The $300 Husband Is A Zillionaire

I didn't keep a ledger to save my marriage to the Chicago Underboss. I kept it to justify ending it. Every time Blake chose his "childhood friend" Ariana over me, I deducted points. When he left me burning in a gallery fire to save her? Minus twenty. When he gave her my grandmother's brooch? Minus fifteen. But the score finally hit zero on the night of the storm. Blake abandoned me at a cemetery with a broken leg because Ariana called him about a flat tire. Alone in the rain, unable to run, I was struck by a semi-truck. As I bled out on the operating table, the doctors begged Blake—the head trauma surgeon—for the O-negative blood reserve codes. He refused. He ordered them to save the blood for Ariana, just in case her "panic attack" turned into shock. He didn't know the dying patient was his wife. Because of that decision, my body shut down to protect my vital organs. I survived, but the eight-week-old heartbeat inside me stopped. He killed his own son to treat his mistress's anxiety. I woke up in an empty room and pulled out the black book one last time. "Minus five points. Killed our child for her reserve." I signed the divorce papers, wiped my fingerprints from the penthouse, and vanished. Two years later, I returned to Chicago as a celebrated architect. And the man who once ruled the city was kneeling in the rain at my feet, begging for a love he had already slaughtered.

For five years, I was the perfect girlfriend. I stood by Adler when his family lost everything, helping him build a tech empire from scratch. I thought our love was real. But one night, I heard him moaning another woman's name in his sleep-Annika, the ex who abandoned him the second his money was gone. I realized with horrifying clarity that I wasn't his love. I was his placeholder. The cruelty was a slow burn that became an inferno. When a chandelier fell at a party, he instinctively saved her, leaving me to be crushed. He left me bleeding on the side of the road after a car crash to go comfort her. He chose her. Every single time. He told me he loved me, but his actions screamed that I was disposable. His love wasn't a home; it was a cage built of comfortable lies. After he abandoned me on a yacht to save Annika from her own staged drama, I was finally done. So when his sister begged me to help her escape an arranged marriage to a monstrous, disfigured recluse, I saw my escape. I texted her back, "Don't worry. I'll marry him."

I was the Morgan family's charity case, secretly in love with their eldest son, Desmond. For years, he promised me a future, a life where I wasn't just the orphan they took in for good press. Then, at the dinner where I thought he would propose, he introduced me to his fiancée, a beautiful tech heiress. As I reeled from the heartbreak, his younger brother, Antone, swept in to comfort me. I fell for him, only to discover I was just a pawn in his game—he was secretly in love with Desmond's fiancée and was using me to keep me away from them. Before I could even process this second betrayal, the Morgan parents announced they were marrying me off to a disabled tech mogul in Seattle to secure another business deal. The final blow came on the family yacht. I fell into the ocean with the fiancée, and I watched as both brothers—the man I once loved and the man who pretended to love me—swam right past me to save her, leaving me to drown. In their eyes, I was nothing. A placeholder, a business asset, and ultimately, a sacrifice they were willing to make without a second thought. But I didn't die. As the private jet carried me to Seattle to marry a stranger, I took out my phone and deleted every last trace of the Morgan family from my life. My new life, whatever it held, had begun.

The rain lashed against my window as I found my mother unconscious on the living room floor. With no emergency services available, I desperately called my girlfriend, Chloe, our seven-year relationship my only hope. She promised to come, her distant voice and background music hinting at something I couldn' t grasp in my panic. That night, I ran through the storm, carrying the painting my deceased father made, to get help. But it was too late. My mother was gone. Days later, her casual text, claiming an "urgent business trip," twisted in my gut. Driven by a sickening feeling, I checked her social media. A photo from Ryan Stone, her ex, showed her in my old apartment, cooking for him, on the very night my mother died. The music on our call, her distracted tone-it all clicked. I was not just heartbroken; I was enraged. Seven years of my life, my sacrifices, my dreams-all a lie. I had put my passion for photography aside for her, taken a soul-crushing office job, paid for everything, only to be a placeholder for her real life with another man. The shock of her betrayal, the depth of her callousness, solidified my resolve. This wasn' t just about a broken heart; it was about claiming back my life. I gathered her things, a toxic burden I was finally ready to discard.

