The Ex-Wife’s Billion Dollar Payday

I was at the clinic for my second-trimester checkup when I ran into my husbands mistress.

The color drained from her face the second she saw me. I didnt even blink. I barely registered her presence. After all, Justin had cycled through three or four women in the past few years. What was one Daphne Shaw in the grand scheme of things? If I allowed myself to get worked up over this kind of clich, I probably wouldnt live long enough to see this pregnancy through.

What I didnt expect was for Justin to be the one throwing a tantrum when I got home.

"I told you from the beginning, everything in the Crawford empire belongs to you and the kids. Did you really have to go out of your way to harass Daphne?" he demanded, hurling a Baccarat crystal vase against the hardwood floor.

I sat on the velvet sofa, my hands resting instinctively over the slight swell of my stomach. I didnt say a word.

I just watched him storm out, slamming the door so hard the hinges rattled, undoubtedly running straight back into Daphnes waiting arms. The housekeeper stood in the corner, wringing her hands, completely entirely at a loss.

Without a word, I pulled out my phone, snapped a photo of the shattered crystal scattered across the floor, and texted it to my mother-in-law.

Emma, take a look at what Justin is doing now

Barely two minutes after the message delivered, my phone screen lit up. It was an alert from my Chase Private Client app. A wire transfer of fifteen million dollars had just cleared into my account.

In the beginning, when Justin first started cheating, it didn't take money from his mother to fix it.

I would scream. I would cry. I would point a shaking finger at his face and tear him apart, demanding to know how the boy who was my first love, the man I had been married to for a decade, had turned into such absolute garbage.

When did the screaming stop?

I think it was right around the time Daphne Shaw entered the picture.

She had shown up at a charity gala wearing a simple white silk dress, looking impossibly sweet and unassuming. And just standing there, she looked at least seventy percent like a younger version of me.

When I saw Justin wrapping an arm around her waist, parading her in front of our entire social circle without an ounce of shame, something inside me just snapped. The fire went out. I didn't even have the energy to be angry anymore.

My only thought was: Lets just get a divorce.

It was Emma who talked me out of it. She sat me down in her Upper East Side penthouse and told me that while she didn't necessarily adore me, I came from a legacy family. Our backgrounds matched.

"Since your mother passed away, your stepmother has taken over the Stratton estate," Emma had said, her voice cool and pragmatic. "A divorce will only give her a reason to laugh at you. Justin might be a disaster in the romance department, but his earning power is undeniable. The dividends on your shares alone yield eight figures a year. A divorce means liquidating assets. Its bad for Crawford Industries, and frankly, Gemma, its a massive loss for you."

She leaned in, her eyes hard. "Women need to wake up. Stop filling your head with fairy tales."

I was too stubborn to understand it at first. I swallowed the humiliation for six months until I spiraled into a severe clinical depression. But then, after getting caught in a torrential downpour and surviving a fever that nearly landed me in the ICU, something broke open in my brain. It was as if the fever burned away the last of my delusions.

From that day on, I took Emmas advice. I recalibrated my expectations of Justin.

She also made me a promise: anytime Justin caused me public or emotional distress, she would compensate me accordingly from the family trust.

So, today, for the sheer inconvenience of being falsely accused of harassing his mistress, I was fifteen million dollars richer.

I moved the funds into my high-yield investment portfolio, then walked into the en-suite bathroom to wash my face, calling out to the housekeeper to have the living room cleaned up.

When I came back out, I realized my son, Theo, was home from school.

He walked right past the swept-up glass, utterly blind to the chaos of our household. His eyes were glued to his iPad.

I rested a hand on my lower back and called down the stairs. "Theo. You're back."

He flicked his gaze up to me for a fraction of a second.

"Yes, Mother."

Polite. Cold. Distant. He was exactly like his father.

I didn't push it. I poured myself a glass of warm milk and turned to head back upstairs.

"Mother," Theo called out. "Theres a parent-teacher conference tomorrow. Do you have time to go?"

"Im pregnant, Theo. The doctor wants me resting," I said softly. "Have your father send someone."

