Five months into my pregnancy, I finally got my marriage certificate with my billionaire husband.

The very next day, he declared bankruptcy.

After that, he took up food delivery while I stayed home. With nothing better to do, I scrolled through my phone and stumbled across the hottest local video trending in our area: "The Hottest Delivery Guy."

"This is SO romantic! Our CEO pretended to be broke and moved into the old neighborhood just to be closer to the shop owner's daughter. He even bought the room right next to hers!"

"She casually mentioned she only wanted gifts that were earned through hard work, so the CEO spent half a month delivering food!"

My finger trembled. I swiped into a livestream.

The host was pointing at a couple behind her, cuddled together over a Japanese restaurant table, clearly moved by what she was witnessing.

"Now THIS is true love! The girl wanted sushi but felt bad about spending her boyfriend's money."

"And you know what he did? He sold his family heirloom ring just to make her happy!"

"Your girl here bought the ring back from the pawnshop. I'm going to return it to them in just a minute."

I took a screenshot. I stared at that ring for a full thirty minutes.

Then, stiffly, I raised my hand and looked at my ring finger. Nothing left but the faint tan line where a band used to be.

My phone buzzed. A text from my husband.

"Tilda Manning, I was supposed to deliver to a sushi place today but couldn't find the customer. The owner told me to keep the food, so just have that for dinner tonight."

——

I looked at the message, then switched back to the livestream.

The host had already returned the ring. Now she sat across from the couple, chatting with them. The camera was angled low, barely catching their chins.

I sent my husband a random emoji.

The man on screen whose chin was all I could see—his phone buzzed.

I sent another one. Another buzz.

He finally deigned to pick up his phone and reply.

"Tilda, I'm still out on deliveries. Stop blowing up my phone."

Then he set it down and poured a glass of water for the girl beside him.

He had never once checked whether my glass was empty when we went out together. Not once.

But I was sure now. That man was my husband, Nathan Ellison.

And the ring in front of him, the one with the letter L engraved on the inside, was no coincidence. It was my wedding ring—the one that had "gone missing" a few days ago.

The host watched the couple and sighed with envy. "Your boyfriend really loves you."

The girl bit her lip, blushing, and gave Nathan a playful shove on the arm. He caught her hand and held it.

Honestly, the sight made me nauseous—and I'd never once had morning sickness this entire pregnancy.

I looked at the new ring glinting on the girl's finger, and it all clicked. He'd sold mine so they could wear a matching set. After all, couple's rings came in pairs. There was no such thing as a set of three.

The host and the comment section were eating it up, gushing over the romance, begging for their love story.

This time, Nathan volunteered to speak.

He said they'd met on a rainy day—his favorite kind of weather—because her umbrella had such a unique pattern that he couldn't help but notice her.

He said they both loved eating fish eyes, so they'd always split them, one for each.

He said he'd been planning their wedding for a long time, but circumstances meant they had to wait. He promised he'd make it up to her.

I used to think Nathan was just oblivious.

After all, he never noticed that I loved rainy days too.

He never noticed that I also loved fish eyes.

Forget noticing the pattern on my umbrella—he couldn't even remember where he'd put my prenatal checkup reports.

The day Nathan agreed to marry me, the smile on his face hadn't come close to the one I was watching on this livestream.

But I had believed in him anyway.

Even when the bankruptcy came out of nowhere, with no explanation that made sense, I hadn't questioned him. Not once.

By the time I wiped the tears from my face, the livestream was winding down. The camera wobbled as the host stood up.

And finally, I got a clear look at the girl's face.

The woman Nathan had moved into that dingy old neighborhood to get close to, faking poverty just for the privilege of being her neighbor: Bianca Porter.

It was well past midnight when Nathan came up the stairs with his arm around Bianca.

The hallway was pitch black, the motion-sensor lights flickering on only at the sound of their footsteps.

Nathan looked up and saw me standing in the doorway. He yanked his hand back like he'd been burned.

"Tilda?"

"I—she—I just saw Miss Porter feeling dizzy, so I helped her upstairs..."

I glanced at Bianca, still playing the part of a woman on the verge of fainting. I pretended not to notice the dark look in her eyes.

I turned around and went back inside.

A few minutes later, Nathan walked through the door and set a box of sushi on the table.

"Tilda, you haven't eaten dinner yet, right? Have some of this first. I remember you love sushi."

I looked at the box.

Anyone with functioning eyesight could tell it was leftovers.

Nathan hadn't gone bankrupt at all, and he couldn't even be bothered to buy a fresh box to fool me.

"I'm not hungry. Give it to Bianca."

Something flickered across Nathan's face.

He reached for my hand. I pulled away.

"What are you talking about? You're my wife. Of course I save the good stuff for you. Why would I give it to some neighbor?"

A fist clenched around my heart, then released all at once.

It hurt.

I met his eyes. I wanted to cry, but I smiled instead.

"Then why is your grandmother's pearl necklace around Bianca's neck?"

Nathan stiffened.

"Pearl necklaces all look the same. How would I know where hers came from?"

"Besides, didn't you lose the one my grandmother gave you before she passed? Tilda, just because you don't like Bianca doesn't mean you get to throw around accusations!"

I was Tilda.

She was Bianca.

How laughable.

The baby shifted inside me, and it felt like it drained every last drop of my strength.

I smiled politely.

"Then I apologize. My mistake."