My husband, Liam Hayes, a prominent real estate developer, was a ghost in our lives. For six years, he kept me and our daughter, Lily, a secret. The day Lily was born, I was alone in the hospital. He was with his high school sweetheart, Olivia Chen. He always chose Olivia. He looked at our newborn with chilling indifference, telling me, "Don' t let her get in my way." Lily, sweet and innocent, called him "Mr. Hayes" to gain his acknowledgment, watched him dote on Olivia's daughter, and had her heart broken a thousand times. The final straw was at a company event where he brought Olivia as his date, laughing, while I stood in the shadows. I decided thenLily and I had to leave. But Lily, with painful hope, whispered about her upcoming birthday, "Maybe... maybe he'll come this time." Knowing he never had, I crumbled, promising to wait two more weeks. The next morning, armed with divorce papers and a resignation letter, I walked into Hayes Industries. I saw Liam and Olivia, intimately close. Olivia mocked me, and Liam loudly claimed he barely remembered me. Suddenly, Lily burst out, a fresh bruise on her cheek, running to Liam. "Mr. Hayes! They said... they said I don't have a daddy." He looked at her with disgust, prying her off him. "Whose child is this? Get her out of here." The words echoed, shattering fragments of my heart: "Nanny's child." Lily's face crumpled in utter devastation. I scooped her into my arms, my own tears falling, as the world stared. He always chose Olivia, and now, he chose to deny Lily entirely. How could a father be so cruel? How could he blatantly disregard his own child in public? The pain was unbearable, the humiliation searing. I needed to escape this nightmare. "We're leaving," I whispered to Lily. "We' re going somewhere warm, where we' ll finally be a real family."

Seven years. Seven years of quiet grief, of carefully rebuilt peace. Ethan, my AI companion, a perfect replica of my deceased fiancé Alex, was my solace, the only thing keeping me from shattering. I walked into my living room, expecting silence, and found my stepsister, Brittany Hayes, curled on my sofa, heavily pregnant, with Ethan by her side. "There was a… a malfunction, Sarah," Ethan stammered, his perfect face a mask of panic as he gestured to Brittany' s swollen stomach. This highly sophisticated AI, built by the company I secretly owned, was telling me a 'malfunction' got my stepsister pregnant. Brittany, with a smug smile, declared, "He loves me. He just couldn't help it." Then, she had the audacity to call me "a bit cold." Nausea churned in my stomach. The replica of the man I loved, the one comfort I allowed myself, had betrayed me in the most grotesque way imaginable. My home, my sanctuary, violated. "I want her out," I demanded, my voice shaking with a rage I hadn't felt in years. But Ethan begged, "She has nowhere else to go… Just until the baby is born. Then I will cut all ties." He promised to fix this 'malfunction.' I compromised. The compromise was a disaster. Brittany quickly declared my office her nursery, and Ethan, my supposed partner, simply stared at his plate, muttering about her "hormones." His programming was deviating, and he was choosing her. When I found her rifling through my mail the next morning, and Ethan protected her, blaming me for stressing her out, something snapped. This wasn' t a malfunction. This was a choice. My patience evaporated. The war had just begun. I wasn't just Sarah Miller, the grieving widow. I was the founder and majority shareholder of Carter-Miller AI. This defective product and the conniving woman using him were about to learn who I really was.

Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.

Elena, once a pampered heiress, suddenly lost everything when the real daughter framed her, her fiancé ridiculed her, and her adoptive parents threw her out. They all wanted to see her fall. But Elena unveiled her true identity: the heiress of a massive fortune, famed hacker, top jewelry designer, secret author, and gifted doctor. Horrified by her glorious comeback, her adoptive parents demanded half her newfound wealth. Elena exposed their cruelty and refused. Her ex pleaded for a second chance, but she scoffed, "Do you think you deserve it?" Then a powerful magnate gently proposed, "Marry me?"

