Sued My Fraudulent Ex To Prison Chapter 1

It was the Labor Day weekend, and I had agreed to drive out to the suburbs to meet Beth’s parents.

We had just settled the final details of our pre-nuptial financial agreement—a tense but necessary conversation—when the atmosphere in the dining room curdled. Beth’s mother, Mrs. Walters, had disappeared into the kitchen to fetch the roast when it happened: a shimmering, translucent line of text flickered across my vision like a digital hallucination.

The words were a chilling warning. They claimed that Beth’s mother was about to frame me for stealing a gold heirloom bracelet. It went further, predicting a systematic campaign to bleed my family dry, eventually forcing me to sign over my house.

I was still blinking, trying to make sense of the glowing script, when a sharp cry erupted from the hallway.

“My vintage bracelet! It’s gone! I left it right here on the nightstand!”

Beth’s sister-in-law, Cynthia, immediately whipped her head toward me, her eyes narrowing with practiced suspicion. “Wait... didn’t I see Wyatt go toward the master suite a few minutes ago?”

I felt a cold smile touch my lips. Instead of panicking, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.

“Since you’re so certain,” I said, my voice steady and dangerously calm, “let’s let the police explain it to us.”

* * *

When Mrs. Walters shrieked, “My gold bracelet is missing!” I was already reeling from the bizarre text hovering in the air. Now, a localized chill crawled up my spine.

I suppressed the urge to rub my eyes. I watched her closely, noticing the quick, jagged glance exchanged between her and Cynthia.

“Pretty sure Wyatt was the only one in the master bedroom recently,” Cynthia repeated, her finger practically touching my nose.

Suddenly, every eye in the room was a weapon. The relatives leaned in, their gazes heavy with judgment and a dark, eager curiosity. My skin prickled. The text flitted across my field of vision again, and I felt the blood drain from my face.

Beth stepped close to me, her hand gripping my bicep a little too tightly. She lowered her voice to a frantic whisper. “Wyatt, did you take it? That was my dad’s twenty-fifth-anniversary gift to her. She’s obsessed with it. If you have it, just give it back now before things get ugly.”

I looked at her, truly looked at her, and felt a hollow ache of disappointment. “You actually think I’d steal a piece of jewelry from your mother?”

Beth’s eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. She knew better. The housewarming gifts I’d brought today—the rare vintage wine and the designer handbag for her mother—cost more than that bracelet was worth.

Mrs. Walters sniffed, her voice dripping with artificial sorrow. “I thought we were bringing a gentleman into the family. I didn’t realize we were inviting a common thief.”

The insult burned. I stood my ground, watching them with the detached interest of a scientist observing a lab rat. Beth, losing her patience, began to tug at my arm.

“Just let them look in your briefcase, Wyatt! If you didn’t do anything, you have nothing to fear, right?”

Before I could even voice my refusal, Mrs. Walters lunged for my bag. As I moved to block her, a fresh wave of text surged before my eyes:

[Holy crap, Beth’s mom is a pro. She slipped the bracelet into the side pocket of the briefcase while he was in the bathroom. He’s screwed.]

My heart skipped a beat. A setup. A goddamn trap. I stepped in front of her, my voice dropping an octave. “Is this how you treat a guest? Slander and illegal searches?”

Beth didn't skip a beat. She grabbed both my arms, pinning them to my sides. “If you’re innocent, why are you acting so guilty? Mom, go ahead. Check it!”

Mrs. Walters spat a curse, grabbed my leather briefcase, and turned it upside down. A cascade of files and my laptop hit the hardwood floor, and then—with a metallic clink—a heavy gold band rolled across the floor, coming to rest right against the toe of my shoe.

Mrs. Walters pounced on it like a bird of prey. “Not even officially in the family yet, and you’re already looting my house!” she screamed. “What kind of people raised you? You’re a goddamn criminal!”

The digital feed was losing its mind:

[They planned this. They want to use the ‘theft’ as leverage to trap him into a one-sided marriage contract.]

The room fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing. The condemnation in the room was physical, a weight pressing on my chest. I took a deep breath. If I let this narrative take hold today, my family’s reputation would be shredded, marriage or no marriage.

Beth let go of me, rolling her eyes with a theatrical huff. She poked me in the chest. “My mom said she was going to give me her jewelry for the wedding anyway, but you couldn't wait? Just apologize, Wyatt. Now.”