Apartment 46

The Jilted Wife Is A Secret Heiress

Zi Ya

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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For ten years, I secretly loved my guardian, Ethan Hayes. After my family fell apart, he took me in and raised me. He was my entire world.

On my eighteenth birthday, I gathered all my courage to confess my love to him.

But his reaction was a fury I had never seen before. He swept my birthday cake to the floor and roared, "Are you insane? I am your GUARDIAN!"

He then mercilessly tore the painting I had spent a year on-my confession-to shreds.

Just days later, he brought home his fiancée, Chloe.

The man who had promised to wait for me to grow up, who called me his brightest star, had vanished. My decade of desperate, burning love had only managed to burn myself.

The person who was supposed to protect me had become the one who hurt me the most.

I looked down at the NYU acceptance letter in my hand. I had to leave. I had to pull him out of my heart, no matter how much it hurt.

I picked up the phone and dialed my father's number.

Dad, I said, my voice hoarse, "I've decided. I want to come be with you in New York."

Chapter1

The eighteenth day of giving up on Ethan Hayes began with Ava deleting the photo on her phone's lock screen.

It was a candid shot she had secretly taken.

Ethan was sitting on the sofa, bathed in the afternoon sun, a financial magazine resting on his knee. He was looking at her, a faint, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

For a full ten years, from the age of eight to eighteen, this man had been the sun in her world.

Her joy, her anger, her sorrow, her entire world revolved around him.

But now, she wanted to extinguish that sun with her own hands.

The screen went black.

A clean, stark black, leaving nothing behind.

Ava's fingers trembled slightly as she put the phone down and picked up the glass of milk on the table. It was already cold.

She drank it in one gulp, the cold liquid sliding down her throat, but it couldn't suppress the burning sensation in her chest.

She picked up her phone again and dialed a number she hadn't contacted in a long time.

The call connected quickly. A man's gentle voice came through.

Ava?

Dad, she called out, her voice a little hoarse. "I got my acceptance letter. NYU."

Her father was silent for a moment, then his voice filled with unconcealed joy. "That's wonderful! Ava, congratulations. Art History, right? The department you always dreamed of."

Yes.

So, you've decided? You're coming to New York?

I've decided, Ava said, her grip on the phone tightening. "I want to come be with you."

She wanted to escape this place. She wanted to escape Ethan Hayes.

Her father seemed to sense the emotion in her voice. He sighed softly. "Is it because of Ethan? Did he give you a hard time again?"

No, Ava lied, forcing a relaxed tone. "He's getting engaged. I can't just keep living in his house as his ward, not now. It feels wrong. Besides, I'm an adult now. It's time I learned to be on my own."

A heavy silence followed.

After a long while, her father's voice, full of heartache, came through the phone. "My poor Ava. It's been hard on you all these years, living in that house because I couldn't... It's good that you're coming. Dad will take care of you from now on."

He added, "Our family's business is back on track. You don't need to depend on anyone anymore. Dad can support you."

The warmth of his words made Ava's eyes sting.

She sniffled, holding back the tears. "Okay."

After hanging up, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and swollen.

Ten years. She had spent a full ten years loving a man who would never belong to her.

She had to leave.

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