The Billionaire's Discarded Wife

"God, look at the way Mr. Weiss looks at her. It's intense." "I heard it's her birthday. She made a wish for fireworks this morning, and he dropped a million dollars to make it happen tonight. I'm so jealous." "Doesn't he have a wife, though?" "So what? Men like him always have a wife for show and a mistress for love. Besides, the wife is just a gold digger. Women like that only care about the payout. She probably doesn't care how many women Mr. Weiss keeps on the side." Luke and I were supposed to be a fairy tale. He was the eldest grandson and sole heir to the Weiss empire. I came from nothing, burdened with a mother bedridden for years. Early on, I confessed my reality to him. I expected him to hesitate, calculate the baggage, and run. He didn't. Instead, he took my hand, his gaze heavy with heartache. "You've been carrying this alone for too long. I'm here now." Daniela, he had promised, no matter where you go or what you do, never forget that I am right behind you. Back then, everyone said meeting Luke was the luckiest thing to ever happen to me. I believed them. I never imagined the wedding I longed for would destroy us—branding me with a label I couldn't tear off, scattering his love like ash. I still remember the moment everything shifted. On our wedding day, after I secured the sudden, exorbitant "bride price" demanded for the emergency surgery, I rushed to the hospital. Dr. Reynolds dropped his urgent facade the moment I arrived. "Miss Simmons, your mother is fine," he said, clinically detached. "Everything that just happened was a test orchestrated by Mrs. Weiss. She needed to see if you had the qualifications to marry into this family." My blood ran cold. "A test?" "She asked me to convey that she is dissatisfied with your performance. If you want to remain Mrs. Weiss, you need to try harder. She will arrange a superior medical team for your mother, but she has one condition: you must never speak of this arrangement." Kayla Weiss had backed me into a corner. I didn't dare gamble with my mother's life. No matter how much Luke misunderstood me, no matter how cruel his words became, I swallowed the truth. But my resolve cracked when the affairs began. When I saw him with a bright, beautiful girl by his side, something inside me snapped. I confronted him, clutching his lapels, sobbing until my throat burned. "Luke, please." I begged, dignity forgotten. "Don't treat me like this." He looked down at me, his face a mask of ice. No pity—only disgust. He pried my fingers off his suit, one by one. "Daniela Simmons." His voice cut like glass. "On the day we married, when you raised your price at the altar and trampled the Weiss family honor, you died to me." He leaned in, his shadow engulfing me. "The woman standing here is nothing more than a purchase. I bought you. You don't have the right to demand anything." After that, he stopped hiding. The women changed with the seasons. I spent my nights staring at the ceiling, emptying bottle after bottle of sleeping pills just to lose consciousness. But tonight, I didn't even have the money for a refill. Defeated, I turned away from the city lights and headed back to the villa. The house was dark. The main gate locked tight. A dull ache radiated through my abdomen—a lingering reminder of recent trauma. I clutched my stomach, steadying my breathing, and pressed the buzzer with a trembling hand.