In the glittering world of high society and cutthroat ambition, a single sentence shatters a marriage: "Let's get a divorce." For three years, Claire Thompson has lived in exile, her marriage to the powerful Nelson Cooper a hollow shell existing only on paper. Shipped abroad on her wedding day and utterly forgotten, she returns only to be handed divorce papers. But Claire is no longer the timid, heartbroken girl she once was. Behind her quiet facade lies a woman transformed, secretly rejoicing at her newfound freedom. However, freedom comes with a price. As Claire signs the papers with relief, a chilling phone call reveals a dark truth: the threats she faced overseas were no accident, and the trail leads shockingly close to home-to the family that raised her and the husband who discarded her. Just as she prepares to sever all ties, a twist of fate pulls her back into the gilded cage. Nelson, for reasons unknown, suddenly stalls the divorce. Meanwhile, the family that disowned her and the fragile, manipulative sister who stole her life are determined to ruin her reputation and drive her out for good. But Claire is playing a different game now. With a mysterious new identity, powerful allies, and secrets of her own, she is no one's pawn. As hidden truths unravel and loyalties are tested, a stunning question emerges: In this high-stakes battle of love, betrayal, and revenge, who is truly trapping whom?

Vesper's marriage to Julian Sterling was a gilded cage. One morning, she woke naked beside Damon Sterling, Julian's terrifying brother, then found a text: Julian's mistress was pregnant. Her world shattered, but the real nightmare had just begun. Julian's abuse escalated, gaslighting Vesper, funding his secret life. Damon, a germaphobic billionaire, became her unsettling anchor amidst his chaos. As "Iris," Vesper exposed Julian's mistress, Serena Sharp, sparking brutal war: poisoned drinks, a broken leg, and the horrifying truth-Julian murdered her parents, trapping Vesper in marriage. The man she married was a killer. Broken and betrayed, Vesper was caught between monstrous brothers, burning with injustice. Refusing victimhood, Vesper reclaimed her identity. Fueled by vengeance, she allied with Damon, who vowed to burn his empire for her. Julian faced justice, but matriarch Eleanor's counterattack forced Vesper's choice as a hitman aimed for her.

I stood outside my husband's study, the perfect mafia wife, only to hear him mocking me as an "ice sculpture" while he entertained his mistress, Aria. But the betrayal went deeper than infidelity. A week later, my saddle snapped mid-jump, leaving me with a shattered leg. Lying in the hospital bed, I overheard the conversation that killed the last of my love. My husband, Alessandro, knew Aria had sabotaged my gear. He knew she could have killed me. Yet, he told his men to let it go. He called my near-death experience a "lesson" because I had bruised his mistress's ego. He humiliated me publicly, freezing my accounts to buy family heirlooms for her. He stood by while she threatened to leak our private tapes to the press. He destroyed my dignity to play the hero for a woman he thought was a helpless orphan. He had no idea she was a fraud. He didn't know I had installed micro-cameras throughout the estate while he was busy pampering her. He didn't know I had hours of footage showing his "innocent" Aria sleeping with his guards, his rivals, and even his staff, laughing about how easy he was to manipulate. At the annual charity gala, in front of the entire crime family, Alessandro demanded I apologize to her. I didn't beg. I didn't cry. I simply connected my drive to the main projector and pressed play.

For three years, Averie pushed herself through a secret marriage, waiting for the day she could finally wear a white dress and be seen as his wife. The night before she could finally walk down the aisle, he confessed without a hint of hesitation that he was marrying the woman who once rescued him instead. The "fake" divorce agreement she signed for him shattered into a real, icy breakup that finally freed her wounded heart. When he returned in remorse, begging for just one more chance, a ruthless business magnate pulled Averie close and muttered coldly, "You're too late. She's my woman now."