He Lied to Me, I Left Him and Married Another Rich Man

After saying those words, he disappeared.

I stood silently at the hospital entrance, the sun behind me casting a long shadow. Inside, I could still see Damon fussing around Tiffany’s bedside like a devoted lover.

I lowered my gaze and opened the gift box he had hurriedly thrust into my hands. Inside was a turquoise bracelet. Cheap. The kind of trinket you could buy at a roadside stall for a few dozen yuan.

Even now, he hadn’t changed. Still pretending. Still trying to placate me with meaningless things like I was someone easily dismissed. I shook my head, not in anger, but in quiet disappointment.

I tossed the box into the trash without a second glance and walked away from the hospital. Just as I stepped off the curb to hail a taxi, I heard two short honks behind me.

A sleek car pulled up and the window rolled down to reveal Leo’s effortlessly striking face. He smiled, the kind of smile that warmed the air around him.

“Get in,” he said simply.

Inside the car, he handed me a divorce agreement. Damon’s name was already signed.

Surprised, I asked, “How did you pull this off?”

Leo gave me a mischievous grin. “Take a guess.”

Then, seeing the disbelief in my eyes, he quickly added, “I slipped the divorce papers into a stack of work documents and told him it was a routine contract. He didn’t even read it before signing.”

He said it with caution, almost like he didn’t want to scare me off. Then he looked at me seriously.

“You said you'd marry me after this… does that still stand?”

I smiled. “Of course.”

I looked out the window, feeling a strange sense of peace. “After being so stubborn all these years… it’s time I went home.”

Years ago, I had a terrible falling out with my family over marrying Damon, a poor man with nothing to his name. I was young, reckless and thought love was enough.

But time changes people. My parents had aged. They had messaged me many times, begging me to visit. They even said they no longer cared about my marriage to Damon that I could bring him home if I wanted.

But before I ever got the chance to tell him I was the daughter of the Whitmore family, the wealthiest family in Chicago, he had already gotten Tiffany pregnant. There was no point in explaining anything anymore.

I sold the small apartment I had lived in for the past three years.

Leo helped me list it on a second-hand housing site, shaking his head in admiration.

“I can't believe Miss Whitmore managed to endure in a place this small for three years.”

I rolled my eyes and playfully smacked his arm. “Cut the sarcasm. Just sell it within two days, we’re going to Bali in three.”

Leo lit up with joy. After all, our wedding was going to be held in Bali.

He had already showered me with gifts, antique paintings, designer handbags, luxury items, calling them my “dowry.”

I was just about to have the driver take me back to my villa when suddenly, a black car sped toward me from behind.

I instinctively stepped aside, but Damon rushed over and shoved me out of the way just in time. He frowned deeply, his tone sharp.

“Elena, are you blind? Didn’t you see that car coming? If I’d been a second late, you would’ve been hit!”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t owe him anything anymore.

Then Tiffany came running over, her voice saccharine and full of fake guilt.

“Elena, I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you from behind. I didn’t mean to almost hit you…” She glanced over at the luxury car behind us and suddenly smirked.

“Elena, I know you’re jealous of me for having luxury goods. But honestly, even if you’re envious, there’s no need to buy fakes, right?”

Her eyes sparkled with malice. “Everyone knows you're broke. You can’t even afford a real designer bag, yet here you are, parading around with all these counterfeits...”

She covered her mouth and giggled and a few passersby cast mocking glances my way. I shot her a cold look.

“Not everyone depends on a man to afford nice things. Unlike you, I already had them.”

Damon scoffed beside her. “Elena, stop pretending. We were married for three years. I know exactly what kind of life you lived. You think I can’t tell a fake from the real thing?”

He reached out and casually picked up one of the antique vases in the car trunk, planning to make a point, but then he froze.

“This… this is real?” His tone shifted, disbelief creeping in.

I calmly pushed him aside and shut the trunk. He stared at me, suspicion growing in his eyes.

As if, for the first time, he was realizing, He had never really known who I was.