"Emma? Are you there? Please, open the door!" I pounded on the heavy wood, my voice cracking. The intercom crackled to life, but it wasn't Emma's warm tone that answered. It was the butler, his voice stripped of all humanity. "Mr. Weiss has activated the security lockdown. No entry or exit after ten o'clock. That includes you." "But it's 10:01," I pleaded. "Rules are rules, Madam. Please do not make this difficult for the staff." The connection clicked off. I reached into my pocket. Seventy dollars. That was all I had to my name. A hollow ache spread through my chest, colder than the night air. I sank onto the stone steps and curled into a tight ball, trying to preserve whatever warmth I had left. As the chill seeped into my bones, a memory surfaced—junior year of college. I'd missed the dormitory curfew after a late shift. Luke had appeared like a savior, whisking me away to this very villa, his smile tender as he brushed a stray hair from my face. "Daniela," he'd said. "The gates here are always open for you. This is your home." I lifted my head and stared at the towering mansion. My sanctuary had become a fortress. I sat there all night until the sky turned a bruised purple. By morning, my limbs were stiff, my joints locked in place. "Madam!" Emma rushed forward, grabbing my frozen fingers. "Why didn't you find a hotel? You're ice cold!" Her warm skin touched my frigid palm. Tears welled in her eyes—pity, sympathy. Emotions I hadn't seen directed at me in a long time. She pulled me inside and brewed ginger soup to drive out the cold. For three years, while the world branded me a gold digger, only Emma had remained steadfast. "You aren't greedy, child," she'd told me once. "Whatever happened, I know you had no choice. I believe in you." We'd barely known each other before the marriage, yet this woman chose to trust me. Meanwhile, Luke—the man who claimed to love me more than life itself—had condemned me without a second thought. The irony was bitter enough to choke on. I drank the soup and forced down breakfast. Once the numbness subsided, I retreated to my room to wash off the grime of the night. I was about to lie down when a woman's voice drifted from the hallway—crisp, sweet, sickeningly intimate. "It's all your fault, Luke. You were an animal last night... didn't hold back at all. My waist is killing me." "My apologies. Shall I rub it for you?" His voice was mellow, laced with husky satisfaction. He chuckled—a low, genuine sound. I froze. I couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed around me. My gaze drifted to the bedside table. The divorce papers sat in a neat pile. A strange calm settled over me. I picked up the document, opened the door, and stepped into the corridor. Luke and Ella Harding were pressed against the wall, locked in a kiss. His hand rested possessively on her thigh. I watched them for a second. No jealousy. No pain. Just exhaustion. "Sorry to interrupt. I just need a minute." Luke pulled away slowly. The tenderness in his eyes vanished the moment he saw me, replaced by a gaze sharp and cold as a blade. Ella smoothed her dress, arching her back to display the fresh red marks on her neck. She smirked. "Oh, Mrs. Weiss. You're actually home? I assumed you found somewhere else to sleep after missing curfew." I ignored her. Walked straight up to Luke and held out the papers. "This is the divorce agreement. I've calculated the debt. I'll pay back every cent I owe you. Not a penny short."

"Pay it back? You don't even have a job. How exactly do you plan to settle a debt like that?" A faint, mocking curve touched Luke's lips, but his eyes remained glacial. He knew. He knew perfectly well that for the past three years, I hadn't worked a single day. No income. No savings. No way out. I swallowed the bitter taste of humiliation rising in my throat, forcing my voice steady. "How I pay it back is my concern. You don't need to worry about it." Before Luke could respond, Ella swiped the document from my hands. She scanned the pages, her manicured nails tapping against the paper, then burst into shrill laughter. "My god, look at all these typos! Daniela, where on earth did you dig up this lawyer? Completely unprofessional." I didn't have money for a lawyer. The divorce agreement in her hands was something I'd typed out letter by letter on my phone, sitting in the doorway last night, copying a free template I found online. "Daniela, are you done making a scene?" Luke's voice was low, laced with disgust. "Do you really think bringing up divorce will get my attention? Put away these pathetic tricks." He looked at me like something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. He didn't give me a chance to respond. With a scoff, he wrapped an arm around Ella's waist and led her toward the master bedroom. A mirror image of our wedding night. Back then, I'd begged him, tears streaming down my face, asking him to stay. He hadn't even turned his head. Once again, he shut me out. But this time, I