Marrying My Fake Husband's Rival

They call me a gold digger.

Its the label that has defined me ever since my wedding day, when I halted the ceremony and refused to walk down the aisle unless my groomthe sole heir to a multi-billion-dollar empirehanded over half a million dollars in cold, hard cash.

From that day on, in Christians eyes, every breath I took had a transaction fee.

If I made sure his dinner was warm when he came home late, I was looking for a handout.

If I fell ill, I was staging a tragedy to solicit a wire transfer.

Even when I worked eighty-hour weeks at Albright Industries, refusing a salary to prove my dedication, he simply assumed I was playing the long gamepositioning myself to clean him out for good.

It took Christian accusing me of faking a high fever for the ninety-ninth time, leaving me shivering on the floor while he jetted off for a weekend getaway with another woman, for something inside me to finally snap.

I took our marriage certificate and went to file for divorce.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the clerk said, pushing the paper back to me with a look of quiet pity. "But this certificate is a counterfeit. According to our system, youre still single. Well have to confiscate this."

Her words echoed in my skull all the way back to the empty mansion.

I wanted to call Christian. I wanted to scream, to ask him why. But when I reached his study to look for proof of our filing, the heavy mahogany door was slightly ajar. I stopped when I heard his friend Wyatts laughter drifting out.

"So, Christian, you never actually registered the license with the gold digger? Youre playing the field openly, and you arent even worried shell walk?"

Christians voice was cool, dismissive, entirely stripped of the warmth he used to possess.

"Just make sure she doesn't find out about the fake certificate. If she wants to blame someone, she can blame her own greed. She failed the test. Every time I remember her demanding cash at the altar, I feel sick. Registering a real marriage with a woman like that would only tarnish what little love I have left."

Behind the door, a cold, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I had kept blocked for monthsthe direct line to Christians fiercest competitor.

"You know that offer you made? The one where you said youd pay handsomely for core intelligence?" I whispered, my voice steadying with every syllable. "How much are we talking?"

If they wanted me to be a gold digger, I might as well start digging.

Wyatts laughter boomed through the hallway.

"Man, you really pulled off a masterpiece on the wedding day. Hiring those fake debt collectors to show up, claiming her little sister Michelle owed half a million dollars in predatory student loans... threatening to sue her and have her expelled right before her finals. Pure genius."

A test.

The word detonated in my feverish brain. I stumbled back, my limbs turning to lead, dragging myself toward my bedroom like a ghost navigating a graveyard.

On my wedding day, Michelle, always my sweet, responsible little sister, had vanished.

Then came the video on my phone. She was bound to a wooden chair by the docks, crying, while a rough voice demanded $500,000.

My fathera man whose only consistent trait was his gambling addictionhad already run off with the trust money Christians family had set aside for us. I was entirely broke.

To the wealthy elite sitting in the pews, half a million dollars was pocket change.

To me, it was a mountain. It was my sister's life.

So I did the only thing I could do. In my white tulle wedding gown, I fell to my knees in front of Christian, sobbing, begging him to lend me the money.

I will never forget the disgust etched into his handsome face.

"Jane," hed said, looking down at me as if I were dirt under his leather shoes. "Did you seriously choose today, of all days, to shake me down for cash?"

"I told you," I had cried, grabbing the hem of his trousers. "Once were married, Michelle is my sister too. Ill handle everything. But please, I need it now. Its a loan, I swear Ill pay you back!"

He shook his head, stepping away from my touch.

No matter how low I bowed, no matter how much I wept, he refused.

In the five years that followed, I lived in a prison of my own guilt. I blamed myself for not watching over Michelle closely enough, for failing to hide the trust funds from my father, for humiliating Christian in front of high society. I took his coldness, his mockery, and his affairs without a single word of complaint because I believed I deserved it.

But it was a play. A performance. A twisted loyalty test written, produced, and directed by Christian Albright.

I opened my phone, pulled Devon Sinclair out of my blocked contacts, and tapped out a message.

How much is the proprietary trade data worth to you?

My fingers shook as I pressed send. Not from fear, but from the sheer, icy chill that had settled into my bones.

For five years, I had worked at Albright Industries as an unpaid consultant. I had structured their green energy portfolios, optimized their supply chains, and reviewed their unreleased financial reports. I knew every secret they had. A single leak would ruin them.