The "someone" Justin would send was, without a doubt, his executive assistant.

Sure enough, the next morning, Daphne Shaw stood on my front porch, her own pregnant belly pressing against her trench coat. She looked terrified, yet she forced herself to stand tall.

"Mrs. Crawford."

I gave a curt nod. "Miss Shaw. Ill leave my son in your hands today."

Daphne offered a painfully awkward, fragile smile. "Oh, yes. Please don't worry, ma'am. I've been to his school many times."

I knew. From the moment she and Justin got together, I knew about all these little domestic boundary-crossings. But I was too exhausted to ask, and I certainly didn't care to listen to the excuses.

Later, as I was walking toward the home gym for some light stretching, Theo crossed my path.

For once, he hesitated. "Mother?"

"Hmm?"

"Why couldn't you come with me? Miss Shaw is pregnant too, and she's going."

I looked at my twelve-year-old son, my expression flat. "Because Im spoiled, Theo, and I don't like being inconvenienced."

I paused, letting the silence stretch before delivering the final blow. "Besides, you said it yourselfyou think Daphne is gentle and sweet. You like having her at your school. I'm just doing what makes you happy."

Theos mouth opened, but no sound came out.

He stood frozen in the hallway, his dark eyes dimming as he watched me walk away.

I stayed home, prioritizing my peace and my pregnancy.

The doctor had confirmed it was twins. Two girls. I needed to keep my stress levels at absolute zero. I ordered a years supply of premium, custom-blended prenatal supplements, overhauled my maternity wardrobe with the new season's designer collections, and after a long spa day, I met my best friend, Penny, for lunch at a Michelin-starred spot downtown.

Across the table, Penny looked at me, her eyes rimmed with red. "Gemma, I haven't seen you since you got sick."

I swirled the sparkling water in my glass. "Its been almost six months."

That illness had lingered, a stubborn shadow, until quite recently.

"How are things with you and Justin?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"Great. He treats me very well."

"Very well?" She looked like she wanted to scream. "Gemma, I heard hes bringing her to the country club mixers now."

I smiled. "I know. But my mother-in-law gave me a fifteen-million-dollar apology."

Penny blinked. "...I guess that is pretty great."

"Penny, Ive realized something," I said, leaning forward. "I was wrong all these years. When I married Justin, I shouldn't have just been thinking about love."

She looked at me like I had lost my mind. "But you guys met in middle school. You started dating in high school. You were completely obsessed with each other. Isn't it normal to expect a marriage built on love?"

"Hearts change." I took a sip of my drink. "Its like how I used to strictly drink Diet Coke, and now I actually prefer fresh juice."

A profound sadness washed over her face. It was the same look the rest of my old friends gave me when they came to visit me during my breakdown. They all believed that the death of an earth-shattering romance required lifelong mourning.

I used to think so, too.

But I figured it out. Eighteen-year-old Justin promised to love eighteen-year-old Gemma forever. But twenty-eight-year-old Justin never renewed that vow. Its pointless to trap yourself in the past.

I patted my stomach. "Look. There are two babies in here now."

Penny's jaw dropped. "You're having more kids with him?"

"Why wouldn't I? Emma promised me a twenty-million-dollar trust allocation and a two-percent equity bump in Crawford Industries per child."

Say what you will about Justin, the man was a corporate shark. And Theo had inherited his genius IQ. When my mother died, she left me an eight-figure inheritance, which I poured entirely into Crawford stock. Fast forward a few years, and my net worth had crossed the billion-dollar mark.

Why on earth would I walk away from an incubator made of solid gold?

Penny went quiet for a moment. "But Daphne is having a baby, too. When her kid is born, Justin is going to be distracted. If he rewrites his will, you might lose out."

"I thought about that," I replied evenly. "Thats why Im having two more. Its a numbers game, Penny. Im diluting her equity."

When I got home that evening, the living room had been entirely restored. The Baccarat vase had been replaced with an identical piece.

That was the beauty of extreme wealth. Nothing was ever truly lost. As long as you had the capital, even the rarest things could be seamlessly replaced.

