Divorced, Blackmailed, and Married to a Billionaire Heir

He seized my hand in a crushing grip.

"Fern, you're ruthless."

"Fine. I admit it—I fell for you. I can't stand the thought of another man near you. Happy now?"

Then came that livestream confession that broke the internet.

Kevin Henson swore he'd changed. Swore he'd be a devoted husband from then on.

And for a while, we really did have something sweet.

Just like Hailey said, he went all in—learning my tastes, catering to my every whim.

When he found out I loved skiing, he built me a private estate in Switzerland. Even named it after us—a blend of our names, a promise carved into stone.

But now.

I stared at Christina's latest social media post.

The estate's nameplate had been changed.

Those four characters that once symbolized us—"Kevin and Fern Forever"—had been replaced.

Now it read: Kevin Embraces Christina.

"Yes, he cheated again. So no, I don't want him anymore."

I set down my phone and signed my name on the divorce papers without a second thought.

On the seventh day after Mom's passing—her first memorial—Dad called out of nowhere, asking me to come home for breakfast.

I thought maybe, just maybe, he still felt something for her.

That he'd want to burn paper offerings with me. Honor her together.

I was wrong.

When I walked through the door, Christina and her mother Glenda Fleming were already seated at the table.

My face went cold. I turned to leave.

"Stop right there!"

Dad's voice cracked like a whip. Before I could take another step, he launched into me.

"I heard you tried to hit Christina at the club the other day! What kind of sister does that?!"

"Thank God Kevin stepped in, or you'd have hurt her! And after all that, you want a divorce? You ran away from home?!"

"I don't know what your mother taught you, but she raised a shrew. Get on your knees and apologize before you destroy both families' partnership!"

I looked at this man—this man who only saw dollar signs where his heart should be.

A cold laugh escaped me.

"You knew I ran away. Did you once ask where I've been staying? Whether I was okay?"

"Oh wait—I forgot. Your heart's too busy chasing after your mistress. You didn't even show up to your own wife's funeral. And you have the audacity to criticize how she raised me?"

Dad slammed his chopsticks down. His hand flew up to strike me.

Glenda's eyes darted. She caught his arm just in time, playing peacemaker.

"Honey, don't. The poor girl's grieving. We should be understanding." She patted his chest. "I'm fine, really."

Then she smiled—that sickly-sweet smile.

"Besides, if you bruise her face, how will she stand next to Christina as my bridesmaid?"

Everything stopped.

My voice came out raw, scraped hollow.

"What did you just call him? You're married?"

"Mom's been dead for seven days, and you couldn't wait to bring your mistress home as your wife?!"

Dad's expression hardened. Not a shred of shame.

"Your mother's gone. What—I'm supposed to mourn her forever?"

"Christina's grown now. I can't let people keep calling her a bastard. This is my responsibility as her father!"

Responsibility.

I sank into the chair, laughter spilling out of me—bitter, broken. Tears streamed down my face.

Christina sidled up beside me, grabbing my hand like we were the best of friends.

"This is wonderful, sister. Now we're officially family! I don't know all the rules of high society yet, so you'll have to teach me. I'd hate to embarrass myself."

"Sure." I smiled. "No problem at all."

Glenda and Dad exchanged satisfied looks.

I wiped my tears. Pulled out a cigarette. Lit it with one hand.

Then I leaned in close and blew the smoke right into Christina's face.

"Here's your first lesson. I'm the legitimate daughter—born to the actual wife. You? You're the bastard child of a home-wrecker."

I took another drag.

"Until I speak to you first, you don't get to open your mouth in my presence. Understood?"