Yet, even as the message delivered, a small, pathetic part of me hesitated. Just wait, I told myself. Maybe he has a shred of humanity left. Maybe you dont have to burn it all down.

The fever was clawing at my throat, and the shock of what Id heard made the room spin. The edges of my vision went dark. As I started to fall, my hand instinctively reached out, catching the sleeve of a passerby.

"Please... get me some medicine," I rasped.

Before I could even register his scent, a harsh force shoved me away. I hit the hardwood floor, hard.

Christian stood over me, brushing off his sleeve with blatant disgust.

"Jane! Are you seriously addicted to the drama? Acting out a tragic collapse right in the hallway? Do you think I dont see right through you?"

I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, forcing my voice to carry a rare, sharp edge.

"What if I am? You call me a gold digger, Christian. But tell mehave you given me a single dollar since the day we allegedly married?"

Even the $500,000 I supposedly "extorted" from him had been wired back to his account the moment Michelle was released. And the millions I had generated for Albright Industries over the last five years? I hadn't seen a cent of it.

I owed him nothing.

If I hadn't spent consecutive nights working myself to the bone to save his logistics department, my immune system wouldn't have collapsed.

"Christian," I whispered, tears finally spilling over. "If you want me to die on this floor tonight, go ahead. Walk out."

I tried to wipe the tears away, but they kept coming, hot and relentless.

A flash of hesitation crossed his eyes, gone as quickly as it came. He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and threw a few thousand dollars into my personal account via an app.

"Take the money and cut the act. Its pathetic."

By the time the notification popped up on my screen, his footsteps were already fading down the driveway.

I slumped against the baseboard, crying out with the last of my strength. "Is anyone there? Please, help me to bed."

The house remained dead silent. A maid walked past the end of the hall, glanced at me, and kept walking.

I had forgotten. In this house, I wasn't the lady of the manor. I was just the gold digger who had forced her way in.

I crawled to my feet, bracing myself against the walls, but the darkness claimed me before I even reached the door.

When I woke up, the smell of antiseptic hit my nose.

I was in a private hospital room. Across from my bed, Christian was leaning over Gemma Hart, his hand resting tenderly on her stomach.

In five years, Christian had cycled through dozens of women, but Gemma was different. She had lasted the longest. She was the one he kept.

I stared at them, my voice hollow. "Christian. Are we actually married?"

I put weight on the word married, but he didn't even flinch. He slowly drew his hand back from Gemmas stomach, looking at me with nothing but annoyance.

"Jane, have you forgotten how you forced me to take you in? Is that half-million-dollar stunt not engraved in your mind?" He sneered, stepping closer. "I thought youd learned your place. I didn't realize youd resort to a cheap pregnancy scare to get my attention."

He threw a folder at my chest. The sharp edge of the medical report sliced a neat line across my cheek, but I barely felt it. I was staring at the bold black letters on the page.

Gestational age: 8 weeks.

Patient: Jane Callahan.

I was pregnant.

Christian snatched the paper back, ripping it into shreds and tossing them into the trash. "I used protection every single time, Jane. So why don't you explain to me whose bastard youre carrying?"

Ever since he branded me a gold digger, he had been meticulous. He wore protection, and he made sure I took the morning-after pill under his supervision because he was terrified I would use a child to anchor myself to his fortune. To him, I was a body to use, nothing more.

But two months ago, he had come home completely drunk, throwing himself over me in a desperate, unprotected frenzy that lasted until dawn.

That was when this child was conceived.

While he fumed, a strange sense of peace washed over me. I rested a hand on my abdomen and looked him dead in the eye.

"Whose bastard? Yours, Christian. You were blind drunk two months ago. I actually recorded a voice memo of you begging me that night, just in case you tried to play this exact card."

I reached for my phone, but before I could play it, he snatched the device from my hand, his face darkening with rage.

"You recorded it? To blackmail me for cash? God, Jane, you really are a piece of work. A textbook gold digger."

The words didn't hurt anymore. The armor of my apathy was complete.

Before Christian could say another word, Gemma tugged at his sleeve, her eyes pooling with well-practiced tears.

"Christian... you promised me youd love our baby. You said you wanted this. But if Jane has her baby, my child will grow up labeled a bastard. If thats the case, maybe our little one shouldn't even come into this world."

I stared at Gemma's stomach.

When I first discovered Christians affairs, I used to scream and throw tantrums. He never comforted me, but he always told me the same thing: Theyre just toys, Jane. Its dirty, its purely physical. Id never let them have a child. There will never be a mistress taking your place.

