My Wife's Secret Husband A Billionaire's Revenge

I'd been in a long-distance relationship with my wife for ten years, separated by an ocean. Ten times I'd applied for a marriage-based green card. Ten times I'd been denied.

By the tenth attempt, even the immigration officer looked exhausted. She dropped all pretense and laid it out for me:

"Sir. I have told you—your paperwork is invalid. Your so-called spouse is already a married woman. She has been married for years. Her husband obtained his green card a decade ago. Your marriage certificate is a forgery."

She turned her monitor around so I could see the file myself.

There, in the spousal information field next to my wife's name, was the name of her late sister-in-law's foster brother.

I couldn't believe it. I called her immediately.

Her voice on the other end was breezy, almost bored.

"Our marriage certificate? Yeah, it's fake."

"I married him so his son could come to the States for school—so Joey Abbott could get a better education, a better life."

"It's not like this changes anything for you. You've already waited ten years. What's a few more? Once Joey turns eighteen and his citizenship is locked in, we'll get married for real."

I didn't lose my temper. My voice was perfectly calm.

"No need. I'm not interested in another man's wife."

Then I called my assistant. "Notify Sabina Cobb's overseas employer. Have her terminated. And freeze every card she has on file."

……

Ten years ago, Sabina had lost her chance at an overseas posting—someone else had taken the spot right out from under her.

I couldn't stand watching her wither away in disappointment, so I quietly created an overseas placement program just for her. I personally connected her with the most prestigious universities abroad. I poured tens of millions into securing a faculty appointment for her. I bankrolled every connection, every introduction, every door that opened along the way—helping her assemble a world-class R&D team and rise to become the youngest foreign-hired consultant in the United States.

Because of my visa restrictions, I could only stay in the country for three months each year before I had to leave.

For a decade, I'd been flying back and forth, running myself ragged.

Every single year, I prepared the green card application materials well in advance. I reviewed every last detail, dotted every i, crossed every t, then submitted.

And every single time, it was rejected.

Sabina always reassured me.

"The marriage-based green card process is incredibly strict here, especially when your spouse holds a senior technical position like mine. Getting denied is completely normal. We'll try again next year."

I'd always assumed I was just unlucky.

Now I knew the truth. The woman sleeping beside me had been feeding me forgeries.

I'd even asked Rhys Whitney once—her foster brother—how he'd managed to get his green card, how he could live here permanently with his son.

Every time, Rhys would give me this half-smile, like he was savoring a private joke.

"Guess I'm just lucky."

So that was it.

To say I wasn't gutted would be a lie.

The moment I hung up with my assistant, Sabina's call came through.

I wanted to hear what she could possibly have left to say. So I picked up.

The instant the line connected, her voice hit me like a slap—sharp, scolding:

"Rhys found out you called to interrogate me. He's beside himself. He says he's pulling Joey out of school tonight and flying back home. Joey is in tears because of you."

Right on cue, I heard Rhys's voice in the background, along with his son's sobbing and screaming:

"Bad uncle! You can't kick me and Daddy out! I won't go! This is MY home! I won't let that mean man come here!"

"Edgar Finch, if you need to blame someone, blame me. Don't take this out on Sabina..."

Sabina's voice turned soft and gentle—but not for me. She was speaking to Joey and Rhys.

"As long as I'm here, no one is sending you anywhere."

Then she turned her attention back to the phone. "Now apologize to them. Edgar. Apologize."

I hung up.

I tore every last immigration document to shreds, turned around, and walked home.

That green card? She could keep it. I didn't want it anymore.