The Janitor's Billionaire Daughter

"Alright, just bear with it a little longer. For me, okay?"

"After the gala, I'll take you for a walk along the Hudson to see the city lights, how about that?"

As he spoke, a woman approached, wearing a custom gown in a color that perfectly matched his suit.

Before I could get a clear look at her, Blake stepped forward, subtly positioning himself between us.

"Blake, Mr. Harrison wants to see you inside. He said it's important."

"What is it? I have plans later, I need to leave soon."

The woman didn't push.

"It's about the engagement…"

Blake cut her off with a sharp cough and glanced at me, his expression strained.

"Cora, my father probably has some business to discuss. Why don't I get a car to take you home first?"

"I'll come right back to you as soon as I'm done here!"

Without waiting for my answer, he turned and left with her.

Watching their retreating figures, so close they almost touched, the detail clicked into place. They were wearing matching colors.

A moment later, the woman glanced back, raising her champagne flute to me in a silent, triumphant toast.

Of course. He'd already decided to cast me aside, so why would he risk upsetting his new prize for my sake?

When I first overheard them, I tried to convince myself it was just a business marriage arranged by his family.

I told myself that as long as Blake was determined to marry only me, I would reveal my identity and clear any obstacles from his path.

But with every action, he was walking further and further away from me.

When I returned to our apartment, an assistant from a bridal shop was waiting at the door.

"Mr. Harrison personally designed the invitations and insisted on seeing the digital proofs tonight!"

I remembered how he'd been holed up in his study for days, telling me he was swamped with work.

The invitations he'd poured his heart into weren't for me. They were for another woman.

And I had wasted my energy worrying about his late nights, making him snacks, sitting in the living room just to keep him company.

How could a heart turn so cold, so fast?

Two years ago, I had pneumonia and a dangerously high fever.

He defied the doctors' orders, suiting up in full protective gear just to wait outside my ICU room.

The Blake from back then loved me more than his own life.

Why was he now so willing to make me the other woman, a secret affair?

Just as the assistant was leaving, I got a call from one of my team members at the Paris headquarters.

"Miss Vance, a Mr. Blake Harrison just contacted us. He specifically requested to purchase the Vera Wang gown you commissioned."

"He said he had to have it, no matter the cost. He wants to make his bride the most beautiful woman in the world."

That was the wedding dress I had commissioned three years ago.

I had spent three years working with the designer, refining every detail, even incorporating design elements from my late mother's own gown.

My eyes stung, but my voice was steady.

"Well, business is business. We can't refuse a customer."

"If he wants it, he can have it. Add five million dollars to the asking price."

Five million dollars. A million for every year we were together. It felt like a fair price.

Less than thirty minutes later, a bank transfer notification pinged on my phone.

Ever since we got together, Blake had talked about saving for a down payment.

He'd opened a joint investment account, depositing money every month—first hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands.

When he joined the Harrison family, he put the entire lump sum they gave him into that account.

Now, the nest egg we had built over five years was gone, wiped out in a single transaction.

"Cora," his text read, "the company project has a cash flow issue. Just borrowing this for a bit, will pay it back."

He had used our money to buy a wedding dress for Summer.

I gathered every gift he had ever given me and listed them all on an online marketplace.

Blake didn't come home that night. The walk by the river never happened.

The next morning, he rushed in, holding a bag with my favorite bagels.

"I was working overtime, so late. I was afraid I'd wake you, so I just crashed at the office."

"I know I let you down. I got up extra early just to get your favorite bagels."

His face was a pathetic mix of guilt and panic.

A week ago, his words would have melted my heart.

Now, I didn't even bother to look up, just kept flipping through the art investment report in my hands.

Rebuffed, he sidled up next to me, trying to wheedle his way back into my good graces.

"It's the weekend, why are you still working?"

"You don't have to work so hard. I can support you. You could quit tomorrow and just stay home."

He'd mentioned more than once that he wanted me to be a housewife.

I used to think it was sweet, that he was concerned for me. Now I saw his true motive.

He wanted to clip my wings, to make me a dependent, an accessory who relied on him for everything.

"I know I messed up last night. I've cleared my whole schedule today, just to be with you."

I didn't call out his clumsy lies. I offered no response, no refusal.