And so, I had learned to look the other way.

But those promises were like thin ice in the springfragile, beautiful, and utterly empty.

The slight flicker of guilt in Christians eyes vanished the moment Gemma sniffled. He didn't even look at me as he called the attending physician into the room.

"Prepare her for an abortion," he ordered.

It was his child too. Yet, with a few soft words from Gemma, he was ready to discard it like trash.

I gripped the bedsheets until my knuckles turned white. "Christian, you cannot perform a medical procedure on me without my consent. Its illegal."

Predictably, we began to argue. The shouting escalated until Gemma stepped forward and delivered a stinging slap across my face.

"Jane! How can you be so cruel to Christian? Youre just using this pregnancy to extort him! Fine, you want money? Ill give you mine!"

Gemma frantically pulled off her diamond bracelet, her rings, and her designer watch, piling them onto my lap with a theatrical sob.

"Is this enough? Please, I beg you, let my child have a future!"

She made a show of dropping to her knees, but Christian caught her before she hit the floor.

"Gemma, don't beg this leech. I decide what happens to my children. Ill make sure you and our baby are taken care of."

He pulled a black Amex card from his wallet and threw it onto the bed. I didn't look at it. My eyes were locked on the pile of jewelry Gemma had discarded.

I recognized those pieces.

Several of them were items Christian had given me when we were first dating. I had kept them locked in my vanity drawer until they mysteriously vanished a few months ago. At the time, Christian had accused me of secretly selling them for quick cash.

Michelle had defended me, arguing with him so fiercely that one of his security guards had pushed her down the stairs, breaking her arm.

She was still in the hospital recovering.

Even now, she was sitting up in her hospital bed with her arm in a cast, trying to study for her college entrance exams. I can do this, Jane, she had whispered through her tears. I wont let them ruin my future. Ill pass.

The doctors had warned us that she might never regain full mobility in that hand, but Michelle refused to defer her exams. She didn't want to burden me with another year of tuition.

"Where did you get this jewelry?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

Gemma looked taken abandon by my tone, but she quickly recovered, offering a smug smile. "Christian gave them to me. Don't worry, theyre entirely real"

Before she could finish, I snatched the heavy diamond necklace and slammed it into her face.

Christian lunged forward to shield her, but I used the remaining strength in my arms to strike him across the temple with the heavy metal watch.

But I was weak, and within seconds, Christian pinned my wrists to the mattress, his eyes blazing.

"Are you out of your mind, Jane? Throwing a tantrum over some jewelry? Ive given you millions of dollars worth of things over the years!"

"If you hadn't tried to shake me down on our wedding day, youd have more jewelry than you could wear!"

His words sliced through whatever remained of my heart.

"You're the one who is insane, Christian!" I screamed, the tears burning my throat. "You gave my jewelry to Gemma, and then you blamed me for selling it! You let your people throw my sister down the stairs! Shes about to take her exams, and her hand is shattered because of you!"

The mention of Michelle made my chest tighten so hard I could barely breathe. If it weren't for Christian, she wouldn't have been subjected to a fake kidnapping at fifteen. She wouldn't have spent her high school years traumatized, and she wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed with a ruined hand.

Christians eyes flickered toward the jewelry on the floor. For a brief second, guilt registered on his face, but he quickly masked it with defensive anger.

"So what? Your reputation is already ruined. Your sisters arm isn't a life-or-death situationshes in a private wing, isn't she? Its just an exam. She can retake it next year."

"And I just gave you my black card, didn't I?"

What good is a card you can freeze with a single swipe?

"You want to call me a gold digger?" I laughed, a broken, hysterical sound. "Fine. Let's make a deal. I want a direct wire transfer. Ten million dollars to buy my silence, my sisters ruined hand, and the life of the child in my womb. Does that sound like a fair price, Mr. Albright?"

Christians face twisted in disgust. "Five years of acting like a martyr, and you finally show your true colors. Even a beast wouldn't sell her own child, Jane."

I wiped the tears from my eyes, holding up my phone to display my bank details. "Were two of a kind, Christian. After all, youre the one eager to pay to get rid of it."

His jaw clenched, but he pulled out his phone. A minute later, my phone buzzed. The transfer was complete.

Seeing the balance, I let out a soft, humorless laugh.

