When my husband fell seriously ill, I finally had a reason to step into his office after seven years of marriage. All I wanted was to ask for his sick leave. Instead, the receptionist froze, eyes widening as she studied my face. “The man you’re talking about… he owns this company. Our boss and his wife arrive and leave together every day. Unless… you’re not his wife.” In that second, my world cracked open.

With the entire elite of the city watching, camera phones starting to appear at the edges of the crowd, Genevieve had no choice. Her fingers fumbled at the clasp. The necklace slipped from her throat into the officer’s waiting evidence bag with a soft, final clink.

I stepped closer to Steven, leaning in so only he could hear me.

“Eight years,” I murmured. “You owe me for every single day.”

His hands trembled around the papers he’d just been served.

The fallout began immediately. News outlets loved nothing more than a good scandal, and this one had everything—money, betrayal, deception, and a visually compelling story of a rich man lying to his “simple” wife.

Ethan knew exactly how to feed them.

He released a carefully curated narrative: the photo of my old apartment with the peeling wallpaper, juxtaposed with a glossy magazine shot of Steven in his penthouse. The story of my dowry card. The timeline of his rise and my poverty. The emergency room report.

“Billionaire fakes poverty to wife for a decade,” one headline screamed.

“Dowry startup: how Apex Tech was built on deception,” said another.