My Billionaire Wife Chose Her Secretary Over Me

Because both my parents were chronically ill, my family was dirt poor. I had to work part-time jobs from a young age just to get by, keeping only two hundred dollars a month for myself from everything I earned.

Once, my money was stolen. With classes packed back-to-back, I had no time to pick up extra shifts. I did eat other people's leftovers during that time—but I never once dug through a trash can.

I told Selina about this. She cried until her eyes were red and swore she would always be good to me.

Yet what she told our children was that I liked digging through garbage. That I enjoyed eating trash.

I was the one who took care of them day in and day out. But all Selina had to do was take them out for fried chicken and bubble tea a few times after work, play a couple of video games with them, and suddenly they'd gush about how Mommy was their favorite. They called me a useless waste of money who only knew how to spend.

Even now, both my sons were staring at me like I was their enemy.

Selina swept her arm across the table, sending all the dishes crashing. Scalding soup splashed across my body, raising blisters instantly. She didn't even glance at the damage—just glared at me with fury in her eyes.

"Adrian was kind enough to bring you food, and you won't eat it? You don't have to act so disgusted! Fine—don't eat then!"

My older son grabbed his toy gun and opened fire, plastic pellets hammering into me in rapid succession.

The blisters that had just formed burst under the impact. Pain twisted my face.

My younger son spat at me. "Ungrateful! Bad Daddy!"

The memory of being hit by that car—my liver rupturing, agony tearing through me—all to rush these boys to the hospital... that pain overlapped with the hatred I saw now in their small faces.

I had naively believed all children were like this when they were young. That they'd grow out of it.

But I didn't want to wait for them to grow up anymore. Raising these two felt more pointless than raising a pair of roast pigs.

When the bullets ran out, Ethan balled his fists and started pounding on me. Noah followed his lead.

Blood seeped from the broken blisters. The pain was blinding. Before I could think, I shoved them both away.

They hit the floor.

Their wailing mixed with Adrian's shrill scream:

"They're your children! Have you lost your mind?!"

Selina finally stopped playing dead. She stepped forward and shoved me aside, positioning herself protectively in front of Adrian and the boys. "How can any man be as selfish as you? They only told you how they really feel and you can't handle it?"

The force of her push sent me crashing into the corner of the table. My skull throbbed. The room swayed.

Through the piercing chaos, I heard my sons screaming:

"I don't want this daddy! I want a new daddy! I only want Daddy Adrian!"

"Bad Daddy! Waaah—throw him out! I only want Daddy Adrian!"

I dug my nails into my palm, fighting to stay conscious.

With the last of my strength, I spoke. "As you wish."

"Selina. Let's divorce. You can have both children."

"What?"

"I said divorce. I don't want either of them."