After Betrayed, I Went from Penniless to a Billionaire Heiress

"Table four needs their martinis, Kate! Now!"

"Grabbing them, Marcus."

I balanced the heavy silver tray on one hand and wiped sweat from my forehead with the wrist of the other.

"And don't forget the oysters for booth two," Marcus snapped.

He pointed a thick, accusatory finger at my chest.

"Rich people don't like waiting, and they definitely don't like slow waitresses."

"I know. I've got it."

"You better. You begged for this shift, right? For the kid's hospital bills?"

"Yes. Thank you for the extra hours."

"Don't thank me, just move faster."

I ducked behind the mahogany bar, pulling my phone from my apron. Twelve hours scrubbing plates at a greasy diner, and now a night shift at The Velvet Room. My brother's leukemia treatments drained every cent I made.

I opened my messages.

*We'll get through this. Just a few more extra shifts.* I hit send to Bill.

He replied instantly. *Don't push yourself too hard, baby. I wish I could help.*

I smiled at the screen. Bill was broke, working odd jobs, but he was my rock.

"Kate! The drinks!"

"Coming!"

I hoisted the tray and pushed through the swinging doors into the thumping bass of the main club. Neon lights sliced through the darkness.

"Make way," a massive bouncer barked.

He shoved a group of patrons aside, clearing a path for a VIP entourage.

At the center of the group walked a man in a charcoal, custom-tailored suit. A heavy gold Rolex caught the strobe lights.

I stopped dead.

The tray wobbled. A martini glass tipped, spilling clear liquid onto the floor.

That sharp jawline. The way he ran a hand casually through his hair.

Bill?

"Hey, watch it!" a customer yelled, jumping back from the spill.

I didn't answer. I couldn't look away from the man disappearing into the exclusive Diamond Corridor.

My boyfriend wore faded flannel and drove a rusted Honda. This man walked like he owned Manhattan.

"Get back to work!" Marcus yelled from across the floor.

I ignored him. I set the tray on an empty table and followed the entourage.

The hallway to the VIP suites was quiet, the heavy doors blocking the club music. Suite 1 stood slightly ajar.

I crept closer, pressing my back against the flocked wallpaper.

Laughter erupted from inside.

"I still can't believe you kept the charade up this long," a deep, mocking voice said. "Three years. You deserve an Oscar, man."

"Commitment to the bit," another guy chimed in. "But seriously, living in that rat-infested apartment in Queens? You're a masochist."

My pulse hammered against my ribs.

"The apartment isn't terrible," Bill said.

His voice. It was definitely him. But the tone lacked the warmth I knew. It was smooth, arrogant.

"Adds authenticity to the poverty cosplay," Bill continued.

"Authenticity for what? To nail a waitress?" The first guy snorted. "You won the bet. You proved to us you could get a girl to love you without flashing the trust fund. Now drop the charity case."

My stomach plummeted.

"I'm ending it soon," Bill said. Ice clinked against glass. "I'm completely sick of the cheap diner food. The poor girl routine is exhausting."

"So collect your winnings."

"A hundred grand," the second guy said. "We owe you a hundred grand. Honestly, it's the easiest money you ever made."

"It wasn't easy," Bill fired back. "Do you know how hard it is to pretend to care about her brother's medical bills? The kid is always sick. Always. 'Oh, we need another treatment, Bill. Oh, I have to work a double shift, Bill.'"

He pitched his voice high, mocking me.

"Just write her a check and bounce."

"No," Bill said sharply. "That ruins the game. I just need to figure out how to dump her without her crying all over my fake thrift store clothes. Do you know how itchy that flannel is?"

"Throw it away."

"I plan to. Along with the rest of this pathetic charade."

A sharp, unexpected laugh tore from my throat.

I clamped both hands over my mouth.

A bet.

My brother was dying. I was working until my hands bled. And my life was a punchline for bored billionaires.

"You guys want another round?" Bill asked inside the room.

"I want some company," the first guy said. "Call the hostesses in."

"I've got my own company waiting," Bill replied.

Footsteps approached the door.

I scrambled backward, ducking behind a marble pillar just as the heavy oak door swung wide.

Bill stepped into the hallway.

A stunning brunette in a backless red dress stepped out of the shadows and looped her arms around his neck.

"You promised me a private tour," she purred.

She traced a manicured finger down his lapel.

"I always keep my promises, Lexi," Bill murmured.

He grabbed her waist and pulled her flush against him.

"Let's find an empty room," Lexi whispered.

"Suite 4 is empty."

He dragged her down the hall. I followed them like a ghost, my feet moving entirely on their own.

They slipped into Suite 4. The lock clicked.

I stood outside the frosted glass door.

Muffled giggles leaked through the heavy wood. A loud thud shook the doorframe. Someone had been pressed against the wall.

"Right there," Lexi moaned.

"Impatient, aren't we?" Bill teased.

"You made me wait while you played poor with that dishwasher."

"Don't talk about her," Bill growled. "I'm done with her."

"Are you? Because she texts you constantly."

"She's needy. It's pathetic."

"Prove you're done."

"Gladly."

My nails dug into my palms. The sharp sting broke through the numbness.

Push the door open. Confront him. Scream in his face.

I lifted my hand. My fingers hovered inches from the brass knob.

They shook violently.

I couldn't open it.

Opening that door would make it real. It would destroy the last three years of my life. It would mean every word he ever said was a lie.

A sharp buzz against my thigh shattered the silence.

I pulled my cracked phone from my apron. A new message illuminated the dark hallway.

*Bill: Baby, working late is hard. Don't forget to go home early. Love you.*

I stared at the glowing letters.

The corners of my mouth twitched upward. I smiled. A wide, hollow smile that stretched my cheeks until they burned.

Then, a single tear slipped down my face, splashing onto the cracked glass screen.

"Bill," I whispered to the empty air. "We can't go back."

I turned on my heel.

I didn't look back at the frosted glass. I didn't listen to the sounds of my fake boyfriend with his real woman.

I shoved through the heavy emergency exit doors, bursting out into the freezing New York night.

The icy wind slapped my face.

He thought he had won his sick little bet.

He thought he could just walk away, collect his hundred grand, and leave me broken in the dirt.

I wiped the tear from my cheek.

My sadness hardened into something cold and sharp.

He had no idea who he was dealing with. If Bill wanted to play games, he was about to learn that I didn't lose.