The Billionaire Wife You Discarded

The candles on my sons birthday cake had just been lit when my phone screen flared to life in the dimmed room. Looking at the disjointed, defensive texts Christian was firing off, my finger hovered over the keyboard.

Suddenly, a quiet, hollow laugh escaped my lips.

Theyre terrified of the dark, Phoebe. Both of them. I have to stay.

Five years ago, Cassidythe woman who had used his sperm to give birth to his illegitimate childhad somehow morphed into his "family," the person he absolutely had to comfort on every major holiday. Meanwhile, my son Benji and I had been relegated to the role of outsiders who simply needed to be "understanding."

Got it, I typed back, my fingers moving with a terrifying lightness. Theo is still young. You should comfort him.

Through the receiver, I could hear his heavy sigh of relief. "I knew you'd be the reasonable one... I let Theo play with the Transformer Benji got. He didnt throw a tantrum about it, did he?"

I turned my head to look at my son by the dining table. Seven-year-old Benji was meticulously aligning two porcelain plates. Hearing the voice from the speaker, he just quietly picked up my phone. "Dad, it's Theo's birthday today, right? I'm the younger brother. It's okay if he has it."

That Transformer was a prized possession. Benji had clutched his allowance and walked three miles in the snow last week just to buy it. When Christian had broken his promise to come home for Christmas, Benji had cried, begging for a makeup gift from his father. And now, he had just casually "let it go."

I knelt and gently straightened Benji's collar. He looked up at me, his dark eyes uncharacteristically flat. "Mom? When are we moving out?"

The moonlight caught the tips of his eyelashes, and in that fleeting, quiet space, it hit me: my seven-year-old son had already learned how to bury his heart.

He was right. This marriage, a grotesque theater spanning two households, should have ended the moment my son looked at me and said, I want to go with you.

"What are you packing for at this hour?"

It was early morning when Christian finally walked through the door. His freshly changed shirt carried the faint, cloying scent of another womans floral perfume. It burned the back of my throat.

I kept my focus on the cardboard box, sidestepping his attempt at an embrace.

"Nothing. Just getting rid of some junk."

A relaxed, almost patronizing smile played on Christian's lips. "Five years, and you two have finally learned how to behave."

He gestured to a shopping bag on the counter. "Cassidy is incredibly frugal. She didn't want me wasting money, so she insisted I bring back two gifts from her place. Don't let them go to waste."

Frugal?

When Theo was three, he threw a fit because he wanted a newly opened private amusement park all to himself. Cassidy had looked at Christian with those big, distressed eyes until he bought out the venue and put it in Theo's name. That was when she finally smiled.

She loved to claim she didn't care for designer labels. Yet, the moment she received them, theyd be plastered all over her Instagram, captioned about how someone truly understands my heart. Not to mention the vaults of high-end jewelry she had purchased under my name over the years.

Christian wasn't blind to it. He just chose to indulge it.

"Thanks," I said. I didn't have the energy to argue.

I picked up the toy car with a missing wheel and a frayed, worn-out cashmere scarf, tossing them straight into the black trash bag in the corner. Then, I went back to folding my sweaters.

"You're still hung up on this." The smugness vanished from his face, replaced by a dark, knowing irritation. "First you move into the guest room, and now that you're not screaming and throwing things, you're playing the insomnia card to punish yourself."

He stepped closer, his voice dripping with exasperation. "Phoebe, I told you. Don't try to mimic Cassidys clinical depression. That manipulative act doesn't work on me."

It wasn't insomnia. It was the simple act of waking up early because, for the first time in years, I was actually sleeping through the night. My therapist had told me that once I started distancing myself from the source of my anxiety, the healing would begin.

Five years of severe postpartum depression. If he had ever bothered to open my nightstand drawer, he would have found the graveyard of prescription bottles. But he never looked. Whenever I broke down, he dismissed it with a single, flippant word: Acting.

I absentmindedly traced the faint, silver scar on my wrist. A phantom ache rippled through my chest.

