I helped Fred Delgado build his empire from nothing to a hundred billion. My reward, at his celebration gala, was a set of divorce papers.

"Bianca is carrying my child. I won't have my firstborn labeled a bastard."

He pushed the documents in front of me, voice flat, not a shred of warmth.

"You keep the seaside villa. A million a month for living expenses. Keep your mouth shut, and as far as the rest of the world knows, you're still his wife."

I scoffed and tore the pages to shreds.

"So you've got the status and the money sorted out perfectly. Good for you."

Fred frowned. "Don't be greedy. You're a nobody who grew up in an orphanage. You should be grateful you even have a life this comfortable."

I pulled out my phone right in front of him and dialed the private line of the world's richest man.

"Dad. Since Fred thinks our family background is so ordinary, go ahead and cut off his funding."

——

On the other end, my father said nothing.

A long silence.

"Then it's settled. As long as you're sure."

Then he hung up.

Beside me, Fred let out a laugh.

"Winifred Pruitt, have you lost your mind? My funding comes from the top energy conglomerate on the planet!"

"Look, I know you're hurting, but you don't get to stand here and lie to a room full of people."

The guests laughed. Open, unrestrained laughter.

Fred's gaze turned to open contempt. "Let alone the fact that you grew up in an orphanage. Since when do you have a father? Because I certainly never heard about one."

The laughter swelled. Apparently mocking an orphan was something worth celebrating.

I looked back at him, calm.

I had never once lied to Fred Delgado.

This was no exception.

My steady gaze got under his skin. He waved his bodyguards over without another word.

"Take her back to the villa. Without my permission, she doesn't set one foot outside that door."

"Since she's lost her mind, lock her up until she's cured!"

His voice was ice.

Outside the banquet hall, Fred's assistant tossed me a package.

"Miss Pruitt, Mr. Delgado's orders. Aside from the clothes on your back, you don't take a single thing that belongs to the Delgado family."

He flicked a bank card onto the ground.

"That's one million in relocation money from Mr. Delgado. You should know where you stand. Go back to the villa like a good girl and stop embarrassing yourself."

I glanced at the card on the ground.

The irony was almost funny.

He'd probably forgotten that seven years ago, when his startup collapsed and he was hiding in a basement eating instant noodles, I was the one who pawned her family heirlooms to keep him afloat.

And when his business pivot was falling apart, I was the one who stayed up three nights straight, putting together quotes and projections for every single one of his suppliers.

He thought he was a business genius.

Everything he'd built was built on my help.

"Throw it away."

I turned and walked off.

The assistant seemed startled, then raised his voice to a shout. "Miss Pruitt! Don't push your luck. The villa and a million a month—that's the best you're ever going to get!"

All I heard was noise.

"Go back and tell Fred Delgado to start preparing for bankruptcy. Don't wait until he's staring down the end before he comes begging me for help."

I said it without looking back.

Maybe my arrogance got to him, because he didn't bother me again.

I had barely checked into a hotel when my phone lit up with a string of notifications.

Your supplementary card ending in 6688 has been frozen.

Within three minutes, every bank card Fred had ever given me was frozen. Every single one.

Then a message from him.

"Since you won't accept my offer, consider it a voluntary forfeiture. When you're out on the street and starving, don't you dare come crawling back to me."

I read the message and let out a cold laugh.

So his assistant had run straight back to him with every word.

Just then, Alfred Graves called.

"Miss Pruitt, when shall I come to pick you up?"

"No rush. I want to see what other stupid moves Fred makes next."

I smiled to myself.

Early the next morning, Fred's call dragged me out of sleep.

"Winifred! Where the hell have you been?"

He was screaming into the phone.

I held it away from my ear and waited for his tantrum to burn out before yawning. "Say what you came to say."

That only made him worse.

"Did you leak it to the bank? That our last project had a delayed repayment? Why did the bank suddenly notify us today that the loan won't be approved?"

Hearing the tremor in his voice, I felt nothing but pure satisfaction.

"Didn't I already tell you? I called my father."

"The bank cutting you off is just step one. Once the funding gets pulled across every channel, you won't be far from bankruptcy."

I clicked my tongue as I said it.

Fred went quiet for a beat, then spoke through gritted teeth. "Winifred! You think bribing a few bank managers and pulling some little stunt is going to make me bow to you?"

"You want to play? Fine. I'll play this to the end."

He hung up in a rage.

Clearly, he still didn't believe my call had reached the world's richest man.

That was fine. He'd believe it soon enough.

That afternoon, Fred sent me a photo.

The cramped thirty-square-meter apartment we'd rented when we first got married, seven years ago—shabby walls, peeling paint, barely enough room to turn around.

