Chapter 2 Bargaining

"What makes you think I'll help you?" Reynaldo's eyes darkened, though a smile played on his lips. My fingers interlocked as I stumbled through my request, mortified.

I knew this would happen. "Well, forget it, then," I managed, an awkward smile plastered on my face. His reaction wasn't surprising. My family and I had tormented him for years; we were lucky he wasn't seeking revenge, let alone offering assistance. Coming here had been a foolish mistake. The shame was unbearable; I wanted to run.

"Tell me," he said just as I turned to leave. "What are you going to trade for my help? If it's worth it, I may consider it."

I stopped, my mind racing. What could I possibly offer? My body? We'd been married for three years, sharing the same room every night, yet he'd never touched me. If he'd wanted me, he'd had countless opportunities.

With my head bowed, I mumbled, "Pretend you didn't see me today."

Suddenly, Reynaldo stood before me, a head taller. He bent slightly, a chuckle in his whisper. "Dressed like this, why bother to pretend to be restrained?" My blood ran cold. The humiliation was agonizing; I longed to flee.

Before I could react, he wrapped his arms around my waist, a meaningful smile on his face. "We were married for three years, and I slept on the floor every night. I haven't touched your body in a long time. Why don't you... trade yourself for my help?"

I gasped. Had I misheard? "Wh-What did you say?" I stammered.

He stared at me, his eyes a vast, deep sea that inexplicably sent my heart racing. Silently, he lowered his gaze and gently pulled the strap of my sundress with his slender finger.

Blushing furiously, I shoved him away. "Don't help us if you don't want to! I didn't expect you to lend a hand in the first place. You can't humiliate me like this!"

Reynaldo looked at me, his expression unreadable—a mix of upset and a faint, mocking half-smile. "You think I'm humiliating you?"

"Aren't you?" He adored someone else, yet he was being handsy with me. What else could it be but humiliation?

Reynaldo settled back into his chair. When he raised his head again, his eyes were cold. "Your outfit tells me you're sincere, but your attitude tells me otherwise. In that case, you should go."

This was what I'd expected. I left without another word.

My parents rushed toward me as I exited the office building. "How did it go? Will he help us?" my dad asked anxiously.

I shook my head.

"Ingrate!" my dad yelled instantly. "He belittles us just because he's rich now. If I had known this, I wouldn't have let you marry him! How irritating!"

My mom was equally furious. "I'll say. He pretended to be polite and submissive. Who would've thought he's so ungrateful?"

"That's unfair," I sighed. "He didn't use our connections or our money. How is he ungrateful? It's understandable that he doesn't want to help us. We were never nice to him." My parents pressed their lips together, their faces troubled and silent. My headache worsened just seeing them like that.

In the evening, Quentin called his friends, hoping they could lend a hand. They'd flocked to him for drinks before, but now, none would take his call. Enraged, Quentin smashed his phone, ranting about his unreliable "friends."

Under my quilt, I tried to comfort him. "Don't be mad, Quentin. Nowadays, people are selfish." My mom cried nonstop. In our current situation, a comeback felt impossible. We were drowning in debt, creditors constantly hounding us, making a normal life unattainable.

"Ralda, go seek Reynaldo's help again," my dad urged. "He's rich now. I guess he won't mind lending you some money."

My mom chimed in, "Yes. Even if you two get divorced, you're entitled to his money, right?"

I curled up in bed. I hadn't told them Reynaldo and I were divorced, or that he hadn't given me a cent. They'd erupt in a barrage of curses if they knew.

"Forget it," Quentin objected. "Ralda can't go. It's humiliating. We were horrible to Reynaldo. Now, you're sending Ralda to ask for his help? It's asking for humiliation."

A thought struck my mom. "Did Reynaldo insult you when you approached him today?" she asked me.

"N-No," I quickly shook my head.

My mom said to herself, "It makes sense. Reynaldo was honest, and he listened to you. Although we're poor now, his feelings for you remain the same. He adores you. Why would he humiliate you?" Surprised, I smiled faintly, saying nothing.

My dad sighed, gazing at the open balcony, and once again declared he wanted to die. My mom cried every time he said that, giving me a throbbing headache. Money was our priority now. We had to chip away at our debt, little by little.

Several days later, feeling better, I immediately started job hunting. Ordinary jobs paid too little; it would take forever to pay off our debt. But I knew wine promoters in fancy clubs were handsomely paid. When I used to go out with friends, if I was in a good mood, I'd give them generous tips. So, I headed to a club I used to frequent.

The manager, recognizing me, hired me on the spot as a wine promoter for the private rooms of "big shots." These patrons always tipped well.

Unexpectedly, I ran into Reynaldo there. He'd never frequented such places before, at least not when we were married. He even hated it when I visited clubs, always trying to stop me, claiming they made people "degenerate." Of course, I'd always insult him and tell him to get out of my way. Now, I thought, Reynaldo had actually been a good husband.

At this moment, he sat in the seat of honor, a cigarette between his fingers, a half-smile on his face, looking wicked and seductive. I couldn't help but wonder if the warm, meek Reynaldo I knew was just a pretense. He stared at me quietly, his arrogance making me deeply uncomfortable. If I'd known he was here, I wouldn't have come. I wished the floor would crack open and swallow me whole.

Suddenly, some people in the room whistled frivolously. I turned and saw that the men with Reynaldo used to work for Quentin and me. Damn. They were sucking up to Reynaldo now. They knew how I'd mistreated him before; to please him, they'd humiliate me mercilessly. I had to go.

Pushing the cart, I tried to leave with feigned composure. Just then, a man spoke.