There was a time when a mere shift in my gaze would tell Christian I was upset. Back then, whether the issue was a shattered glass or a shattered dream, I was his priority. He used to hold my face and say, Phoebe, I refuse to let you go to sleep with a heavy heart.

But after Cassidy got "sick," his vocabulary shifted to: Whatever you say. You're being irrational. Stop making a scene.

Christian let out a long, theatrical sigh. "I'll say it one last time. Cassidy and I grew up together. If something was going to happen between us, it would have happened decades ago. Even when I have to stay over on the holidays, haven't I always FaceTimed you to prove I'm just sleeping on the couch?"

He reached out, his voice softening into that practiced, persuasive cadence. "You're the only one I love. If I didn't, I wouldn't have let my father freeze my trust fund and strip me of my board seat just to defy my family and marry you."

The old Phoebe would have spiraled. She would have interrogated him, screamed at him like a madwoman, demanded proof.

But it had been five years. I was just so, so tired.

Seeing my silence, he impatiently grabbed the box I was taping up. The bottom gave out, spilling its contents across the hardwood floor.

Christian froze. He stared down at the scattered pile of custom, handmade gifts he had spent years crafting for me.

"You're selling these? Phoebe! You know exactly how much time and soul I poured into making these for you."

I gave a curt nod. "The pink diamonds, the sapphires... the raw materials are worth a fortune."

Not to mention the exorbitant fees he paid master jewelers in Europe to teach him the craft. They would fetch a decent price at auction. After all, we had signed an ironclad prenup. If we divorced, I wouldn't get a single cent of the Prescott fortune.

Christian let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "A decade of our history, and you're reducing it to a price tag? You're just going to trash my heart like this?"

It was funny. When I used to drown in our memories, desperately bringing up our past to remind him of who we used to be, he would look at me with sheer disgust. Now, his outrage just felt bizarre.

"You're the one who told me to stop leaving this 'junk' out where you could see it. Selling it seems like a win-win."

He stood frozen in the middle of the room for a long time, the light in his eyes fracturing into something dark and unrecognizable.

"Also..."

When I pulled the divorce papers from the console drawer, Christian slammed the front door so hard the walls shook. The housekeeper silently swept the jewelry back into the storage room.

Left behind on the kitchen island was the Prescott Black Cardthe one Cassidy had been keeping "safe" for him.

I assumed Christian left the Black Card because he thought I was short on cash. I didn't realize it was the admission fee for moving Cassidy back into my home.

When I picked Benji up from school and walked through the front doors, the blood drained from my face. They were standing in my foyer.

A wave of pure nausea hit the back of my throat.

Six years ago, she had used the exact same excusewanting to "care for family"to infiltrate our marital home. She played the dutiful little sister until she managed to get pregnant, fled to Europe, and only returned when she was about to give birth.

Cassidy turned toward me, her eyes curving into that familiar, sickeningly sweet smile.

"Phoebe! I decided to move back in with the baby. This way, Christian won't have to exhaust himself running between two houses. Most importantly, he hasn't spent a single holiday with you two in five years. I just felt so guilty about it."

Benji tugged hard at my hand. His voice was tight, trembling with a suppressed wrongness. "Mom. Theo is in my bedroom."

That room. Christian and I had painted the walls and assembled the crib together before we were even married.

Snapping back to reality, I looked up the sweeping staircase and saw the movers hauling boxes. A hot, blinding rage spiked through my skull.

"Stop right there!" I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. "Who gave you permission to touch my son's room?"

The movers froze, exchanging panicked glances with a now awkwardly smiling Cassidy.

Before I could move, Christians hand clamped around my bicep, dragging me forcefully into his oak-paneled study.

"Ignore her. Keep moving," he ordered the men over his shoulder.

I looked back just in time to see the tiny, hopeful spark in Benjis eyes extinguish completely. He pressed his lips into a thin white line and didn't say another word. My heart twisted into a brutal knot.

Once the study doors clicked shut, I wrenched my arm free. I was shaking so hard my teeth rattled.

"You promised me," I hissed. "You swore she would never step foot in this house again! What the hell is this?"

