Divorced by Betrayal My Ex-Wife Sold Me Out, Then I Became a Billionaire Groom

Rosemary Henson saved my life three times. So I gave her three chances to betray me.

On our wedding day, she showed up at the altar with her neck mottled in hickeys. I pretended not to see.

The second time, paparazzi caught her in a private rendezvous with some lounge singer. I totaled my car, slapped her hard enough to draw blood, and filed for divorce—then spent the night drowning myself at a nightclub.

Rosemary got word of it. She stormed in and trashed the entire place, then went live on every platform to confess her love and beg for forgiveness. She swore she'd changed. Swore she'd be a real wife to me.

My family pressured me into taking her back. So I did.

But the day my mother was driven to jump off a building by my father's mistress and her daughter? Rosemary vanished.

When I finally found her, she was arm-in-arm with my father's illegitimate son, clinking glasses with her friends like it was a celebration.

"Rosemary, didn't you swear you were done fooling around? Aren't you scared Roland Sullivan will lose it on you?"

Rosemary let out a dismissive scoff. "Oh, please. Frederick isn't some stranger—he's practically family. The poor thing was terrified. What's wrong with me comforting him a little?"

She swirled her drink, utterly unbothered. "Besides, when has Roland ever followed through? He blusters, then forgives. Trust me—even if he finds out, he'll let it go. He always does."

But Rosemary... you've run out of chances.

1.

I drew a slow breath and pushed open the door.

The laughter died instantly. Someone fumbled to kill the music.

The moment Rosemary saw me, she shot to her feet, a flicker of panic crossing her face.

"Honey! What are you doing here? Is the funeral already...?" She caught herself, rearranging her expression into something softer. "Frederick was so shaken up. I figured—he's your brother, and you were busy, so I'd take him out to clear his head. For you."

How touching.

"Rosemary." My voice came out flat. "Did you drink so much cheap champagne that you forgot why my mother is dead?"

Today was supposed to be my parents' twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

Instead, the mistress and her son showed up at our door. They called it a "congratulatory visit." It was a power play. A provocation.

And my father? He didn't even have the decency to look guilty. He told my mother to be more gracious about it.

Frederick Sullivan is only two years younger than me.

My mother spent over two decades building that family for my father. And today she learned her husband had been betraying her the entire time.

Delia Lambert, our housekeeper, had been uneasy. She called me while I was out picking up the anniversary cake.

I broke every speed limit getting home.

I was too late.

My mother stepped off the rooftop terrace just as I pulled into the driveway. Her body hit the hood of my car. Blood sprayed across the windshield.

While I was drowning in grief, barely holding myself together to arrange her funeral, my father was busy consoling his mistress.

And my devoted wife? She wanted to "comfort" the son of the woman who killed my mother?

A thought sliced through me—ugly and undeniable.

"Rosemary." I watched her face carefully. "You already knew Frederick. You knew exactly who he was. Didn't you?"

"I..."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her eyes betrayed her.

Frederick stepped forward quickly, positioning himself between us. "Roland—brother—don't blame Rosemary. Dad and I asked her to keep it quiet. We didn't want to upset you. We were going to tell you when the time was right."

His voice turned conciliatory, almost gentle. "She and I were at the same university. We... dated, briefly. But her family forced her to come back for an arranged marriage, so we broke up."

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I swear I'm not trying to take her from you. I just—today was a shock. I never imagined your mother would... do something so drastic."

Rosemary said nothing. Her silence was confirmation enough.

The absurdity of it crashed over me like ice water.

She knew. She'd known all along that my father had a secret son, and she'd kept it from me.

If I'd found out sooner, maybe I could have prevented this. Maybe I could have protected my mother from that ambush.

Maybe she'd still be alive.

My silence stretched. Frederick rushed to fill it.