The Billionaire Husband Who Faked His Death for His Mistress

But there was one scar left on his face.

Afraid he'd feel less than whole, I painted a matching scar onto my own.

For three years I put up with the strange looks from other people, careful of his pride at every turn.

And in the end, that became his reason for betraying me.

He paused, then pressed a soft kiss to my scar.

"I love you, but my body only responds to Angelica."

"You're not the campus beauty you used to be. Stop throwing a fit. If you leave me, who else would ever want you?"

He thought I was a disfigured, unwanted, ugly woman.

What he didn't know was that someone had been watching me, hungry, for three whole years.

I was just about to say something back.

The next second the door swung open, and Angelica's eyes went wide as saucers.

"I saw how pitiful your situation was, so I went out of my way to bring you here for work, and instead of being grateful, you try to seduce my fiancé. A toad reaching for swan meat, that's what you are."

Edgar's friends came running at the noise.

"What's wrong, is his wife okay?"

"Whoever's tactless enough to start trouble, I won't let her off first."

Then their eyes met mine, and every one of them went quiet.

The strength drained out of me, and I finally understood.

From beginning to end, everyone had known. I was the only one kept in the dark.

Three months I'd suffered, holding onto the lie that he'd died in that crash.

Three months in which I'd wanted to kill myself more times than I could count, in which grief had cost me a child.

The same three months he'd spent busy preparing his wedding, playing the doting groom.

Suddenly it all felt pointless.

Three years of love, and in the end I didn't even get a single word of goodbye.

This relationship, this man, none of it had ever been worth my love.

I looked at him again, and this time there was something lighter in my eyes.

"Sorry. I didn't know you were getting married today."

I pulled out a few bills.

"Here's twenty bucks. Consider it my wedding gift."

His friends were seething, one of them raising his voice to a shout.

"Desiree Harding, is this really necessary?"

"Edgar's the youngest tech tycoon in Los Angeles. With a face like yours, the fact that he stayed with you for three years is more than generous."

"Or do you plan to use that old favor to guilt-trip him for the rest of his life?"

I nodded.

"Of course I can't guilt-trip him for the rest of his life. So let's settle it in one payment."

I turned to Edgar.

"In the eyes of our youngest tech tycoon in Los Angeles, how much is a saved life worth?"

He had no answer.

Then he frowned, resigned, and drew out a check.

"Dessie, fill in whatever number you want."

"When you're done acting out, come back."

"There will always be a place for you at my side."

I took the check and walked out without looking back.

I used that check to start a charity, one dedicated to reconstructive surgery for little girls disfigured by fire.

I taught them makeup and took them out for photos.

Bit by bit, I helped them find the courage to smile at a camera.

That day, while I was braiding a little girl's hair, a notification popped up on my phone.

My photo was trending, and whoever posted it had deliberately zoomed in on the scar on my face.

The caption said I'd traded on people's sympathy to seduce a pregnant fan's fiancé.

I scrolled through a few, closed the screen, and went back to the braid.

The little girl turned and asked what was wrong. I paused, then said it was nothing.

Then I forwarded the post straight to Edgar.

"Your wife's handiwork."

"Tell her to back off, or the next time I step in it won't be this gentle."

He was silent for a while before he replied.

"Why quarrel with a pregnant woman? Angelica's hormones are all over the place right now. Just let it go."

The next second, two million dollars landed in my account.