With trembling hands, I recorded their betrayal through the small crack in the door, then quietly turned away.
Only when I reached the car did my composure crumble.
At eighteen, the Holmes family found me and claimed I was their long-lost daughter. At first, I didn't want to return—but then, I saw Weston, their foster son, and fell hopelessly in love.
He blamed my return for driving Patricia, their "fake" daughter, out of the house.
But I never cared about her.
My adoptive father was far more powerful than the Holmes, and they only wanted me back to curry favor with him. Sending Patricia away was just a show of loyalty.
I didn't care. I only wanted Weston.
I gave him everything—my love, my loyalty, my family's influence—until he became the richest man in the city.
The billion-dollar contract in my hands would have secured his empire forever.
Now, it just felt like the cruelest joke.
After crying until my chest hurt, I wiped my tears and ripped the contract in half.
My hand moved to my belly. I could feel the faint rhythm of life within.
"Baby," I whispered softly, "since your father doesn't love you, Mommy will find you a new one."
I pulled out my phone and dialed a familiar number overseas.
"Dad," I said, voice trembling but resolute, "I agree to the arranged marriage. Please help me divorce Weston."
A sigh came from the other end.
"Denise, I've warned you. The Holmes family and Weston are both rotten to the core. Your birth parents abandoned you on purpose—how dare they later claim they 'lost' you by accident?"
Hearing the concern in his voice, I choked back a sob.
"I know, Dad. I was wrong. But I'll make them pay for what they did to me."
My adoptive father immediately sent his assistant, Mr. Lenon, to handle things.
"Miss," Assistant Lenon said, "we've already begun collecting evidence of Weston's crimes. The divorce agreement is being drafted as we speak."
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.
Then I pulled out my makeup kit, concealing my swollen eyes.
Before I left him forever, I couldn't afford to let Weston see even a crack in my mask.
When I came home exhausted, I was met by a familiar embrace.
"Wife, you're finally back. Look—today's maternity meal, I made it myself."
"I had an emergency meeting and missed your prenatal check. I'm sorry."