"And that is Benji's room! Did you even ask him before you handed it over to Theo?"

Christian couldn't meet my red-rimmed eyes. He looked everywhere but at me, dodging the question.

"Phoebe, we've talked about this. Cassidy's parents were my family's closest friends. After they died in that crash, she grew up tiptoeing behind me like a shadow. Yes, she was young, and she made a mistake. But I can't leave her homeless."

A mistake. Cassidy was exactly two years younger than me.

I stared at him, my vision tunneling into ice. "So this is your solution? Running two households under one roof?"

Christians brow furrowed, his handsome face twisting into a mask of pure annoyance. "What two households? We are one family. I view Cassidy as a sister. Stop being so deeply paranoid all the time!"

He shoved a hand through his hair. "Having that specific room was Theo's birthday wish. Yes, he was born a few minutes before Benji, but he was premature. He's fragile. Benji should be yielding to him. It builds character."

Five years. I thought the human body eventually built an immunity to this kind of pain. But the tearing sensation in my chest was just as visceral as the first day.

"Use the Black Card for whatever you want," Christian continued, his tone shifting into a patronizingly calm executive mode. "You'll manage the household affairs from now on. Cassidys clinical depression is finally stabilizing, and her doctors said she needs absolute rest."

It wasn't just about protecting Cassidy. He gave me the card to ensure I wouldn't "mistreat" the mother and son financially.

A heavy, suffocating exhaustion draped over me. I dug my fingernails into my palms until they broke the skin. My voice came out as a raspy whisper.

"Keep it. You can give them every square inch of this house. We'll be out by tonight."

My brother, Spencer, had already booked first-class tickets back to Chicago the moment I told him I was filing for divorce. Crashing at a Four Seasons for a few days before our flight was nothing.

Christian froze. "You..."

The study door creaked open. Cassidy stood there, tears slipping down her porcelain cheeks right on cue.

"Christian... maybe Theo and I should just leave." She choked out a sob. "The moment I arrived, Phoebe looked at me with such hatred. Ive been buying her apology gifts for five years and she throws them all away. Shes never going to forgive me."

Christians expression darkened instantly. He stepped protectively in front of her. "Can you please stop triggering Cassidys condition with your toxic ultimatums?"

I didn't even look at Cassidy. I unzipped my designer tote, pulled out the manila envelope, and dropped it onto the mahogany desk.

"Christian. We are getting a divorce."

"Isn't this what you wanted? For them to move in?" I said. "Sign the papers, and I won't put up a fight."

Staring at the divorce agreement, a flash of genuine shockfollowed immediately by poorly concealed ecstasycrossed Cassidys face.

Christian didn't reach for the pen.

But the woman cowering behind him suddenly burst into loud, theatrical wails. "Phoebe, even if you hate us, you can't use divorce to threaten Christian! Do you have any idea what he sacrificed for you? He still has the scars on his back from defying the Prescott patriarch!"

In the past, the mere mention of what Christian had suffered for our marriage would send me into a hyperventilating panic. I would break down, and then, like a pathetic clown, I would be banished to my room to "reflect on my behavior."

Today, I just stood there, looking at the two of them as if watching a poorly written soap opera. I felt absolutely nothing.

Enraged by my deadpan silence, Christian snatched the Montblanc pen from his desk. He pressed down so hard the nib nearly tore through the thick parchment.

"I am out of patience, Phoebe. I am not going to coddle you and beg you to come back this time."

Over the last five years, Christian had signed divorce papers twice. But back then, I was still deep in my trauma-bonding phase. Every time he pulled away, I panicked and ripped them up.

Never again.

Spencer had retained the most vicious divorce attorney in Chicago. The paperwork was ironclad, and since we'd already initiated the process before, it would be finalized rapidly.

As we stepped out of the study, Theo ran up and wrapped his arms tightly around Christians legs, looking up with wide, innocent eyes.

"Daddy! Does this mean you can read me and Mommy bedtime stories every single night now?" The little boy pouted. "I hate having you sing me to sleep through the phone. Mommy hates it too."