I sat in the cavernous, eerily quiet living room, a sheet mask cooling my face, sipping warm milk and listening to the wind rattling the massive bay windows.

Justin wasn't home. Neither was Theo.

My private investigator had just texted me an update: the three of them were having dinner at a high-end Italian place. The photos loaded on my screen. Justin wore a soft, genuine smile. Theos eyes were bright and engaged.

It was fascinating, really, how much the two of them adored Daphne.

Aside from the fact that she shared my coloring and bone structure, we were entirely different species. She came from a working-class background and wasn't particularly bright. Her sole currency was her endless patience and docile sweetness.

I, on the other hand, had been a firecracker since birth.

My relationship with Justin had started over a stupid high school misunderstanding. One of my friends got her heart broken by a guy named "Crawford." Thinking it was Justinthe undisputed king of the prep schoolI cornered him in the parking lot and tore him a new one in front of half the lacrosse team.

After my tirade, my friend nervously whispered that it was his cousin, a completely different Crawford.

Justin had glared at me, his jaw tight. "You just humiliated me. How are you going to fix this?"

My brain short-circuited. I pushed my shoulders back and blurted, "Can I take you to dinner to make up for it?"

He blushed scarlet.

Our love story had played out like an indie coming-of-age movie. Everyone knew how obsessed Justin was with me. At our wedding, he choked on his vows and cried so hard he almost passed out. When my mother died, he held me on the bathroom floor for hours, weeping into my hair, swearing he would protect me until his last breath.

But the shelf life of true love is notoriously short. Five years into the marriage, he had his first affair.

Then came the second. The third. And finally, Daphne.

Watching the photos of them, I felt a strange sense of vertigo. It felt like I was watching eighteen-year-old Gemma and twenty-eight-year-old Justin falling in love all over again.

Around ten o'clock, the front door opened. Justin had dropped Theo off.

He had cooled down from the morning's rage. Seeing me on the sofa, he even mustered a semblance of domestic care.

"How are the babies?"

"Fine," I said.

"The checkup?"

"Normal."

Justin fell silent, looking away.

I didn't say anything either. I just swiped to the next photo on my iPad.

He lingered in the foyer. After a minute of silence, he spoke up. "I just wanted to drop Theo off. I'll head out now."

I didn't even look up. "Okay. Drive safe."

The silence stretched. I didn't hear the sound of his footsteps leaving.

I finally looked up. He was still standing there.

"Did you need something else?"

He pressed his lips together. "You... you look really good tonight."

Is he out of his mind?

"Thanks," I deadpanned.

I assumed Justin would make himself scarce for a while, but to my surprise, he was still there the next morning.

We hadn't interacted peacefully in months. Except for our anniversary a few months agowe had both drank too much, a bizarre, manic energy had taken over, and we ended up tangled in the sheets for the night.

Any other time we saw each other, we barely spoke. And when we did, it ended in a screaming match.

The fact that he was voluntarily initiating conversation meant nothing good was coming.

Sure enough, he cleared his throat. "Daphne is due soon."

"And?" I asked, sipping my coffee.

"I wanted to ask you about those luxury postpartum wellness retreats. You have a lot of experience researching them."

His tone was perfectly even. He was asking me a genuine, earnest question.

If this man wasn't my husband, I might have applauded his sheer sociopathy. I was pregnant with his children, and he was asking me to play concierge for his mistress's recovery? He was practically shoving my face into the dirt.

A cold laugh escaped my throat. "Are you underpaying your executive assistants? They can't Google a spa?"

Justin shifted uncomfortably. "My EA is doing the work of two people right now. Besides, he's a guy. He doesn't understand these things." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Daphne... she said youd know best. Its her first baby, and shes terrified. Thats why Im asking."

He sighed, his voice softening. "Shes been crying non-stop. It reminded me of how scared you were when you were pregnant with Theo. I figured you, of all people, would understand how she feels."

I didn't understand. And I didn't want to.

No matter how "enlightened" I had become about this marriage, I wasn't about to act as a maternity consultant for the woman sleeping with my husband.