Nathan's neck flushed red. After a long silence, the fight drained out of him.

"I'm sorry. I've been under a lot of pressure lately, trying to make money..."

"Tilda, if you're tired, get some sleep. You have your prenatal checkup tomorrow, don't you?"

I went to the bedroom and lay down, but sleep was the furthest thing from my mind.

When Nathan finally came to bed, I asked him quietly.

"Nathan, did you really go bankrupt?"

His voice didn't miss a beat.

"Yeah. Cash flow dried up, so..."

I didn't bother listening to the rest of his lies.

I rolled over, pulled out my phone, and sent a message.

"Don't transfer that hundred million to Nathan. He doesn't need it."

"Also, look into someone for me."

After sending the message, I logged into the hospital's app, canceled my prenatal appointment, and booked an abortion instead.

When I walked out of the operating room, the file on Bianca Porter was waiting in my inbox.

From her college days onward, Bianca had carefully crafted an image: the scrappy, fiercely independent girl who refused handouts. She wouldn't accept a single cent of financial aid, yet every part-time job she picked happened to be at the most exclusive clubs and lounges in the city, the kind crawling with wealthy men.

Tucked into the file was a photo of the first time Bianca and Nathan met.

It was a painfully cliché damsel-in-distress routine. Nathan, the man who'd never tolerate losing face at a business dinner, had half a glass of red wine splashed across his shirt and didn't so much as flinch.

The way he looked at Bianca, his eyes were practically sparkling.

No wonder he never wore that shirt again.

He'd told me it was because I'd given it to him, so it was too precious to wear.

Bianca refused Nathan's money. She turned down the executive assistant position he tried to hand her on a silver platter.

She insisted on earning her own way.

The more she refused, the more obsessed he became.

When Bianca wouldn't accept designer bags, he'd leave them on her route home for her to "find."

No money changed hands. Instead, he used a temp agency to set her up with a job handing out flyers that paid ten thousand dollars a day.

I studied the timeline carefully.

During that same period, Nathan had been "working overtime" constantly, ignoring my messages. The auspicious date I'd had a fortune teller pick for our marriage registration kept getting pushed back, again and again.

The moment I so much as mentioned getting married, Nathan would snap.

"Are you that desperate to tie the knot? You waited seven years. You can't wait five more months?"

So I swallowed my tears and had the designer alter my wedding dress measurements over and over.

By the time we finally registered our marriage, I never got to wear that dress. Because Nathan told me he'd gone bankrupt and couldn't afford a wedding.

Then the private investigator sent me a recording.

"To marry Bianca, I've got no choice but to get the marriage certificate with Tilda first."

"There's no other way. A woman like Tilda, if I don't keep her pacified, she'll use the pregnancy to force my hand. And Bianca has too strong a sense of justice. She'd cut me off completely."

"Get the certificate first. Forget about a wedding. When the time comes, I'll just tell Tilda I went bankrupt. That way I can move in next door to Bianca and take care of her."

"As for the kid in her belly, we'll deal with that later. If Bianca doesn't want it around, I'll just hire a few people to... If Tilda finds out, she finds out. Honestly, I'd love it if she filed for divorce herself."

By the time the recording ended, I was already standing outside Bianca's door.

Two voices laughed and flirted inside.

Ten minutes ago, Nathan had told me he'd picked up several designated-driver gigs and wouldn't be coming home tonight.

Lies like that rolled off his tongue without effort now.

I'd almost forgotten there was a time when he used to blush just asking, "Want to grab dinner together tonight?"

The sounds from the room grew louder.

I opened the camera on my phone, raised it, and pounded on the door.

The noise inside died instantly.

"Who is it?" Bianca called out.

I said nothing. I held the phone up with one hand and hammered on the door with the other.

The door swung open, revealing Bianca in a skimpy negligee from the waist up. Red marks trailed down her neck. One glance past her shoulder was all it took to spot the used condom wrappers scattered across the floor.

The second she saw the phone in my hand, her expression shifted.

"Tilda, what are you doing?"

I pushed my way in.

"I heard my husband's voice, so I came to check."

Bianca tried to shove me back. The persona she wore in public was always the same: blunt, outspoken, the kind of girl who'd rather break than bend.

"Your husband isn't here! Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean the whole world has to tiptoe around you!"

My loud knocking had already drawn a few neighbors to their doorways. The moment they heard that, their eyes lit up.

I looked at Bianca and pointed at the used condoms on the floor.

"Whether my husband's here or not, I'll know once I step inside. What's the matter? Were you blowing those up like balloons by yourself?"

Bianca's face turned crimson. Several neighbors covered their mouths, stifling laughter.

"Come on, just let her look," they chimed in. "She's pregnant. Don't pick a fight with a pregnant woman."

"If you ask me, you brought this on yourself. Always hanging around someone else's husband. We neighbors have seen it more than a few times."

"Stop making things up!" Bianca bit her lip, eyes glistening with tears on cue.

I shoved her aside.

"Move!"

Caught off guard, Bianca stumbled backward and fell right into Nathan's arms.

He was already dressed, though his collar was a disheveled mess and his face was dark as thunder.

"Bianca's pipes burst. I was just helping her fix them. What the hell is wrong with you?"

A knot of fury lodged in my chest.

"Fixing her pipes with a condom? Nathan, do you think I'm stupid?"

"You—!"

Nathan raised his hand at me. It froze in midair.