The Double Life of My Billionaire Husband – Episode 17
The pawnbroker examined the pumps with the reverence of a collector and the expression of a man determined to pretend otherwise. He flexed the leather, checked the serial code, and searched the soles for wear that did not exist. Every careful movement confirmed their value even as his skeptical grunts tried to diminish it. Natalie watched him construct a performance designed to make her distrust the evidence of her own eyes.
Natalie waited while the clock above the counter measured away another portion of her mother’s treatment window. “They’re authentic,” she said. “The receipt proves it.”
“Pristine condition,” the man admitted. “Excellent brand.” He returned one shoe to the box and looked at Natalie rather than the merchandise, calculating how urgently she needed to agree.
“I can give you two thousand.” The offer was less than a third of the purchase price. Natalie stared at him, certain she had misheard.
“Two thousand dollars? They cost seven thousand yesterday.” She had expected a discount, but not a valuation designed to profit from panic.
“Then take them back to the store.” He knew luxury boutiques rarely accepted returns made by anyone but the cardholder, and the receipt told him Natalie had not made the purchase herself. “This is a pawnshop, not a charity.” His tone carried the same contempt as the boutique clerk’s, as though needing money gave strangers permission to decide how much dignity she could keep.
Natalie steadied herself. “I’m asking for a loan, not a donation. You can verify their resale value in five minutes.” Sebastian’s interview advice came back to her: kindness did not require surrender. She pointed to the product code and showed comparable listings on her phone, each one confirming that unworn pairs commanded nearly the full retail price. Preparation did not erase the imbalance of power, but it kept the pawnbroker from pretending she knew nothing.
The man shrugged. “Two thousand is my risk. Take it or leave it.” He began closing the box, confident the worry on her face would defeat her principles.
Outside, Daniel photographed the storefront and sent the location to Sebastian with a short message: Your wife is pawning the wedding gift. He received no immediate response. Through the window, he saw Natalie present research to the pawnbroker and recognized that she was not acting impulsively. Whatever drove her into the shop had survived careful thought, which made the situation more serious than a regretted luxury purchase.
Natalie calculated what two thousand could cover. It would not erase the hospital balance, but it might prevent the next treatment from being canceled while she pursued other interviews.
“Three thousand five hundred,” she countered. “The shoes are unworn, limited edition, and accompanied by proof of purchase.” The pawnbroker gave a humorless laugh.
“You don’t set the price in my shop.” His gaze dropped to her wedding ring and returned to her face. “If your husband paid seven grand, ask him for cash.” The implication was clear: a woman pawning a new gift must have either deceived her husband or been abandoned by him. Natalie refused to explain that she feared becoming another person who valued Sebastian only for what he could pay.
The insult struck too close to the truth. “My marriage is none of your business.” Natalie reached for the box, but he kept one hand on it.
“Two thousand, final offer.” He slid a form toward her. The interest rate printed beneath the total was nearly as predatory as the valuation.
Natalie read every line. Missing the deadline would transfer ownership; additional fees could consume hundreds before her first paycheck. Compounding charges were buried beneath harmless headings, and the grace period was shorter than the man had implied. The agreement was designed for people too frightened to look closely, people whose emergencies made tomorrow’s consequences seem less important than today’s cash. Natalie understood because she was frighteningly close to becoming one of them.
Her phone rang. The hospital number appeared, and fear stripped away her remaining leverage. She silenced it, but the pawnbroker had seen enough.
“Sounds like you need the money,” he said. “Offer expires when you walk out.” Natalie hated the satisfaction in his voice.
She thought of her mother attached to a dialysis machine and of George’s promise, already broken in every way that mattered. She remembered being a child while her mother hid overdue notices beneath grocery lists, always smiling as if love could keep collectors away. Two thousand dollars was painfully insufficient, yet zero would accomplish less. Fear urged her to sign first and calculate survival later.
Natalie picked up the pen. Before its tip touched the signature line, the shop door opened behind her. Daniel stepped inside, dressed with in a suit that made the cramped room feel smaller.
“I believe the lady said the shoes are worth seven thousand,” he said. Natalie turned in surprise, recognizing Sebastian’s friend from a distance but not understanding why he was there. The respectful man who usually stood beside her husband now carried the controlled authority of an executive accustomed to exposing bad deals. Daniel’s gaze settled on the contract, and his next words stopped the pawnbroker cold. “So let’s discuss what taking advantage of Mrs. Klein is going to cost you.” Whatever role Daniel truly played, it was clearly far more powerful than the harmless assistant Natalie had assumed him to be.
