I got reunited with my birth parents on a business trip. Turns out, they're the top tycoons in South City. Bursting with this good news, I raced home to tell Jason Wright, my husband, "Our company's safe. My folks are filthy rich!"

But the moment I stepped inside, I stumbled into a nightmare—my husband and his business partner in a drunken hookup right in our bedroom.

Furious, I was about to storm in on them, but my ten-year-old son, barricading the door, snapped, "Cut it out, Mom! Don't mess up a good thing for me and Dad! Aunt Sophie's loaded, she's gonna save Dad's company!"

That stopped me cold—confused and shocked.

Another daughter? Since when did Dad have another child besides my brother?

——

After leaving my newfound wealthy parents, I was eager to get home and break the fantastic news to my husband, especially since his business was on the brink.

Knowing how much he'd poured into his work, and now with my real dad being a mogul, I was sure he could pull us through this slump—maybe even hit a new high.

But no sooner had I opened the door than I was greeted by a mess of scattered clothes and a lacy black bra—a woman's, no doubt.

Lewd noises echoed from the bedroom, setting my blood on fire, but catching sight of my son in the living room, I cooled my jets for a moment.

"Hey Jake, how about you go ride your bike for a bit, huh?"

I barely brushed his shoulder when he shoved me back.

Arms wide, he blocked the bedroom door, "I'm not going anywhere!"

"Quit screwing things up for me and Dad! Aunt Sophie's heiress of the top tycoons in South City and she's rescuing Dad's business. Stay out of it!"

His words were like a slap in the face—I was rooted to the spot in shock.

Sophie Anderson had been a partner at my husband's firm for three years—charming, sharp, and head-turningly attractive.

Whenever I visited, she'd sweetly call me sweet Emily, always so bubbly and affectionate.

Never did I imagine they'd be cheating behind my back!

Ten years of marriage with Jason, and he'd always been sweet, and meticulous about keeping me in the loop on his outings.

Cheating? That just didn't fit the man I knew.

My head was spinning, and all I wanted was to burst through that door and face whatever was happening.

Yet there stood my son, immovable, guarding that door like it was Fort Knox.

"Jake, move!"

Desperate, I tried to scoop him up, but the door swung open, sending Jake tumbling forward and me crashing against it, a sharp pain radiating from my forehead.

"Have you lost your mind, Emily? Pushing your own son?" Jason bellowed from within.

As I looked up, there was Sophie, cradling my sobbing son, her touch soothing.

"Hands off him, now!"

I charged at Sophie, but Jason shoved me back before I could reach her.

"Well, since you're here, let's talk divorce. I'll leave you the house and the car, but Jake stays with me."

My world spun. Just back from a trip and he drops the divorce bomb?

It hit me hard that he wasn't kidding.

"Are you out of your mind? Jake's my boy, how can you even think I'd let him go? And about the baby—what about our child?"

He glanced at my belly with a dismissive scoff and coldly proposed, "Abort it."

WHACK!

I slapped him hard, my voice trembling, "You monster!"

Jason took the slap without flinching, but Sophie was beside herself with worry, cradling his face.

Her anger flared as she faced me, "Jason's over you. Why keep hanging on? If you think the settlement's too lean, how about I throw in an extra million? Would that do?"

"Don't be so selfish. I'm the tycoon's daughter—I can bail him out. What are you? Just a plain Jane housewife." she added.

I froze. Sophie Anderson, the tycoon's daughter?

Then who was I, the daughter they just claimed?

As I stood there dazed, Jason grabbed his bag, took Jake by the hand, and strode toward the door with Sophie.

"You can leave, but my son stays with me."

Jake was my own flesh and blood, the child I raised myself. How could I trust them to look after him, after pulling such a stunt, using a kid to guard the door?

Jason only smirked mockingly at me.

Behind him, my son looked at me with scorn, "I don't want to be with you. Aunt Sophie gets me everything I want. You're just stingy!"

I was shattered by those words.

The man I loved for a decade had betrayed me, and my own son despised me.

Rage choked me, and pain stabbed at my abdomen.

"Get out! All of you, just get out!"

I snatched up the cups from the coffee table, hurling them at their retreating backs.

Jason and I were childhood sweethearts and grew up together in the same neighborhood.

We knew each other backward and forward. After a decade of marriage, respect was always the baseline.

Who'd have thought he'd resort to cheating over the business tanking?

And our son, born a preemie and frail ever since—I've been his rock, managing every meal and bedtime no matter how slammed I was at work.

And to think he resents me now.

The craziest part? I was clueless about all this until today.

That scene wasn't their first rodeo—it looked like they'd been playing house for ages, making me the odd one out.

I cried on the floor till the wee hours, while Jason and my son didn't bother to come home.

Around noon, I got a text from Jason: [We need to talk divorce. If you're not there, I'm filing.]

