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.

Soon enough, Sophie and Jake arrived, hand-in-hand, looking every bit the doting mother and son.

Jake was laden with a stack of shopping bags, his face glistening with sweat yet beaming with joy.

"Mom, check out my haul. Cool, right?"

My heart seized hearing him call Sophie "Mom."

The ink wasn't even dry on our divorce papers, and there he was, my nine-month labor of love, calling another woman mother.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and faced him, "Jake, what did you call her?"

His once soft gaze turned sharp with annoyance, "Sophie's gonna be my new mom once she marries Dad. What's wrong with that?"

"What about me?" I blurted out before I could catch myself, "I've been your mom for ten years."

He looked at me with barely concealed disdain, "All you do is nag and boss me around. Sophie's cool, she gets me all the latest gadgets—a whole bunch of them, lets me game all I want."

"She even says it's okay to eat junk food now and then. We can afford the best doctors if I need them."

I was staggered by his words, unable to reconcile them with the son I knew.

He wrapped an arm around Sophie's waist and delivered the final blow, "Hurry up and divorce Dad. Sophie's gonna have my baby sister soon. You should just get rid of the one you're carrying—I wouldn't care for them anyway."

Reeling from his words, I stumbled back, speechless.

How could things have come to this?

Sophie looked over at me with a taunting smile, "Kids always tell the truth. Poverty makes everything harder, doesn't it? Stop dragging Jason down because you can't cut it."

I caught my breath and steadied my gaze on her, "I heard South City's richest family only had one son, and their daughter was lost as a child. Are you the one they just found?"

A shadow crossed Sophie's eyes briefly, but she quickly masked it, "There's a lot of nonsense online. Only fools believe that. Are you suggesting you're the daughter? Not me?"

"Jason's met my dad, even snapped a photo with him."

Jake, not missing a beat, whipped out his new phone and showed off the photo.

"Look, that's my granddad."

I scrutinized the picture—it was undeniably the man I had identified as my father during my trip.

During my business trip, I stopped by the hospital for a routine prenatal check-up. Just then, an emergency patient was rushed in, bleeding out badly.

I offered to donate blood, but somehow, in the chaos, the nurse mixed up my sample and used it for a paternity test with the patient.

That’s when it came to light—I was actually the long-lost daughter of South City's wealthiest family.

My mother had told me about our family history—just one brother. So who was Sophie in this picture, cozying up to my father?

Could she be a secret child he'd had on the side?

My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, no answers in sight.

Soon, the lab results were handed to us, confirming the authenticity of the prenup—no forgery found.

The world seemed to spin around me.

"No way! I would never agree to leave with nothing! This is a scam!" I shouted, my composure cracking.

Jason pulled me aside into a deserted lounge, slapping the divorce papers down once more, "The drama's enough. Isn't it time you just signed these?"

I glared at him fiercely, "Not a chance! The one who should be leaving with nothing is you!"

Even though I now had access to a fortune, this was about principle.

This money, though trivial now, represented decades of my life before discovering my true heritage.

I wouldn't let him walk away with it so easily.

Sophie's impatient voice echoed from the corridor, pushing Jason to the edge as he balled his fists, "Emily, you're forcing my hand!"