The Game My Husband Lost

My daughter, Emma Blackwood, was sick.

We were thirty thousand short of the treatment that could save her life.

My husband, Nathan Blackwood, looked devastated, his face tight with guilt. "Honey, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I don't have the money to save our daughter."

To pay for Emma's treatment, I worked four jobs daily, but during a restaurant shift, I saw Nathan rent the entire place to wine and dine another woman.

With a bright smile, she poured him a drink. "Mr. Blackwood, you are generous. You spend tens of millions like it's nothing. You can have any woman you want, so why marry some broke, low-class woman?"

Nathan slowly blew out a stream of smoke, his eyes full of contempt. "You wouldn't understand. Marrying a poor woman like that makes it fun.

"Watching her humiliate herself over a little money, working herself to the bone. It's entertaining."

My body went cold. I could barely breathe.

So Nathan had been a wealthy heir all along, pretending to be poor and lying to me from the start.

What he didn't know was this: I was the long-lost daughter of the richest family in the country. And with a single word from me, his entire world could be destroyed.

I Married a Fake Poor Man

"Ow!" The woman let out a sharp cry, and I immediately apologized. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I had been trying to slip past quietly when I accidentally brushed against a woman in a glittering evening gown. I barely had time to react before my arm grazed hers.

She frowned in disgust. "Do you have any idea how much this dress costs?"

I truly had no idea.

Still, anyone dining in a place like this was either wealthy, influential, or both.

"I'm sorry, miss."

Her dress was spotless. All I had done was brush her arm, but she acted like she'd been touched by something filthy.

"What good is an apology? Go get your manager."

The other guests turned to look, several of them frowning in annoyance. The manager hurried over and personally escorted the woman into a private VIP room.

"Ms. Sinclair, I'm terribly sorry," he stated. "This meal is on the house. Will that be acceptable?"

Charlotte Sinclair rolled her eyes. "And what about her? She saw me coming and still didn't get out of the way. A clueless waitress like that should be fired, shouldn't she?"

The moment I heard the word 'fired,' my heart jolted.

"I'm really sorry," I blurted out. "I didn't see you coming. It was my fault."

In truth, I had seen her and even moved out of the way, but somehow, she still collided with me.

Charlotte curled her lip with open contempt. "So, that's all you are."

I wondered, 'What is that supposed to mean?'

Yet, she said nothing more.

All I could do was keep apologizing, the words tumbling out one after another.

The pay here was good, and I knew the supervisor had only given me a chance out of pity.

My daughter, Emma, was ill, and this job was my only hope of affording her treatment.

Just as I bent down to apologize again, a familiar voice sounded behind me. "Charlotte, what are you doing here?"

I had just started to lift my head when Charlotte snapped, "Don't look up. Keep apologizing."

Still bent over, I heard the man murmur in a coaxing voice, "Who made my little princess mad this time? It's not worth getting upset over."

His voice dripped with affection, but hearing it sent a chill down my spine. That voice was far too familiar.

After a little more sweet talk, Charlotte finally smiled again. "It's nothing. You weren't here, so I had to find something to pass the time."

So she truly orchestrated the whole scene.

Looping her arm through his, she grinned. "No need to comp the meal. Just fire the waitress. I can afford a six-figure dinner."

For once, the manager held his ground. "This is an issue on our end, ma'am. There's no need for you to concern yourself with it."

Charlotte's expression darkened again, but the man cupped her face and kissed her. "All right. Why waste your time arguing with a waitress?"

I waited until the two of them disappeared into the private room before finally straightening up. My neck throbbed from being bent over for so long.

I turned to the manager apologetically. "Mr. Cole, I'm so sorry."

Adam Cole waved it off. "It's fine. She's been here before. More than once, actually. She's picky, high-maintenance, and always finds something to complain about. I just didn't expect her to use you as an excuse this time."

After I left the room, I kept thinking about the voice I had just heard.

I couldn't help myself. I leaned over and glanced inside.

At the table, I caught sight of a familiar profile.

I froze where I stood.

That side profile looked exactly like Nathan's.