan.

Kevin lowered his voice.

“Sofía.”

That frightened tone would once have made me soften.

Not anymore.

“Please.”

I looked at him.

“If you cancel all this, we can start again.”

“There is no ‘we.’”

“I love you.”

“No.”

His expression froze.

“You loved what marrying me could finance.”

Then the elevator doors opened.

My lawyer stepped out.

Beside him stood two bank representatives.

Kevin’s face went blank.

One of them introduced himself.

“Mr. Zhao, we need to discuss discrepancies in your loan application.”

Kevin immediately looked at me.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

I stepped aside.

“I simply confirmed that I am not your wife and never authorized my property to support your borrowing.”

The bank representative opened his folder.

“The application identifies Ms. Chen as your spouse.”

Kevin swallowed.

“We were getting married.”

“You also submitted household asset information under that representation.”

“It was a misunderstanding.”

The representative’s expression remained neutral.

“Then you can explain it during the formal review.”

Lily suddenly began crying.

“What happens to my money?”

Nobody answered her.

The eight million had seemed like free money when someone else was supposed to repay it.

Now it looked very different.

Kevin stared at me for a long time.

Then something in his expression changed.

“You planned this.”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“You planned it.”

I simply stopped you from making me pay for it.

His mother began shouting again.

My lawyer asked them to leave.

Eventually the elevator doors closed on all three.

I thought that was the end.

I was wrong.

Two weeks later, my lawyer called.

“Sofía, there’s something you need to see.”

He sent me an electronic document.

It was another loan application.

Older.

Dated eleven months before our attempted wedding.

Borrower: Kevin Zhao.

Requested amount: three million yuan.

I frowned.

“We weren’t even engaged then.”

“I know.”

“Was it approved?”

“No.”

“Then why does this matter?”

My lawyer remained silent for several seconds.

“Look at the guarantor section.”

I scrolled down.

And stopped breathing.

There was my name.

My identification number.

My apartment address.

And beneath them—

a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.

Almost.

Kevin hadn’t started planning to use me two hours after our wedding.

He had started nearly a year before proposing.

And according to the next page, Kevin Zhao had not been working alone.