The Billionaire's Discarded Wife

"Emma? Are you there? Please, open the door!"

I pounded on the heavy wood, my voice cracking.

The intercom crackled to life, but it wasn't Emma's warm tone that answered. It was the butler, his voice stripped of all humanity.

"Mr. Weiss has activated the security lockdown. No entry or exit after ten o'clock. That includes you."

"But it's 10:01," I pleaded.

"Rules are rules, Madam. Please do not make this difficult for the staff."

The connection clicked off.

I reached into my pocket. Seventy dollars. That was all I had to my name.

A hollow ache spread through my chest, colder than the night air. I sank onto the stone steps and curled into a tight ball, trying to preserve whatever warmth I had left.

As the chill seeped into my bones, a memory surfaced—junior year of college. I'd missed the dormitory curfew after a late shift. Luke had appeared like a savior, whisking me away to this very villa, his smile tender as he brushed a stray hair from my face.

"Daniela," he'd said. "The gates here are always open for you. This is your home."

I lifted my head and stared at the towering mansion. My sanctuary had become a fortress.

I sat there all night until the sky turned a bruised purple.

By morning, my limbs were stiff, my joints locked in place.

"Madam!"

Emma rushed forward, grabbing my frozen fingers. "Why didn't you find a hotel? You're ice cold!"

Her warm skin touched my frigid palm. Tears welled in her eyes—pity, sympathy. Emotions I hadn't seen directed at me in a long time.

She pulled me inside and brewed ginger soup to drive out the cold.

For three years, while the world branded me a gold digger, only Emma had remained steadfast.

"You aren't greedy, child," she'd told me once. "Whatever happened, I know you had no choice. I believe in you."

We'd barely known each other before the marriage, yet this woman chose to trust me. Meanwhile, Luke—the man who claimed to love me more than life itself—had condemned me without a second thought.

The irony was bitter enough to choke on.

I drank the soup and forced down breakfast. Once the numbness subsided, I retreated to my room to wash off the grime of the night.

I was about to lie down when a woman's voice drifted from the hallway—crisp, sweet, sickeningly intimate.

"It's all your fault, Luke. You were an animal last night... didn't hold back at all. My waist is killing me."

"My apologies. Shall I rub it for you?"

His voice was mellow, laced with husky satisfaction. He chuckled—a low, genuine sound.

I froze. I couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed around me.

My gaze drifted to the bedside table. The divorce papers sat in a neat pile.

A strange calm settled over me. I picked up the document, opened the door, and stepped into the corridor.

Luke and Ella Harding were pressed against the wall, locked in a kiss. His hand rested possessively on her thigh.

I watched them for a second. No jealousy. No pain. Just exhaustion.

"Sorry to interrupt. I just need a minute."

Luke pulled away slowly. The tenderness in his eyes vanished the moment he saw me, replaced by a gaze sharp and cold as a blade.

Ella smoothed her dress, arching her back to display the fresh red marks on her neck. She smirked.

"Oh, Mrs. Weiss. You're actually home? I assumed you found somewhere else to sleep after missing curfew."

I ignored her. Walked straight up to Luke and held out the papers.

"This is the divorce agreement. I've calculated the debt. I'll pay back every cent I owe you. Not a penny short."