When My Identity Gets Exposed, My Ex-husband Regrets!

As the conversation unfolded, it became clear. They believed I was the perfect match for their son, a woman who could not only support him but also help build their family’s empire. Victor seemed as surprised as I was, but he remained silent, his expression unreadable.

But Victor’s parents were determined to have me as their daughter-in-law. They saw in me a valuable asset, someone who could help secure the future of the Preston Group.

They didn’t want Victor marrying into another wealthy family after all, because they didn’t want to share their precious shares. They wanted someone like me, an intelligent, hardworking woman who had proven her loyalty to the company.

As a result, we married after I graduated from MIT.

But there were conditions. Until we had a child, our marriage was to be kept under wraps; only a handful of people within the company knew that I was Victor’s wife.

Despite the secrecy, I was happy. I loved Victor, and being his wife was enough for me. I dedicated myself to the company, to him, hoping that, in time, he would come to love me too.

At first, our marriage was awkward. Victor was distant, cold.

However, when I got pregnant, things started to change. He began to show a side of him I hadn’t seen before, a tenderness, a softness. Yet, I always sensed that his newfound affection wasn’t entirely for me.

But then I lost the baby in the fourth month, resulting the little warmth he had shown vanished entirely. He became colder, more distant. His parents expressed their regrets, but Victor’s reaction was muted, almost indifferent.

As a result, I buried myself in work, trying to ignore the pain of his coldness and the emptiness inside me.

However, on our third wedding anniversary, driven by desperation, I decided to take a bold step. I slipped a stimulant into his drink, hoping it would break down the walls between us.

As the effects of the drink began to take hold, Victor's expression darkened. He knew something was off, especially when my hands began to wander across his body.

“What did you do?” he asked, his voice tight with anger.

I leaned closer, my lips brushing against his skin.

“I’m just fulfilling my duties as your wife,” I whispered, my voice heavy with longing.

“How dare you!” he growled, his muscles tensing.

But the drink had dulled his resistance, and soon his desire took over. As his breathing grew heavier, he gave in, his hands roaming my body with a hunger I had never felt from him for almost two years.

“Is this what you want?” he said between ragged breaths, his tone a mix of anger and desire.

I nodded.

“Fine. But don’t blame me if I’m rough.”

For a moment, I felt a connection, however forced, as if this was how it was supposed to be.

But as the effects of the stimulant began to wear off an hour later, Victor abruptly pushed me away.

“You’re disgusting, Earlene!” he spat, his voice filled with revulsion.

Tears welled up in my eyes. “Is it so disgusting to want my own husband?” I asked, my voice trembling with pain.

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, his eyes cold and unyielding.

The brief moments of closeness we had shared were nothing more than a cruel illusion, a result of the drug, not any real affection.

“You’re cruel, Victor!” I cried out, my heart shattering.

He quickly gathered his clothes, putting them on hastily. “Have you forgotten how you became Mrs. Preston?” he asked, his tone sharp.

I would never forget. I was chosen for this role, not out of love, but out of a calculated decision to secure an heir and the future of the company. That was why, the harsh reality of my situation was clearer than ever at that moment.

I chuckled softly, the sound bitter, “No, I haven’t forgotten. But your parents want a grandchild too, don’t they?”

My face flushed with anger. If it hadn’t been for the forced smile on my lips, I might have looked like a ghost escaped from hell.

“I can still give them a grandchild, even if it’s not from you,” he said.

Those words haunted me so suddenly. Only then did I understand what he meant back then.

After that night, I indeed was success on getting pregnant. But under Victor’s coldness and my chaos mental health condition, I lost the baby again in my seven weeks pregnancy.

“This can’t go on,” I whispered to myself, my resolve hardening.

Finally, we had arrived at Preston Manor. The butler who had picked me up opened the car door and said, “Mrs. Preston, we’ve arrived. Do you need help getting out?”

“No, thank you,” I replied, my voice firm.

After getting out of the car, I said again, “Thank you for taking care of me all this time.”

Then, I made my way to the elevator and headed to my room. I opened the drawer containing the divorce papers I had prepared a few days after my miscarriage.

Back then, I was hesitant, clinging to the hope that I could win Victor's love back. But then, all of my doubts had vanished. I was done dedicating myself to the Preston family.