At the word Mommy, Christian flinched. His eyes darted toward me, a flash of genuine panic crossing his face.

Seeing my completely blank expression, he swallowed hard and scooped Theo into his arms. "Of course I can, buddy."

Deep into the night, just as Christian quietly opened the door to the master bedroom, the harsh buzzing of his phone woke me.

I sat up, irritated, ready to shut the door on him. But through the crack, I heard his voice drop into a furious, panicked hiss.

"Mom! Why the hell are you bringing this up now? You know the mental state Phoebe is in!"

Margaret Prescotts shrill, aristocratic voice bled through the receiver.

"Phoebe is infertile because her body is weak, Noel. Don't put that on me! Five years ago, she went into labor early. If you hadn't redirected the entire private OB-GYN team and the life-support equipment to Cassidy, Phoebe wouldn't have hemorrhaged so badly. It's her fault her body broke."

Margaret paused, her tone turning venomous. "Let her divorce you. Good riddance. Now you can have legitimate heirs with Cassidy!"

I stopped breathing. My hand locked onto the brass doorknob with a grip so tight my knuckles turned bone-white.

That wasn't what they told me.

They had looked me in the eye as I bled out on those hospital sheets, and told me the elite medical team was stranded out of state at a medical conference.

Christian paced the hallway like a caged animal. "I was in the delivery room with Cassidy! I didn't know how bad Phoebe's complications were! And you swore to me we would take that secret to our graves!"

No wonder he hadn't answered my calls. I could still taste the metallic tang of fear and absolute despair from that sterile hospital room...

"I owe Phoebe for that," Christian whispered, his voice cracking. "Once Cassidy's mental health is stable, I plan to spend the rest of my life making it up to Phoebe and Benji."

"But Mom," his tone sharpened into a warning. "This was your brilliant idea. You were the one who wanted Cassidys kid to be born a few minutes earlier so he could legally be the firstborn heir to the Prescott trust. Don't act like this was an accident."

He stopped pacing. "Letting Cassidy move back in to treat her 'depression' is my final compromise. If you interfere with my marriage again, I won't hold back, mother or not."

Margarets voice lost some of its bite. "It's the Prescott family rule, Noel. You need a strong heir. You can't blame me for securing our legacy. Who asked Phoebe to cut ties with the Montgomery empire just to be with you? She practically turned herself into an orphan with zero leverage to offer us."

Under the dim hallway sconces, Christians profile was set in arrogant certainty.

Meanwhile, the last remaining embers of my heart turned into ash.

"Exactly," Christian sneered into the phone. "That's why Phoebe's divorce threats are empty. She has nowhere else to go. She can't survive without me."

The conversation detonated in my skull like a fragmentation grenade.

When I first found out Cassidy had given birth to Christian's child, I had shattered. I was sitting in my own postpartum recovery room, staring at the wall. I didn't understand. If he was so satisfied with the daughter-in-law his parents had handpicked for him, why did he tear his family apart to marry me?

Later, he had confessed. He swore he loved me. But he claimed he just couldn't abandon the "fragile sister" who had devoted her childhood to caring for him, whose obsession with him had driven her to clinical illness.

It turned out, those two months Christian spent painstakingly nursing me back to health, wiping away my tears, holding my hand... it wasn't love.

It was guilt. Pure, suffocating guilt for almost killing me.

As reality crashed back in, I realized my face was soaked with tears. But the blinding pain was gone. The final, microscopic tether tying my soul to Noel Prescott simply evaporated.

All I had to do was finish my final campaign launch at the firm, and I could resign in peace.

On my last day at Prescott Media, my team was buzzing with electric energy.

"Phoebe, you spent three years fighting for the Apex Meridian account. When this contract drops today, you are guaranteed the VP spot!"

"Seriously, thank you for mentoring us. We are taking you out for champagne the second the ink is dry."

They all knew who I was. They knew I was the CEO's wife, but they had watched me bleed for this company, building my reputation from the ground up without ever using his name.

