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Divorce? He’ll Be the One Crying! Novel Cover

Divorce? He’ll Be the One Crying!

Marrying Marcus Vane seemed simple enough, starting with a standard dowry of 200,000. But just ninety days into the marriage, Marcus abruptly demands a divorce—along with an outrageous repayment of 500,000. Left utterly stunned by his sudden greed, the protagonist is forced to confront a man who has clearly lost his mind. How could a three-month-old dowry accrue such an impossible, astronomical interest rate? Marcus wants out, but his ridiculous financial extortion is about to backfire.
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Chapter 1

When I married Marcus Vane, I received a dowry of 200,000. Less than three months into our marriage, he suddenly asked for a divorce and demanded I return him 500,000.

Upon hearing this, my first thought was shock, and my second thought was that this man was out of his mind.

"What do you mean by saying this now? A dowry of 200,000, and you want me to give you 500,000? In just three months, the dowry has more than doubled. Even if I put it in a bank, the interest rate wouldn’t be anywhere near that absurd!"

The interest on 200,000 in a bank for a year wouldn't even reach 1,000.

Marcus kept a stern face. "That 500,000 is the money I spent on you. Now that we're getting divorced, I need to get that money back."

I scoffed, looking at him coldly. "Alright, then. Tell me, where exactly did you get this 500,000 from?"

I couldn’t help but laugh, watching him.

Marcus and I were what you’d call a "flash marriage." With the help of a matchmaking service, we blindly registered our marriage.

I had planned to settle down with him and live a peaceful life, but who would’ve guessed that, barely three months later, he would suddenly ask for a divorce?

The reason was simple: he no longer loved me, and he couldn’t go on.

But I knew that wasn’t the real reason, because there had never been any love between us.

At thirty, the idea of love had faded almost entirely from our lives. Marriage, for us, was merely a practical decision—something that happened because we each met some criteria for the other.

"When I married you, the wedding cost around 150,000, including the banquet and other expenses. The clothes, jewelry, and whatnot I bought you added up to about 50,000. And you haven’t even given me a child after all this time. Asking for compensation doesn’t seem unreasonable, does it?"

As he spoke, I barely held back my laughter. But when he mentioned the child, I couldn’t help it anymore.

I collapsed onto the sofa, laughing so hard I nearly fell off. My stomach started to hurt from laughing so much.

I swear, in all my thirty years, I had never heard such a good joke.

Seeing me laugh like that, Marcus's face grew darker with anger.

"You have to give me the 500,000 today. If not, I’ll take you to court. You took money from my family, so it's only right you return it."

I finally managed to stop laughing, wiping the tears from my eyes.

"Alright, if you're going to settle scores, I’ll settle mine too. I’ll go to the hotel and ask for the receipts. Let’s see if that pitiful wedding really cost 150,000. All the money we got from the wedding gifts was handed over to your mother, and I roughly calculate that it was about 100,000. I’ll return the dowry to you, but I’ll have to assess the price first. If you want the dowry back, then I should get my dowry back as well. And about the car downstairs, you can stop driving it. Hand me the keys. As for the 200,000 dowry you mentioned? Your mother took it back the day after our wedding. She kept telling me how hard it was to marry me, that she owed a lot of money, and now she needed the money to pay off her debts."

I laid everything out clearly.

Even if we were going to divorce, we had to settle everything properly.

He didn’t want to lose out, and neither did I.

"Don’t slander me. My mother never took money from you. Even if you don’t want to pay, at least come up with a less pathetic excuse. You’re just embarrassing yourself."

Marcus glared at me angrily, but when I pulled out the IOU, he immediately fell silent.

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