After the Divorce, I Became the Real Billionaire

The woman Nathan had moved into that dingy old neighborhood to get close to, faking poverty just for the privilege of being her neighbor: Bianca Porter.

It was well past midnight when Nathan came up the stairs with his arm around Bianca.

The hallway was pitch black, the motion-sensor lights flickering on only at the sound of their footsteps.

Nathan looked up and saw me standing in the doorway. He yanked his hand back like he'd been burned.

"Tilda?"

"I—she—I just saw Miss Porter feeling dizzy, so I helped her upstairs..."

I glanced at Bianca, still playing the part of a woman on the verge of fainting. I pretended not to notice the dark look in her eyes.

I turned around and went back inside.

A few minutes later, Nathan walked through the door and set a box of sushi on the table.

"Tilda, you haven't eaten dinner yet, right? Have some of this first. I remember you love sushi."

I looked at the box.

Anyone with functioning eyesight could tell it was leftovers.

Nathan hadn't gone bankrupt at all, and he couldn't even be bothered to buy a fresh box to fool me.

"I'm not hungry. Give it to Bianca."

Something flickered across Nathan's face.

He reached for my hand. I pulled away.

"What are you talking about? You're my wife. Of course I save the good stuff for you. Why would I give it to some neighbor?"

A fist clenched around my heart, then released all at once.

It hurt.

I met his eyes. I wanted to cry, but I smiled instead.

"Then why is your grandmother's pearl necklace around Bianca's neck?"

Nathan stiffened.

"Pearl necklaces all look the same. How would I know where hers came from?"

"Besides, didn't you lose the one my grandmother gave you before she passed? Tilda, just because you don't like Bianca doesn't mean you get to throw around accusations!"

I was Tilda.

She was Bianca.

How laughable.

The baby shifted inside me, and it felt like it drained every last drop of my strength.

I smiled politely.

"Then I apologize. My mistake."

Nathan's neck flushed red. After a long silence, the fight drained out of him.

"I'm sorry. I've been under a lot of pressure lately, trying to make money..."

"Tilda, if you're tired, get some sleep. You have your prenatal checkup tomorrow, don't you?"

I went to the bedroom and lay down, but sleep was the furthest thing from my mind.

When Nathan finally came to bed, I asked him quietly.

"Nathan, did you really go bankrupt?"

His voice didn't miss a beat.

"Yeah. Cash flow dried up, so..."

I didn't bother listening to the rest of his lies.

I rolled over, pulled out my phone, and sent a message.

"Don't transfer that hundred million to Nathan. He doesn't need it."

"Also, look into someone for me."

After sending the message, I logged into the hospital's app, canceled my prenatal appointment, and booked an abortion instead.

When I walked out of the operating room, the file on Bianca Porter was waiting in my inbox.

From her college days onward, Bianca had carefully crafted an image: the scrappy, fiercely independent girl who refused handouts. She wouldn't accept a single cent of financial aid, yet every part-time job she picked happened to be at the most exclusive clubs and lounges in the city, the kind crawling with wealthy men.

Tucked into the file was a photo of the first time Bianca and Nathan met.

It was a painfully cliché damsel-in-distress routine. Nathan, the man who'd never tolerate losing face at a business dinner, had half a glass of red wine splashed across his shirt and didn't so much as flinch.

The way he looked at Bianca, his eyes were practically sparkling.

No wonder he never wore that shirt again.

He'd told me it was because I'd given it to him, so it was too precious to wear.

Bianca refused Nathan's money. She turned down the executive assistant position he tried to hand her on a silver platter.

She insisted on earning her own way.

The more she refused, the more obsessed he became.

When Bianca wouldn't accept designer bags, he'd leave them on her route home for her to "find."