didn't follow. I didn't knock. I turned around, walked into the guest room, and closed the door. The next morning, I started hunting for a job. I didn't bother with corporate offices. My employment gap and my connection to the Weiss family made that impossible. Instead, I applied for a cleaning position at a high-end hotel. The pay was decent, and more importantly, they didn't run background checks. Here, no one knew who I was. No one would sneer at me. No one would call me a gold digger. Or so I thought. Two weeks in, the foreman handed me a bucket of supplies. "VIP Room 305 needs service. Now." I kept my head down, clutching the mop handle, and pushed open the heavy mahogany doors. The moment I stepped inside, my blood ran cold. "Well, well. Isn't this Mrs. Weiss?" A man's jeering voice cut through the air. "Does the Weiss fortune not stretch far enough? Or do you just enjoy scrubbing floors?" "The Weiss family has a century of wealth, but even that can't feed her insatiable greed," another chimed in. "If she'd married into an ordinary family, she would've bled them dry by now." "Exactly. That's why a man needs a virtuous wife. Someone pure and kind, like Ella. She's the only one who deserves the title of Mrs. Weiss." The private room was filled with Luke's wealthy, idle friends. They leaned back in plush leather chairs, expressions twisted in mockery. And there, in the center seat, sat Luke. He didn't look surprised to see me. He sat with terrifying calmness, eyes lowered as he idly played with Ella's fingers. As if my presence—my humiliation—meant absolutely nothing. Ella soaked in their praise, a smug glint in her eyes. "Daniela? I heard rumors you were working here, but I didn't believe it." Her voice dripped with faux concern. "Are you really that short on cash? You should've told me. I could've helped." She made a show of reaching into her purse and pulling out the supplementary credit card Luke had given her—the black card that symbolized everything I was denied. "Actually," she said, a playful smile curling her lips, "Luke always says people shouldn't get something for nothing. So let's play a game." She grabbed a bottle of expensive wine and poured a glass. "For every cup you drink, I'll give you ten thousand dollars. Fair, right?" Ten thousand for one cup. My mind raced. My debt—the bride price that had ruined my life—was $280,000. Twenty-eight cups. If I drank twenty-eight cups, I could pay Luke back. Every cent. Then I could leave. Finally be free. I didn't hesitate. "Deal." Luke's hand paused. For the first time, he lifted his gaze to look at me. His eyes were dark, swirling with a storm of anger. "You really have no bottom line when it comes to money, do you?" His voice was ice, sharp enough to cut. "So if I give you the benefits you want, you'll agree to anything?" He sneered, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out the crumpled divorce agreement I'd given him the night before and slammed it onto the table. "You want a divorce? Fine." He gestured to the men around the room—the very men who had just insulted me. "Keep them company tonight. Sleep with them, and I'll sign." The moment Luke's words landed, the room shifted. The men on the sofas stirred—restless, predatory. Blood drained from my face. Nausea churned in my stomach. I opened my mouth to refuse, to scream— Luke didn't give me the chance. Without hesitation, he scrawled his signature across the divorce papers. Then he flung them at me. The sheets hit my chest and scattered onto the wine-stained carpet. "Daniela Simmons." His voice was ice. "You want this divorce? Prove how badly." He didn't wait for an answer. He pulled Ella against his side, hand possessive on her waist, and walked out. He didn't look back. Not once. The door clicked open. Behind me, the air thickened with malice. Their gazes crawled over my skin—sticky, invasive. A chill shot down my spine. "Luke! Luke, don't go!" Panic shattered my paralysis. I scrambled toward the corridor light, desperate to catch him— A hand clamped onto my arm. Iron-tight. I was yanked backward, heels skidding. Through the narrowing gap, I watched the light vanish. Bang. The door sealed shut. The last trace of hope died with the corridor light. Despair crashed over me like a wave, drowning my screams before they left my throat. In that darkness, I had no room to resist. The next morning. Urgent knocking echoed through the Weiss mansion. Luke's assistant stood at the door, face pale, drenched in sweat. Luke sat in the living room, black coffee in hand. Seeing his assistant's state, a sneer curled his lip. "What? Did she call begging for help?" He took a slow sip. "I told you—bringing up divorce was just another game. Playing hard to get." Before the assistant could answer, the morning news cut to a breaking report. "Breaking News: Last night at approximately 10:15 PM, a tragedy occurred at the Cloudview Hotel. A woman, identified as Ms. Simmons, was found dead following a suspected assault..."