Chapter 2- What do you have to offer?

Stephen's confusion grew, but the old man simply laughed harder, turning on his heel and scampering away with surprising agility.

Stephen watched him go, a frown creasing his brow. When he looked down, he noticed a flyer on the doormat. It was a job vacancy for a laundry man, the kind of position he had never considered before.

He picked up the flyer, the paper rough against his injured hand. Maybe this was it, the opportunity he needed.

Stephen let out a long sigh, a sound that carried the weight of his struggles and the flicker of newfound hope. He would apply for the job.

Stephen walked back home, the night air cool on his face. He had a job now, and he couldn't wait to tell Marianne. But the house was dark; she wasn't there. He called her, once, twice, but no answer. Finally, she picked up.

"Why are you calling so much?" Marianne's voice was sharp, annoyed.

"I got a job, at a laundry place," Stephen said, trying to keep the happiness in his voice.

She sighed loudly. "Good for you. Maybe you'll actually help out now," she said, like she didn't really care.

Stephen's smile faded. He wanted to ask when she'd be home, but then he heard it—strange noises, she moaned, and a man's voice in the background.

Stephen’s mind raced with questions. The sounds he heard over the phone didn’t make sense. Marianne was supposed to be at work, but what he heard suggested something else, something personal.

"Marianne? What's going on? Are you at work?" he asked, his heart racing.

"Yes, I'm busy. Don't call again," she said quickly, and then the line went dead.

Stephen stood there, phone in hand, feeling alone and full of questions.

NEXT DAY

The evening sun dipped low, casting a warm glow over Marianne's birthday party. The guests had been arriving since morning, filling the house with laughter and chatter, leaving Stephen no chance to talk to Marianne about the unsettling phone call.

As the party buzzed with energy, Stephen found Marianne surrounded by a group of guests. He approached, his heart pounding with the need for answers.

"Marianne, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked, his voice barely above the noise of the party.

She glanced at him, irritation flashing in her eyes. "Not now, Stephen. Can't you see I'm busy? Go and serve the drinks," she dismissed him, turning back to her friends.

Stephen's cheeks burned with embarrassment as he picked up the tray of drinks. He heard whispers as he passed by the guests.

"Is that the husband? He looks lost."

"Yeah, that's him. Heard he can't keep a job. Useless."

"Shame, really. Marianne deserves better."

Each word stung, and Stephen felt smaller with every step. He was supposed to be the man of the house, but here he was, being talked about as if he were nothing. It hurt, but he couldn't show it. Not here, not now.

He continued serving, his mind a whirlwind of emotions, but his face a mask of calm. The party went on, but for Stephen, the festive sounds and bright decorations couldn't chase away the shadow that had fallen over his heart.

The party's noise faded into a hush as a voice, smooth and confident, filled the room. Stephen turned, his eyes widening. A man in a white tuxedo stood there, his scent rich and commanding. It was Victor Woods, the wealthy heir whose name everyone knew.

Victor walked straight to Marianne, his servants trailing behind with gifts that sparkled and shone. The guests watched, mouths agape, as a golden goose statue was placed among the presents. Then, without a word, Victor kissed Marianne on the lips.

Stephen's heart pounded. He pushed through the crowd, his face hot with anger.

"Why did you kiss her?" Stephen demanded, standing firm before Victor.

Victor looked down at him, a smirk on his face. "And who are you?" he asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"I'm her husband," Stephen said, his voice steady.

The room erupted in laughter, but Stephen didn't back down. He waited for an answer, his gaze locked on Victor's amused face.

Victor’s smirk faded into a look of mock concern. “Oh, you’re the husband?” he said, feigning surprise. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you without the… apron.”

Victor leaned in, his voice a low whisper meant only for Stephen. "You're not quite the man in bed, are you? Marianne needed someone... more capable," he taunted.

Stephen's mind flashed back to the phone call, the moans, the male voice. It was Victor. Rage boiled within him, and he reached out to grab Victor's pristine white tuxedo, but Marianne's sharp voice cut through the tension.

"Stephen, stop this nonsense right now!" she commanded, stepping between them.

"Why, Marianne? Why do this? What about our child?" Stephen's voice cracked with emotion.

Marianne's eyes were cold as she replied, "Our child needs to learn that not everyone is cut out to succeed. You're living off me, eating my food, staying in my house. You're nothing."

The guests murmured, their eyes on Stephen, some with pity, others with disdain. Stephen stood there, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow could.

Stephen's voice shook as he tried to speak. "Marianne, I... I got a job. I can help with money now."

Marianne looked at him, her face showing doubt. "A laundry man? How much will that bring in? A few dollars?"

"It's $8,000," Stephen said, his voice gaining strength.

Victor laughed, a sound that filled the room. "Eight thousand? I spend that much just to clean my shoes every day!"

Stephen turned away from Victor, focusing on Marianne. "I'm going to change things. I'll be better, I promise."

Victor sneered. "And what will you give her for her birthday? What can a man like you offer?"