My Ex Called Me Cheap, Now I’m a Mogul’s Wife

My then-boyfriend, Bradley Goodman, gave me a black card on the day we got engaged and told me to spend as much as I wanted.

So I did, and I bought a $4 lemonade.

He practically snapped in front of the cashier like I'd just humiliated him in public.

"Leslie, my family wants a hostess who can carry herself with class, not some country bumpkin too scared to spend money. Everything you do reflects on the Goodman name. I can't afford that kind of embarrassment."

That was when I broke off our engagement.

Bradley didn't show any reaction. He turned around and proposed to Sabrina, the broke student he'd been sponsoring like some charity project.

Five years later, we met again outside a public kindergarten.

Bradley stepped out of a Maybach, all polished and pristine, with Sabrina clinging to his arm like the picture-perfect partner.

Meanwhile, across the street, I was crouched by a worn-out popsicle cart, buying a treat for my son. Leon had been good all day, and that was our little ritual.

One dollar, two smiles.

Bradley spotted us. His eyes locked on mine, and just like that, he stomped across the street, his voice already rising.

"Leslie! You're seriously feeding my son this kind of garbage? Still clinging to that miserly peasant behavior, huh?"

I met his glare without blinking. "He's not your son."

But of course, he ignored that.

He gave my son a quick look, his expression changing into a smug little grin. "Kid looks this handsome? How could he not be mine?"

I didn't even bother replying.

My son definitely had his father's eyes and nose.

But everything else? That was all me.

Whatever resemblance Bradley saw, it had nothing to do with him.

——

Leslie's POV

After school that afternoon, I noticed my ex-fiancé's gleaming black Maybach conspicuously parked by the school gates.

Naturally, the crowd of parents started whispering:

"Hey, isn't that Bradley Goodman? The CEO of Verdant Corp.?"

"Oh my god, wait! His son goes to school here?"

"No way! This is just a regular kindergarten. Wealthy men like him wouldn't send their kids here."

Bradley's face tightened, as if the noise around him physically irritated him. He turned toward the car, clearly ready to bolt.

But Sabrina Hartley, his girlfriend, stepped in with her usual polished charm.

"Sorry, everyone. Would you mind giving us a little space? My fiancé doesn't like being crowded. He's not used to being surrounded like this. Please understand. Thank you so much." Her voice was soft and sweet, perfectly pitched for a moment of concern.

And then, as if that wasn't enough, she flashed her signature smile and added, "We're only here to pick up my nephew. I hope there's no confusion. We're not married yet."

Bradley leaned down to her and said something under his breath, low enough that I couldn't hear, but I knew that tone. The tight schedule tone.

"Hurry up and get the kid. We still need to visit the Mercers later."

Now that got my attention.

Anyone who knows Harbor City knows the Mercer family isn't just wealthy. They're untouchable. If you're in business and they schedule a meeting with you, you don't just show up. You arrive early, grateful, and quiet.

And so, Sabrina nodded quickly. "Don't worry, Bradley. I know how many favors you had to call in just to get time with Sean Mercer. I won't get in the way."

Then she tilted her head.

"But I heard Mr. Mercer is super protective of his wife and kids. Keeps them totally hidden. I wonder what kind of woman he married?"

Bradley didn't answer. Not even a grunt.

He just leaned back against the car door, hands in his pockets, casual and cocky.

It was the exact posture he had the day he broke up with me.

And somehow, the image of him standing there and not even blinking when I said I wanted out hit harder than I expected. I'd hardly finished saying the words when he was already on one knee in front of Sabrina.

I didn't even make it out of the building before the two of them were locked in each other's arms.

Back then, it crushed me. I couldn't understand how someone could toss four years together—college, a whole engagement—like what we had was nothing.

Until later, Sabrina sent me that message.

One line. Just a sentence.

Only then did I realize that those four years we had together were a complete joke.

"Mommy, I want a popsicle!"

Tugging at my sleeve, my son's voice snapped me out of it.

I blinked and looked down.

The popsicle vendor was already giving me that impatient look.

"Are you buying or not? If not, hand it back!"

That's when I realized the one in my hand had melted halfway down the stick.

"Sorry," I said quickly. "I'll take this one. And can I get another? I'll pay for both."

But the vendor wasn't in a generous mood.

"You think I care about your two bucks? Take your damn popsicle and get outta here. Don't bring your bad luck around my cart!"

His voice was sharp and loud enough to attract stares.

Frightened by the vendor's outburst, Leon startled at the sound and broke into tears.

And of course, now every eye around us turned.

I didn't even have to look. I felt him.

Bradley Goodman.

I looked up and, sure enough, he was glancing back over his shoulder. At first, it seemed casual, like he just happened to hear the noise.

But then our eyes met, and I saw something flicker across his face. Something sharp.

Bradley stared for a moment longer than necessary. Then, just as quickly, he turned away as if nothing had happened and as if he hadn't seen me at all.