He included a reservation at a high-end restaurant that's a hit with the romantic crowd, somewhere I'd begged him to go since our third anniversary.

His usual brush-offs echoed in my mind, "Too busy, maybe next time."

"That place is a rip-off. We could cook a feast at home for less. Why waste money?"

Turns out, our first visit would be to hash out our divorce.

Looking at my ghostly reflection in the phone, I cracked a bitter smile, grabbed my bag, and headed out.

Jason was all dressed up in a crisp suit when I got there, looking slick and impatient.

"Took you long enough," he snapped.

"Subway was a nightmare," I replied.

His face soured at that.

"You broke or something? Taking the subway, crammed in like that? You're pregnant, remember?"

His concern felt like a slap. I shot back, dripping with sarcasm, "Yeah, kudos for marrying into wealth. This fancy spot's just a drop in the bucket for you now. I obviously can't compete."

He sighed, "Cut the snark. You think I wanted any of this? The company's going under—that's my life's work. You think you can help bail us out?"

"Look, we've been together ten years, and I swear I still love you. I talked to Sophie last night. After we get married, you're still in the picture. Jake can even stay with you for vacations."

"Fair enough?"

His proposal was ludicrous.

What was he suggesting? A husband sharing? Me, relegated to the other woman?

Sophie might be okay being the side piece, but I'm not settling for scraps.

Jason's brow creased as he saw my reaction, "I'm already stepping back here. What more do you want? Marriage is just a piece of paper, right? If the love's real, the rest shouldn't matter."

"And if you're set on keeping the baby, I'll support you financially. Emily, just sign the damn papers. Otherwise, when this hits court, you might lose everything."

"Sophie's got her dad's money and influence. Cross her, and you'll be the one regretting it," he concluded.

His threats were like a slow poison.

A decade of marriage reduced to cold calculations and threats.

Looking at the man I had loved for so many years, all I felt was revulsion.

I laughed coldly, "Threatening me? We've got all the proof of your affair saved on the home security system. You want to go to court? Bring it on."

Before, I might have paused, and thought about the baby, given the power of Sophie's so-called billionaire dad's name.

Not anymore.

Jason looked like he had already braced himself for my refusal, swiftly pulling out a document from his bag.

"This is the prenup we signed a decade ago. You might want to take another look."

A decade back, at a bustling mall, Jason proposed with a bunch of roses, surrounded by crowds.

His voice was earnest, his eyes brimming with adoration.

"Emily, will you marry me?"

"Here's a prenup. Read it over and then decide. Each clause is protected by law."

I glanced at him, puzzled, "Why bring this out? I remember the terms—just playful stuff like 'You're on chore duty' and 'You're handling the kids.' Feels like play-pretend."

Looking at those terms now, I feel like slapping some sense into my younger self.

I had once proudly posted about it online, thinking it proved how much he loved me.

Turns out, he didn't keep a single promise.

Ignoring my sarcastic tone, Jason urged me to keep reading.

With growing suspicion, I flipped through the pages, my alarm escalating.

There, on the last page, written neatly: [Upon divorce, Party A shall leave with nothing.]

I was Party A.

This clause was definitely not in the original agreement I signed!

"You forged this agreement!" My chest was heaving with rage.

Jason's smirk widened, a look of triumph on his face, "Don't throw accusations around. You can have the signature verified. That's all your handwriting, after all. You were quite in love, weren't you?"

I know myself well enough to say, no matter how in love, I'd never agree to such absurd terms.

Yet, scrutinizing the handwriting, I couldn't spot any flaws—not even in the fingerprint seals.

"Impossible!" I insisted through clenched teeth. "That last clause wasn't there originally. Jason, you're ruthless, stooping this low just to get a divorce? Have you lost your mind?"

Jason let out a light chuckle, "Emily, if you don't sign the divorce papers, I'll have to take it to court. Then you'll lose everything—the house, the car. Can you even afford a lawyer?"

"It's in your best interest to sign now. I'm running out of patience."

He produced another copy of the agreement from his bag, his signature already on it, ready with a stamp pad for my thumbprint.

It was clear he was prepared to force my hand.

I held the papers tightly, "I won't sign this. I need to verify its authenticity first. You can't bully me into signing."

Jason stood, determined, "There's a forensic office next door. I'll go with you."

His confidence was unsettling.

Could I really have overlooked this when I signed?

My thoughts were a whirlwind, but I followed him to the office.

At the office, Jason handed over Sophie's business card and exchanged a few words to expedite the process.

He glanced at me, seeing my anxiety, "This is how the wealthy play. Even if this prenup didn't exist, you wouldn't stand a chance in court."

His smug words were infuriating. I was so tempted to throw it in his face—I am the real heiress of South City's wealthiest.

That would wipe the smirk right off.

But I wasn't about to let this jerk win.

While we waited, Jason took a call.

"Sophie, yeah, it's almost sorted. You can head over."

His tone was soothing, almost affectionate.