He sneered. "Does a little cash make you that happy? If it weren't for... whatever. Just remember to play the part of Mrs. Albright when were in public."

I knew what he was going to say. He wanted to bring up the wedding day again. For five years, he had held that over my head like a leash.

"Christian," I said, looking at him with absolute clarity. "What would you do if I left?"

He let out a sharp, mocking laugh, draping his arm around Gemmas shoulders and rubbing her stomach.

"Sweetheart," he said to Gemma, "do you think a gold digger would ever willingly leave her cash cow?"

Gemma giggled, and they shared a look of mutual amusement.

Their laughter felt like a succession of physical blows, but I didn't say another word. I quietly lay back down and let the nurses wheel me toward the operating room.

I didn't want the baby. Not because I was heartless, but because I refused to bring a child into this toxic cycle. I wouldn't ruin my own future, or theirs, for a man who didn't care if we lived or died.

Right before the anesthesia took hold, my phone vibrated.

It was a video file from an unknown number.

I opened it. The background was my own bedroom. In the video, Christian was raw, desperate, and entirely consumed by Gemma in a way I had never seen. Even before he branded me a gold digger, Christian had always been gentle, almost reserved in bed.

I realized then that it wasn't his nature to be cold. It was just that I was never the woman who could ignite his passion.

A wave of intense nausea hit me, and I threw up into a basin beside the operating table.

As I mumbled an apology to the nurse, another text arrived from the same number.

Do you honestly think he loves you, Jane? Youre just a placeholder to keep the Albright Groups stock stable. You wont last long.

It was Gemma.

I closed my eyes, laughing at my own stupidity. Even a mistress knew my marriage was a sham, yet I had spent five years trying to fix it.

The messages kept coming.

I'll tell you the truth, Jane. Christian already promised to register a real marriage with me once the baby is born. You and your child are just stepping stones for me to walk over.

I didn't reply. Instead, I forwarded the video directly to my public social media feed.

The moment I was wheeled out of recovery, Christian dragged me out of the bed by my arm.

"Jane! How can you be so vicious? I gave you the money! Why do you have to ruin Gemmas life?"

"Do you have any idea what posting that video will do to her reputation?"

I wrenched my arm from his grip, my voice flat. "She sent me the video to brag. I thought Id help her share it with the world."

Christian choked on his rage, dragging me down the corridor toward Gemmas room. "Gemma would never do that! Do you think Im stupid enough to believe a liar like you? Apologize to her. Now!"

The sudden movement sent a sharp, tearing pain through my abdomen. I held myself upright, forcing my voice to remain steady.

"I did nothing wrong. I won't apol"

I stopped.

Christian was holding up his phone, showing me a live video feed.

In the video, Michelle was tied to a wheelchair, her mouth taped shut, tears streaming down her face. Next to her on the table was her college entrance exam ticket, torn neatly in half.

Christians voice was low, dangerous. "You don't want her future to go down the drain tomorrow, do you, Jane?"

Under his cold, threatening gaze, my spirit finally broke.

I deleted the post. I typed out a public statement, taking the blame for everythingclaiming I was greedy, that I had fabricated the video to extort the Albright family, and that I was deeply sorry for the distress I had caused.

"Is this enough?" I whispered, my teeth cutting into my lip until it bled.

Christian nodded slowly, pocketing his phone.

Once I confirmed Michelle was safe and released, Christian had his security guards lock me inside my bedroom at the mansion. He said it was for Gemmas safety.

I sat in the dark that night, staring at the ceiling.

My mind wandered back to five years ago, when Michelle was kidnapped during her middle school exams. She had been a straight-A student, but after she was rescued, her grades plummeted. She ended up at a mediocre high school, but she never blamed me. She had only smiled and said, Its okay, Jane. Ill make it up during the college entrance exams.

And now, I had ruined her life again.

I saw Christians face in the darkhis smirk as he ordered the abortion, his arm around Gemma, his hand holding the video threat against my sister.

Enough.

I took a deep breath, opened my laptop, and compiled the master files of Albright Industries' proprietary data. I sent them to Devon Sinclair.

When I pressed send, I felt no fear. Only a profound, liberating peace.

Ten minutes later, Devon replied with a single word: Received.

Five minutes after that, a notification from my bank popped up. A sequence of numbers followed by six perfect zeros.

I stared at the screen and smiled.

You wanted a gold digger, Christian.

Now watch me dig.