We'd had nothing back then, but we'd scraped together every cent we could and made that place feel like ours.

Now he'd taped a sign to the door: FOR IMMEDIATE SALE.

A voice message popped up.

"See that, Winifred? This old dump is just like you. Should've been cleared out a long time ago."

My fingertip hovered for a second, but I deleted him anyway.

If he could throw away seven years without looking back, what reason did I have to keep living in the past?

But right when I thought I could walk away clean, my stomach lurched hard and everything rushed upward.

After a bout of dry heaving, I instinctively counted the days.

My period was already half a month late.

Half an hour later, I was holding the form the doctor had handed me, and my mind had gone completely blank.

I was pregnant.

I stood there for what felt like forever, and still couldn't accept it.

I'd already made every plan to forget the past, to let go of Fred Delgado for good.

Why did it have to be now?

"Well, well. Isn't this dear Winifred?"

Bianca Whitmore's voice cut in from behind me.

Fred's bodyguards flanked her.

"OB-GYN, huh? Don't tell me you're here hoping you've got Fred's baby in you—thinking that'll keep him from signing the papers?"

Her eyes were full of contempt.

I glanced at her. My mood was already shot, and I had no interest in a fight.

"Oh, you're going to pretend I'm not here?"

But Bianca stepped into my path, her voice dropping low, her gaze venomous. "If you're smart, you'll get lost on your own."

"Because the second my baby is born, every last cent you squeezed out of Fred—I'm taking it all back."

I didn't bother wasting words on her and stepped around her to leave.

I'd never planned to accept Fred's terms anyway.

Everything he had—the wealth, the status—he'd built it on what I gave him, and I intended to reclaim every cent. A single villa and a little pocket money each month to make me disappear? What a joke.

"Don't you walk away from me!"

Bianca screamed it at the top of her lungs.

When I kept walking, she rushed up and grabbed for my arm.

I frowned and pulled away on instinct.

She rode the momentum—threw herself backward and hit the floor like she'd been shoved.

"Ah! My stomach!"

I was still marveling at the performance when Fred came running down the corridor.

"Winifred! What are you doing?"

He shoved me aside and crouched to help Bianca up, handling her like she was made of glass.

"Don't blame her, Fred. Poor thing's going through a divorce—she probably just couldn't help herself."

Bianca leaned into his arms, trembling.

His face darkened.

Without a word, he raised his hand and slapped me across the face. He put everything into it. My ear rang, a single high note that drowned out the corridor.

"You know Bianca is pregnant. When did you become this vicious?"

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and stared at him.

I'd loved him for seven years, and not once—not once—had he ever been that gentle with me.

"Fred, the baby in your mistress's belly counts as a child, but the one in mine doesn't?"

I dug the pregnancy report out of my bag and threw it in his face.

He froze. Then the color drained from his expression.

He picked up the report, and as he read it, his face went completely cold.

"Who told you you could get pregnant?"

His voice dropped low. His eyes locked onto my abdomen.

"Bianca's due date comes first. My firstborn has to be legitimate. It has to come from her."

"Someone with your genes doesn't deserve to breed for the Delgado family."

"This baby cannot stay."

The words were so absurd they barely sounded real.

"Fred, I'm your wife!"

I couldn't stop the words from tearing out of me.

People in the corridor had stopped to stare. Bianca saw the audience forming and immediately clutched her stomach.

"Fred, it hurts…"

His jaw clenched. He pointed at me. "How can you be this selfish? You know Bianca's pregnant and can't be under stress, and you still have to start something?"

"I'm pregnant too! Do you have to side with her no matter what?"

I stared straight into his eyes.

He didn't answer. He didn't even look at me again.

"Drag her to the operating room. Now. I want that thing gone today."

His voice left no room for appeal.

I stared at him.

I had known for a long time that there was nothing left between us. But I never imagined, not even in my worst dreams, that he wouldn't care about the baby either.

"Let go of me!"

I fought with everything I had, but two bodyguards pinned me down.

In the struggle my lower back slammed hard against something solid.

Warmth flooded down my inner thigh, and the pain hit so fast my legs buckled under me.

"Fred… it hurts. Please."

I reached for him, begging.

Something flickered behind his eyes. Then Bianca screamed again.

"Fred, I'm bleeding too!"

She clutched her stomach.

His face changed in an instant. He scooped Bianca up into his arms.

"Get me a doctor. Now. Move!"

He carried her away without looking back.

The bodyguards seized me under the arms and dragged me toward the operating room.

I stopped fighting. I used the last of my strength to pull out my phone and dial Alfred.

"Uncle Alfred… help me…"

Light hit my eyes. I was lying in a private recovery suite, and I didn't know how I'd gotten there.

"Miss Pruitt!"