I forced a tight, professional smile. "Thank you, guys, but I"

The heavy glass doors of the conference room shattered the moment. Christian stormed in, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, unhinged fury.

"Phoebe! Are you out of your mind?!"

He slammed a manila folder onto the mahogany table. Glossy 8x10 photographs spilled out.

They were the photos I had commissioned a private investigator to take years ago, when I first suspected his affair. Pictures of Cassidy and Theo at a park. Pictures of Christian, looking every bit the devoted father, standing intimately close to Cassidy.

Until today, Theos existence had been completely buried from the public eye.

The conference room erupted into frantic, hushed whispers.

"Wait, Cassidy has a kid? I thought she was just the Prescotts ward? Since when is she married?"

"Look at the kid's eyes... he looks exactly like Mr. Prescott."

"Oh my god. Is that a love child...?"

Trailing behind Christian, Cassidy stood in the doorway, her face stained with expertly applied tears.

Christian didn't ask me for an explanation. He played judge, jury, and executioner in front of my entire staff.

"Call security," he barked at the room. He didn't believe me. He didn't even care to.

Cassidy let out a choked, trembling sob. "Did you really have to destroy my life just to punish me? You want me dead, don't you?"

Christian wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. He looked at me with an expression of pure, glacial disgust. "This is an internal company matter. We will handle it privately."

At the finish line, my name was stripped from the Apex Meridian project. Cassidy was named the lead director.

Because of the "scandal," the client threatened to pull out. Christian demanded I use my personal savings to cover the multi-million dollar corporate damages.

"Absolutely not!" I slammed my hands on the table. "Christian, I didn't leak those photos, and you have zero legal right to touch my money!"

He didn't waste his breath. He flipped open a laptop on the table and typed rapidly into the banking portal we shared.

My phone chimed. I looked down at the notification. My checking account, my savings, everything I had built over five years.

Balance: $0.00.

My hands began to shake violently. Then, my phone rang again. It was Benji. He was sobbing so hard he could barely breathe.

"Mom... Mom, the principal said there was a mistake with the enrollment list. Theo is going to Oakridge Academy today, not me. His mom took him yesterday to take my spot."

Oakridge Academy. The elite, impossible-to-get-into international prep school Benji and I had spent months preparing for. He had studied for weeks just to pass the interview.

Across the room, safely tucked under Christians arm, Cassidy gave me a subtle, victorious smirk. She mouthed two words: He's mine.

The humiliation, the theft, the five years of gaslighting and quiet sufferingthe moment the line with my crying son went dead, something inside me snapped.

"Aah!"

Rational thought evaporated. I lunged across the space, my fingers twisting violently into Cassidys perfectly styled hair. She let out a piercing, bloody scream.

Crack.

The sound of the slap echoed like a gunshot. My head snapped violently to the side. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.

The entire room sucked in a collective breath. Dead silence.

"You are completely out of control!" Christian roared, his chest heaving. "Get the hell out of my company!"

"Don't you dare come back until you are ready to get on your knees and apologize to her!"

He met my eyeseyes devoid of tears, burning with a cold, absolute hatredand for a fraction of a second, he faltered. He opened his mouth to say something, but Cassidys loud, dramatic wailing instantly pulled him back.

Security guards grabbed my arms, dragging me out of the building like a criminal.

The moment I hit the pavement outside, my phone buzzed. It was Spencers attorney.

"Ms. Montgomery. The divorce decree just came through the judge's chambers. Should I have a courier bring it to you?"

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. My voice was eerily steady. "No need. Shred it."

I didn't want to look at a single piece of paper with his name on it ever again.

"Just have the driver pick up Benji immediately. Meet me at the private terminal at Logan."

Two hours later, Benji and I stood in the sweeping expanse of the airport terminal.

The final boarding call for our flight to Chicago echoed through the speakers, harmonizing perfectly with Christians name flashing on my phone screen.

I stared at the name for three long seconds. Then, I popped the SIM card out, snapped the plastic in half, and dropped it into a nearby trash can.

Taking Benji's small, warm hand, I walked through the security gate.

Goodbye forever.

Noel Prescott.