The Price of Their Prenup

When Andrew proposed, I thought I had won the lottery—not because of his wealth, but because I genuinely loved him. We had been together for three years, and he had always treated me with kindness and respect.

His family, however? That was a different story.

The Morgans were rich—old-money, generational-wealth kind of rich. And from the start, his parents, especially his mother, made it clear they thought I was a gold digger.

I had my own career, my own savings, and I wasn’t marrying Andrew for his money. But that didn’t stop them from looking down their noses at me.

Still, I smiled, played nice, and thought that in time, they’d warm up to me.

I was wrong.

The Prenup

A week before the wedding, Andrew’s parents invited me to their lawyer’s office. When I arrived, they handed me a prenup.

Not just any prenup—an insulting one.

If we divorced, I would get nothing. No spousal support, no assets, not even a percentage of the money we’d build together. If Andrew cheated? Still nothing. If he died? I wouldn’t even get a penny from his estate.

Even more humiliating, the contract dictated that any future children would have their inheritance managed by his parents—not me.

I looked at Andrew, expecting him to defend me.

Instead, he shrugged. “Babe, it’s just a formality. You know my family—this makes them feel comfortable.”

Comfortable?

His mother smirked, as if daring me to refuse.

I took a deep breath and smiled.

“Of course, I understand,” I said sweetly. “I just need some time to have my lawyer review it.”

They all seemed satisfied. Andrew kissed my cheek, oblivious.

But what they didn’t know?

I had my own plans.

My Countermove

That night, I called my lawyer. Not to refuse the prenup—but to draw up one of my own.

I had one major advantage: they underestimated me.

For years, I had been investing, working hard, and building my own quiet fortune. I wasn’t just some “regular” girl marrying into wealth—I had my own.

So, I created a counter-prenup.

If Andrew and I divorced, he would get nothing from me.

If he cheated, he would pay me a hefty settlement.

If he died, I would retain control of our children’s inheritance.

And the cherry on top? I added a clause stating that any interference from his family in our marriage would result in financial penalties.

Checkmate.

The Fallout

The next day, I met Andrew and his parents again. They expected me to sign their ridiculous contract without question.

Instead, I slid my version across the table.

His mother’s face turned red. His father blinked in shock.

Andrew stammered, “What is this?”

I smiled. “Oh, just a formality. You know, to make me feel comfortable.”

His parents lost it.

“This is outrageous!” his mother snapped. “How dare you suggest our son sign something like this?”

I tilted my head. “Why? Because it’s unfair? One-sided? Designed to strip him of any protection?”

Silence.

I folded my hands. “If you truly believe in fairness, Andrew should have no problem signing mine, just like I was expected to sign yours.”

His parents turned to Andrew. They expected him to refuse, to laugh in my face.

Instead, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He looked at me. At the document.

Then, for the first time, he saw it.

He saw what his family was trying to do to me.

And with a slow, deliberate movement…

He signed it.

His parents gasped.

I simply smiled.

Because I didn’t just win.

I made sure they paid the price.