A Trillion-Dollar Inheritance After Her Rise

At 11:30 that night, Sharon finally returned home. She had told me she’d been working overtime, but her mood was unusually bright—almost too cheerful for someone who had spent hours at the office. It didn’t sit right with me.

Something was off.

I tried to sound casual, probing with a hoarse voice, “Sharon, maybe we should think about switching companies. This constant overtime can’t be good for you.”

“No!” she snapped unexpectedly, rolling her eyes in irritation. “Pearson Group is one of the top 500 companies, Harvey. You think it’s that easy to find another job? You’re not exactly a business elite either, just wasting time like always.”

Her reaction was jarring. Normally, after weekend overtime, she’d be cursing out her bosses, ranting about wanting to quit and complaining about how the company was sucking the life out of her. But tonight, it was different—defensive, almost hostile.

Sharon must have noticed my lack of response because she softened a bit and came closer, her lips, freshly coated in lipstick, hovering near my face. She was trying to be affectionate, but I leaned back slightly, avoiding her without making it obvious.

A few days ago, I would have kissed her back. I would have been eager for her touch. But now, all I could think about was that kiss mark on the pair of men’s underwear. My stomach churned.

The lipstick she was wearing now—damn it—I had bought that for her just two days ago.

After a while, Sharon flopped onto the bed, facing away from me, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. Every few minutes, she’d grin sweetly at the screen, completely oblivious to my silence and the tension hanging in the room. She had no clue that I knew.

Eventually, she dozed off, still holding her phone. My heart was racing, my mind spinning, but I had to know for sure. I gently slid the phone from her grip, unlocked it using my fingerprint and started scrolling through her messages.

And there it was.

Her chat history with Charles Pearson—her new designer colleague—unfolded before me, confirming every suspicion. Their Instagram conversations were shameless, overflowing with flirtation and intimacy that made my blood boil.

[Charles, when are you going to make our relationship public?] Sharon had written, her impatience clear.

[Why, so eager?] he teased in response.

[Hate it… Harvey’s thinking about proposing to me. If you don’t do something soon, I’ll be snatched away,] she joked.

[He’s worthy of snatching you from me?] Charles retorted, his arrogance bleeding through the screen. [Why don’t you take a good look at yourself? You’re with him out of pity.]

[I don’t care anymore. I’ve had enough. I can’t wait to break up with him.]

[Don’t rush. It’s nice to have a free babysitter at home.]

[Yeah... if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s been licking my boots for so many years, I would’ve kicked him out long ago.]

I sat there, reading and rereading those messages, trembling with rage under the covers. The woman I had loved, supported and cared for, was mocking me behind my back with the man she was cheating on me with. And to her, I was nothing but a convenience.

A damn fool.

Sharon had never spoken to me in such a condescending tone before. But now, hearing her contempt for me in those texts, I laughed bitterly to myself. If she was so determined to kick me out of her life and climb to something better, I would help her do just that.

But she should remember—there was a saying: the higher you climb, the harder you fall.

I turned off her phone and placed it back exactly where it had been. Closing my eyes, I tried to push the flood of emotions back, but it was impossible. Sharon had been my first love, the girl I had pursued relentlessly, sacrificing everything to be with her. My mind wandered back to the beginning of it all.