He Said I Needed Him to Marry Rich,But I'm the Richest of Them All

On my wedding day, I caught my fiancé with his secretary in the dressing room.

With my heart turned to ash, I canceled the ceremony and broadcast their affair on the reception's big screen for every guest to see.

Bartholomew Gilbert hated me for going that far. He leaked company secrets to destroy me and drove me into bankruptcy.

He draped his arm around his secretary, smiling like none of it mattered. "Scared yet, Zoe?"

"Let's be honest. Your family was never in the same league as mine. I'm the golden heir of the Gilbert empire. So what if I keep a few women on the side?"

He waited for me to drop to my knees and beg. Waited for me to crawl back and ask him to take me again.

Instead, I turned around and married a man no one had ever heard of.

Then, one year into our marriage, my husband was diagnosed with cancer. He was gone before I could save him.

When Bartholomew found out, he showed up at my door with a pack of trust-fund brats in tow, all of them grinning like it was a spectator sport.

"Face it, Zoe. You're secondhand goods now. Some other man's leftovers. So drop the act," he said, loosening his cufflink like he owned the room. "I can't exactly make you my wife, but I can put a roof over your head. How about it? Be my kept woman."

I didn't hesitate. "No thanks. I have more money than I know what to do with."

Because I had inherited every last cent of my late husband's estate. I didn't need a benefactor. I was the fortune.

——

The moment the words left my mouth, Bartholomew and his entourage erupted into laughter.

They called me delusional. Said I was a beggar too proud to admit she was broke.

I didn't dignify their mockery with a response. I simply went back to sorting through my late husband's belongings, calm and unhurried.

Bartholomew watched me ignore him. Watched me handle my husband's things like they were priceless treasures.

His expression darkened. When he spoke again, his voice carried a threat barely concealed beneath the words.

"Throw that garbage out, Zoe. Every last piece. Or I'll have his grave dug up."

My hands went still. A wave of fury surged through me so fast it nearly blinded me.

I hadn't even begun to surface from the grief of losing the man I loved, and now I had to stand here and endure threats from a man I despised.

I lifted my chin and fixed my gaze on Bartholomew. No warmth. No feeling. Nothing.

He didn't care. My coldness didn't even register. He just kept talking, that insufferable smirk still plastered on his face.

"That temper of yours needs work. Stop snapping at me every chance you get. Even as my kept woman, you'd have my name behind you. Nobody would dare touch you."

"And don't worry about Rosalind. She won't give you any trouble. You'd live in the east wing, she'd stay in the west. She knows exactly how to keep me happy."

His pack of freeloading friends raked their eyes over me, every gaze dripping with contempt. They were already picturing it: me, tucked away in some back room, a dirty little secret no one talked about in polite company.

I listened to Bartholomew's delusions long enough.

"Are you all going to shut up and leave? Or do I need to spell it out?"

"Because right now, every last one of you looks like a circus act. The uninvited kind."

Silence. Then their faces twisted with anger.

"Who do you think you are, Zoe Henson? Calling us clowns?"

"We came here out of pity. Your husband's dead, you don't have a penny to your name, and we were kind enough to check on you."

"Unbelievable. This is the thanks we get!"

Kind enough to check on me? They hadn't come to offer condolences. They'd come to watch me drown.

Bartholomew straightened his jacket. "Fine. Come with me. Let's go."

Then, almost as an afterthought: "But don't bring any of his junk into my house."

I couldn't tell if he was deaf or just shameless. I had told them to get out, and he was still standing there, acting like I'd said yes.

"Listen carefully, Bartholomew."

My voice was steady. Every word deliberate.

"In this life, there will never be anything between us again. Not a thread. Not a shadow. Nothing."

"Now get out."

Bartholomew stared at me, fury boiling behind his eyes. "Fine. You asked for this. Let's see how long you last."

"I ruined you once. I can do it again."

After they were gone, I called for Winston.