The Jilted Wife Is A Secret Heiress

The Wellington beef sat cold on the mahogany table, a graying monument to three years of wasted devotion. It was my birthday and our anniversary, but my husband, Hamilton McKee, didn't even look at the gift I’d spent months knitting. "Our marriage is a transaction," he said, his voice cutting like a scalpel. "Stop trying to make it a romance novel. I just need you to stop existing in my space for five minutes." Then his phone buzzed with a call from Cuba, the ex-girlfriend he never truly left. His cold mask shattered into frantic concern, a look he had never once given me. "I'm coming," he whispered to her, sprinting for the door without a backward glance at the wife he was leaving behind. I chased him into the freezing Boston night, only to be swarmed by predatory paparazzi. As Hamilton’s Maybach roared away, a heavy camera bag slammed into my shoulder. I slipped on the black ice, my skull hitting a granite gate pillar with a sickening crack. Warm blood trickled down my neck, and as the world tilted, the fog in my brain finally cleared. I wasn't the penniless orphan from Southie he thought I was. Images of sterile operating rooms, complex sutures, and a billion-dollar inheritance flooded back—along with the memory of the car wreck three years ago where I was the one who pulled Hamilton from the flames, not Cuba. How could I have spent three years begging for scraps of affection from a man who didn't even recognize his own savior? Why did I let a fraud steal my life while I played the role of a submissive shadow? When I woke up in the hospital, the trembling girl was gone. I ripped the IV from my arm and stared at the man who had come back only to demand I stay out of his way. I didn't cry. I didn't beg. I simply handed him a piece of paper with one word written in the sharp, confident script of a woman who owned half the city: DIVORCE. "Sign it, Hamilton," I said, my voice like ice. "Because by tomorrow, I’m not just leaving you—I’m taking the McKee empire with me."

Billionaires Revenge Ex-wife

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"Let it go, let it go! You'll never see me cry!" Anne Mo lay in the bathtub with her eyes closed. She was applying a facial mask while singing a song. It felt so good to be at home alone.

After singing, she removed the facial mask, got up from the bathtub, and dried her body and hair with a clean towel. She then applied lotion to her body evenly and carefully.

She was done with her nightly beauty regimen and was ready to sleep. Since she was alone at home, she could sleep in the big bed any way she liked.

Anne was in a good mood as she opened the bathroom door naked. However, she was startled by what she saw.

"George? What the..." Anne muttered incoherently. Her eyes widened in shock, staring at the man who was sitting quietly on the sofa.

George Liang raised his eyebrows when he heard the sound. His eyes then fell on Anne's naked body.

"Oh, honey, such a big gift. I'm really flattered," George said in a hoarse voice as he stood up from the sofa and approached her step by step.

"Hey, hey, hey! Aren't you on a business trip? How come you came back all of a sudden?" Anne was so scared that she stepped back. "George, you are a businessman. You should give importance to honesty. Today is Wednesday. It is Wednesday!"

Anne couldn't retreat anymore, but George was still approaching her. Left with no choice, she just leaned against the wall, stared at him with her eyes in horror, and covered herself tightly with her hands.

George looked at Anne up and down, scanning her from head to toe with his deep eyes. It made her tremble with fear.

He then looked into her eyes and asked in a hoarse voice, "You are afraid of me, aren't you?"

Anne cursed inwardly, 'Bullshit!' After their wedding night, she was not able to get out of bed for three days. She even had to apply an ointment for a month. 'If you were me, wouldn't you be afraid? I doubt anyone wouldn't be!'

Anne gritted her teeth with hatred, looked into his deep eyes that were like whirlpools, and said gingerly, "Yes, a little bit."

George pressed his thin lips into a straight line and stared at her pretty face for a long time. He then went into the bathroom without saying a word.

Anne breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the bathroom door closed. She then rushed to the wardrobe in full speed, took out her pajamas, and put them on.

She didn't want to be alone with George, so while he was taking a shower, she took a hairdryer, dried her hair hastily, and jumped onto the bed. She then pulled the quilt and covered herself tightly.

'Go to sleep, Anne. He won't do anything when you are asleep, ' she told herself.

However, she underestimated George's eroticism.

Even if she had successfully fallen asleep, George still woke her up mercilessly.

Half asleep and half awake, Anne opened her eyes. And the first thing she saw was George's handsome face.

She grabbed the quilt that he pulled away, covered her chest, and reminded him again, "Today is Wednesday. You said that we will only have sex on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays."

"It's already past twelve midnight so it's Thursday now," George said in a low voice with an adamant look.

Anne subconsciously raised her eyes and looked at the wall clock. Indeed, it was two past twelve.

Her face flushed as rage surged up in her heart. She lost her tongue for a moment. After a while, she snapped, "You are breaking the rule!"

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