Divorcing the Heiress? Bad Idea.

Alayna was working a grueling catering shift in worn-out heels to support her broke college boyfriend, Caiden, who claimed to be studying at the library. But through the crack of a VIP suite door, she saw him wearing a bespoke suit and a Patek Philippe watch, sipping expensive liquor. "It's a little poverty role-play. Keeps things interesting." He was laughing with his rich friends, mocking her as his clueless "charity case." To make matters worse, she was forced into a humiliating mascot costume just in time to watch him passionately kiss his wealthy ex-girlfriend. That same night, Alayna's mother collapsed with gastric cancer, requiring a half-million-dollar surgery. When a desperate Alayna begged Caiden for help, he refused. "Why don't you just apply for Medicaid? That's the path for people like you." For two years, she had starved herself to buy his textbooks, his tickets, and his shoes. He had stolen her sweat and her sacrifices, all for a cruel game. The sheer audacity of his betrayal made her blood run cold. When a billionaire stranger stepped in to pay her mother's medical bills in exchange for a one-year fake marriage, Alayna didn't hesitate to sign the contract. She slipped the flawless diamond ring onto her finger, opened a spreadsheet, and sent Caiden an invoice for every single cent. This time, she was going to dismantle his entire life.

I was ready to reveal my true identity, imagining Charles's proposal, but then I overheard the conversation. "Are you and Tracy Davis getting married?" "What about Victoria?" "She's nothing special, just a mistress." Fury coursed through me as I walked away. Tracy Davis, the girl who tormented me in high school, was now a part of Charles's plans. I ended things with Charles, then orchestrated the merger of all the companies that had humiliated me-at their wedding ceremony.

Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.

The pack run had been Marcelo's idea. He'd announced it three days prior at the weekly council meeting, his Alpha tone leaving no room for debate. A show of unity, he'd called it. A reminder that the Black Moon Pack moved as one body, one purpose. I'd watched him from my seat at the far end of the table—the Luna's chair, though I'd stopped feeling like a Luna months ago—and said nothing. Petra Voss had nodded approvingly. The other council members had murmured their agreement. Rosalina, seated closer to Marcelo than protocol allowed, had smiled that soft, adoring smile she always wore around him. I should have known then. The territory's northern river was swollen from early spring melt, the current fast and mean.

My husband stole my life. He took my groundbreaking dessert concept, the one we were supposed to build an empire on, and left me with nothing but dust. Then, he served me divorce papers through a stranger and plastered his new relationship with my intern, Celina, all over the internet. They built a culinary empire on my stolen recipes, their sickeningly bright smiles a public declaration of my replacement. I became a cautionary tale, the talented chef who couldn't keep her husband or her ideas safe. My reputation was shattered, and I was forced to disappear. For six years, I rebuilt from the ashes, running my own small bakery, finding peace in my quiet, fiercely independent life. I thought that chapter was closed. But then they stormed into my shop, ready to destroy me all over again. They came to shatter my new life, but they made one critical mistake. They had no idea who my new husband was.

I requested to leave Doctors Without Borders a year ahead of schedule, just to come back home for the occasion and marry Hayden Tran. But when I arrived, I discovered Hayden had already become a father. I overheard him instructing the maid, "Keep Nora Stewart abroad a little longer. It's best if she doesn't come back. If she finds out I have a son now, there will definitely be a mess." In that moment, reality hit me. He had misled me. Three years ago, he had advised, "Go work as a doctor overseas for three years to gain some experience and maturity. Once you've calmed down a bit, you can return and be my wife." Indeed, I have matured. I'm no longer the girl who would cry and throw a tantrum at every minor thing. And because of this change, my tastes have evolved as well.