"Do your own research, Justin. If you're that worried, just throw money at the most expensive one you can find."

Justins brow furrowed in irritation. "Gemma, look at you. Youre doing it again. The second something doesn't go your way, you get hostile."

He shook his head, looking at me like I was a petulant child. "You have such a toxic temper. Who else but me could tolerate you?"

He let out a long, heavy sigh. "Forget it. I shouldn't have asked. I already looked at the brochures you bookmarked on the iPad for your own retreat. Ill just book that suite for Daphne. Youve already vetted it, so it must be top-tier."

He kept talking, oblivious to the ice forming in my veins. "You're only in your second trimester anyway. You have plenty of time to find a different place. Or, honestly, you could just take the suite after Daphne moves out. The timing works out perfectly."

Without another word, he picked up his briefcase and walked out the door.

I sat frozen at the kitchen island, a sharp, white-hot pain suddenly twisting in my abdomen.

Some money is just too dirty to swallow.

After Justins little stunt, Emma wired another two million into my account.

But looking at those sterile digits on my banking app, I couldn't find a single ounce of joy. I realized that some indignities couldn't be papered over with cash.

I needed to breathe. I called an Uber and headed to my fathers estate in Westchester.

Pulling up to the sweeping driveway, I noticed the old oak tree my mother had planted was gone. My stepmother had finally had it uprooted. The massive hole left in the manicured lawn felt exactly like the crater in my chest.

Upstairs, my father looked frail but alert. He was confined to his bed, but his eyes lit up when I walked in.

"Gemma, sweetheart. You're home. I've missed you."

I glanced around the lavish, empty room. "Wheres Eleanor?"

"Out shopping," he chuckled weakly. "You know how it is. Ever since I got paralyzed, she can't sit still in this house."

I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled the cashmere blanket up to his chest. "Do you ever regret it? Cheating on my mother when she loved you the most?"

He looked at the ceiling. "What's the point of regret? What's done is done."

He was right. Hindsight morality didn't change the past.

My dad looked at me, a knowing glint in his eye. "Let me guess. Justin is pulling his usual stunts?"

"Yeah," I breathed out. "He knocked up his secretary. She's in her third trimester."

My dad started coughing violently, his face turning red. "That... cough... how dare he?"

"Why wouldn't he dare? His father-in-law set a shining example."

The truth was, it wasn't just my dad or Justin. It was an unspoken rule in our social echelon. Once a man acquired enough wealth and power, fidelity became an inconvenience. It was a silent, suffocating agreement we all lived under.

My dad finally caught his breath. He stared at me for a long time. "So what are you going to do? Are you leaving him?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. But... I'm pregnant again. Twins."

This time, genuine shock washed over his weathered face. "What are you thinking, Gemma? Why aren't you cutting your losses?"

"Because his mother offered me tens of millions and an equity bump if I give birth to them."

"But you already have Theo."

"Money is money, Dad."

His lips trembled. He couldn't speak.

My parents had built their real estate empire from the ground up. By the time they hit eight figures, my dad had already started looking elsewhere. Justin was wealthier, more ruthless, playing in the billion-dollar leagues. Following in my dad's footsteps probably felt like a given to him.

My father closed his eyes, squeezing back the wetness pooling in them.

"Gemma... I know it sounds hypocritical coming from me." His voice cracked. "But from the day you were born, all your mother and I ever wanted was for you to be happy."

He reached out, his frail, shaking hand gripping mine. "We supported you marrying Justin because you loved him so fiercely. If that love is gone, you do not need to subject yourself to this for a payout."

"I might not be the man I should have been," he whispered. "And I might not have Crawford money. But my eighty percent stake in Stratton Estates, this house, and the twenty million I have in liquid assetsit all goes to you. I promised your mother that."

Tears finally spilled over his wrinkled cheeks. "Please, sweetheart. Don't use this marriage to punish me, or to punish a man who doesn't love you anymore. If your mother were here to see what you've become, it would break her heart."

"If you don't love him anymore, just leave. Please stop letting them tear you apart."