After dumped, I married a billionaire

Leona Carpenter stepped across the threshold of what was supposed to be her and Michael Hansen’s marital home, her chest feeling heavy as she scanned the hollow, empty rooms. She already knew she’d be the only one walking through that door tonight.

Her gaze snagged on the bold fall wreath nailed to the entry door. Without a single flicker of hesitation or regret, Leona stepped forward and wrenched it down.

Every surface in the house was strung with vibrant autumn decor, and every piece just rubbed her raw anger in deeper. She cleared it all away methodically, one by one, until her eyes finally landed on the framed wedding photo of her and Michael.

Leona stared at it in silence. The raw ache in her gaze faded, leaving nothing but cold indifference in its place. She grabbed a pair of scissors and drove the blade straight through the middle of their grinning faces.

Once every trace of their marriage was erased, Leona sank alone onto the couch and sat there from dusk till dawn. Just as exhaustion was starting to blur her vision and make her head spin, she finally heard a key turn in the lock.

Once upon a time, her heart would’ve leaped right out of her chest to greet him. This time? She stayed right where she was, calm as anything, on the couch.

Michael walked in without a shred of guilt on his face. He dropped tiredly onto the opposite end of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Go get me a cup of coffee."

Leona let out a dry, bitter laugh. "Michael. We’re done."

Her words came out hard, unshakable—there was no mistaking the finality in them.

Michael’s dark eyes locked with hers, unreadable as ever, like he was turning something over in his head.

Leona’s lips tugged into a sardonic smirk. "Why the confused look? You already made your choice, didn’t you? When you left me stranded at the altar, and even when Aila crawled back into your life?"

Michael grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table, fished one out with that familiar, practiced motion, lit it, and took a long, deep drag. After a minute of dead silence, he spoke in a cool, even tone. "Breaking up is better for both of us. You’ve always misunderstood Aila, way too deep for that to ever change. Staying together would only hurt her more."

Leona stared at him, and this time she laughed out loud, no holding back. "I honestly have to wonder—Is there anything you wouldn’t do for Aila Ellis?"

Michael stubbed his cigarette out hard in the ashtray, a flash of impatience glinting in his eyes. "For three years, I tried to move on from her. But you can’t help who you fall for. I hope you can forgive me. Just don’t take this out on Aila—she didn’t do anything wrong."

That’s when Leona completely lost it, cackling like she’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

Three years of waking up next to him, three years of day in and day out trying to make this work. She’d poured every piece of herself into fixing what was broken, stupidly believing love could change a man, that her heat could eventually thaw the ice around his heart.

For him, she’d given up so much—even turned her back on her own family. And after all that? All she got was this: you can’t control your feelings.

Michael watched her like she’d lost her mind, a brief flicker of something that looked almost like pain crossing his face. "This card has a hundred grand on it. Enough for you to live comfortable back home in the countryside."

So that was it. Three years of giving him everything she had, and he priced it at a hundred thousand dollars.

But what did he know? To Leona Carpenter, a lousy hundred grand meant nothing.

"Michael, I was with you for you—nothing else. I don’t give a single crap about the Hansen fortune, or that stupid, coveted title of Mrs. Hansen!" Leona’s face was set like stone, her gaze holding nothing but cold indifference and unshakable resolve.

"I don’t want your apology, and I don’t want your money! Get that through your head: We will never, ever get back together." With that, she stood, held her head high, and walked straight for the door with purpose.

Michael watched her walk out, that determined stride of hers, and for a split second his chest tightened so sharply it knocked the breath right out of him. Before he even knew what he was doing, his hand lifted half an inch, reaching for her.