The Billionaire's Wedding Betrayal The Real Heiress Strikes Back

"If it weren't for the Pruitt family's reputation, I wouldn't touch this shrew with a ten-foot pole. The fact that I'm willing to give her a child is already the greatest mercy she could hope for."

"If she doesn't know what's good for her, she can be the laughingstock of every elite family in Kingsharbor! A woman whose engagement has been called off is worth less than a hostess at a bathhouse. Who would ever want her?"

I watched this man coldly—the man I'd chosen when I was ten years old.

Fourteen years together. I had given him nearly everything I had to give.

Two years ago, old Mr. Whitfield passed away, and the unremarkable Desmond took over the Whitfields' business empire.

In just three months, he'd managed to offend more than half their investors.

Not only did he botch the conglomerate's flagship project, he went against the entire board of directors and poured money into over a dozen ventures that were guaranteed to fail.

In six short months, the Whitfield family—a dynasty built over nearly a century—saw its cash flow collapse under billions of dollars in debt.

The family liquidated everything they owned. It still wasn't enough.

With a hundred years of legacy on the verge of total ruin, I was the one who begged my father to save the Whitfields from bankruptcy.

Back then, Desmond had knelt before my father, sobbing, swearing he would never betray me in this lifetime. Between him and me, he said, nothing but death would ever part us.

It was the Pruitt family's vast network of resources across every industry that allowed Desmond to rebuild the Whitfield empire in just two years.

And now, before the Whitfields had even found solid footing among Kingsharbor's elite, he couldn't wait to force me into being the other woman.

The guests looked at him as though they were watching a fool perform.

Everyone knew that while the Whitfield corporation still bore the Whitfield name on paper, aside from Desmond's figurehead title as CEO, the entire operation had long since become Pruitt property through and through.

A man who depended on his fiancée just to maintain his lavish lifestyle—where did he find the nerve to provoke the very person bankrolling his existence?

But Desmond was completely oblivious. He was convinced I still needed him the way I once had.

When I said nothing, his arm tightened around Catherine's waist.

"Amber, if you get on your knees right now and kowtow to Catherine three times, I might be generous enough to forgive your little tantrum."

"Otherwise, you won't even get the chance to bear my children, let alone set foot in the Whitfield estate!"

I looked at that arrogant, repulsive face of his, and I couldn't help but laugh.

This kind of idiot? Whoever wanted him could have him.

A blessed woman doesn't walk through a cursed man's door.

My father let out a cold scoff. "My daughter—the pride of the Pruitt family—and you think you're worthy of passing judgment on her?"

"This wedding is off."

"When Amber decides she wants to marry someday, every eligible young man in Kingsharbor will be lining up at our door. And if she never wants to marry at all, I'll gladly take care of her for the rest of her life."

With that, he clapped three times and gave a sharp order to the staff. "Bring every last piece of my daughter's dowry back. All of it."

"Two hundred cases of cash. Equity stakes in twenty companies. Ten Rolls-Royces. Thirty properties across eight countries. And the thirty billion dollars wired into the Whitfield accounts. Recover every cent. Not a single dollar stays behind."

The staggering scale of my dowry drew a collective gasp from the crowd.

"The Whitfields are finished. Without the Pruitts, they're not even worth the name on the building!"

"Throwing away a century-old family legacy for some housekeeper's daughter. Absolutely moronic!"

Catherine let out a shrill scream. "No! That dowry belongs to me!"

My mother's hand cracked across her face. "The Pruitt family has one daughter, and her name is Amber. You think you're entitled to even dream about her dowry? You want a dowry? Go ask your housekeeper mother for one."

Pruitt security filed in, ready to haul everything away.

"Hold on!"

Desmond stood up and planted himself in front of them.

"Father-in-law, have you forgotten the agreement both families signed at the engagement?"

"The only way you're entitled to reclaim the dowry is if I wronged a Pruitt daughter. Otherwise, every last cent belongs to the Whitfield family, and on top of that, the Pruitts will have to surrender all their shares in Pruitt Corp."

Desmond held up the contract, his voice ringing through the room. "Catherine is registered under the Pruitt household. That makes her a Pruitt daughter, plain and simple. Everyone here is a witness. The Whitfields honored our commitment. It's the Pruitts who broke their word."

His argument was airtight. My father clutched his chest, gasping for air as fury overwhelmed him.

My mother's eyes were bloodshot. She wanted to fight for me, to demand justice, but she couldn't find a single word to counter him.

Catherine draped herself against Desmond's chest, swaying her hips, her smile dripping with triumph.

"Don't take it personally, sis. So what if Mom and Dad don't claim me? What matters is who sits in the seat of the Whitfield matriarch."

Her gaze slid down to me. "Tell you what. If you're willing to get on your knees right now, bark like a dog, and crawl between my legs, and if you manage to amuse me, I might honor the years the Pruitts spent raising me. I'll put in a good word and get dear old Dad a job as a security guard."

She inspected her nails. "As for your dowry? Consider it a tribute to the rightful Mrs. Whitfield. Every penny goes into my account."

The Whitfield servants shoved me aside, hard. The crates of dowry were already being hauled through the doors.

My mother rushed forward to stop them, but the servants, emboldened by their masters, pushed her to the ground.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Mom. This is Whitfield family business. You insisted on sticking your nose in. These crates don't have eyes, you know. If you end up hurt or crippled, you'll only have yourself to blame."

I helped my mother to her feet and turned a cold stare on the two of them.

Desmond curled his lip, wearing the expression of a man tossing scraps to a beggar. "Without that dowry, you can't even buy yourself a husband. But I'll tell you what. For old times' sake, since you used to follow me around like a lovesick puppy, come work as a maid for the Whitfields for five years. I might consider giving you a son to secure your future."

I didn't move.

Desmond seized my shoulder, wrenching me forward, then drove his foot into the back of my knee. My legs buckled, and I hit the floor.

He was about to force my head down into a bow when the sealed double doors of the suite burst open with a deafening crash.

"Stop! Law enforcement!"