On our honeymoon, my husband turned cruel the second I refused to bankroll his family’s vacation. He stared me down and said if I didn’t pay for every ticket and every hotel room, he’d divorce me. I smiled, opened my phone, and called my lawyer on speaker. Then I told him I’ll sign the divorce papers with a pen he can’t afford. Because according to our agreement, he’ll be the one walking away with nothing. He looked like he just realized he made a huge mistake.
On the third morning of our honeymoon in Maui, I woke up to the sound of my husband’s phone buzzing nonstop. Daniel was pacing near the balcony doors, whispering like he didn’t want me to hear, but I caught enough.
“Yeah… she’ll do it,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
When he turned around, his face switched instantly into that charming smile everyone loved—the one that made my parents believe I’d married a “good man.”
“Morning, Ava,” he said, too sweet. “I have a surprise for you.”
I sat up slowly. “Is it breakfast on the beach?”
He laughed once, but there was no warmth. “Better. My family’s coming.”
I blinked. “Coming… where?”
“To Maui. Today. Mom, Dad, my sister, her kids—everyone.” He spread his arms like he expected applause. “It’ll be like a real family honeymoon.”
My stomach tightened. “Daniel… this is our honeymoon.”
His jaw stiffened. “You know how close I am with them. Besides, they’ve never been anywhere like this.”
I stared at him. “So they’re joining us… and staying in our resort?”
“Of course.” He walked closer, voice dropping. “And you’ll cover it.”
I actually laughed, thinking he had to be joking.
Then he leaned in and said the words that made my blood turn cold.
“Either you pay for all of this,” he whispered, “or I’ll file for divorce.”
Silence filled the room, thick and heavy. My heart was beating so loud I could barely hear the ocean outside.
I looked at the man I’d just married—a man who’d let me plan every detail, smile through every toast, kiss me in front of cameras, then wait until we were alone to show me who he really was.
And suddenly, everything clicked. The rushed wedding. The pressure to sign paperwork quickly. His mom insisting I “trust the process.” Daniel brushing off my questions like I was being paranoid.
I stood up calmly, the way my father taught me to stay calm before a negotiation. I walked to the small folder in my carry-on—the one I packed even though Daniel teased me for being “too organized.”
I pulled out our marriage certificate and the attached contract.
Daniel frowned. “What are you doing?”
I smiled. “You want divorce papers? Fine.”
His eyes widened as I took the certificate, held it over the hotel’s candle, and lit the corner.
“Ava—are you insane?!”
The flame climbed fast, curling the ink into black petals.
I kept smiling.
“You should’ve read what you forced me to sign,” I said softly. “Because the marriage contract gives me the house… and nine million dollars.”
Daniel froze like the world had stopped spinning.
And for the first time since our wedding day, he looked genuinely terrified…..