I Faked My Death, The Billionaire Regretted

The day I discovered my husband had a three-year-old son with another woman, I rigged our mansion with explosives, planning to end us both.

But that night, Carter didn't come home. Instead, for the very first time, I felt a flutter in my stomach. It was the baby moving.

In that split second, the urge to end it all vanished.

I went down to the garage, drove out the most expensive sports car Carter owned, and pressed the detonator.

As the mansion went up in flames behind me, I drove straight to the airport.

From that night on, the disgraced Mrs. Carter, once the biggest joke in New York's elite society, disappeared without a trace.

It wasn't until five years later that we crossed paths again in a small, sleepy town hotel.

I was standing behind the reception desk, politely handing over a room key. He stared at me, completely frozen.

"Audrey... you look different."

I didn't answer. I just smiled professionally and wished his family of three a wonderful stay.

I held out the keycard for what felt like an eternity, but Carter made no move to take it.

My arm began to ache. I cleared my throat and spoke again.

"Mr. Carter, your keycard."

"I'll take it."

A soft voice broke the silence from behind him. It was Rachel, his wife.

My eyes briefly swept over the diamond ring on her finger.

Carter turned to her, his voice soft but scolding.

"Didn't I tell you to wait on the sofa? You never listen. You make me worry."

Almost instinctively, Carter took the designer bag from her shoulder and wrapped his arm around her waist.

He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, speaking with a tenderness I had never once heard during our marriage.

"Good, your fever is gone."

"You must be exhausted. Take our son upstairs to rest first. I'll go out and grab us some dinner."

Rachel leaned into his chest, her eyes scanning me with a cold, calculating look before she smiled.

"Okay. I'll be waiting for you."

I quickly looked away from the happy couple. Just then, a delivery guy walked in, carrying a heavy box of cat litter.

While I was checking the delivery code, Carter had already walked over and lifted the heavy box.

"Let me help. Where does this go?"

"No need to trouble yourself."

I reached out to take it, making sure our fingers didn't touch, keeping my distance.

Seeing a smudge of dust on his expensive designer suit, I walked back to the counter, pulled out two fifty-dollar bills, and handed them to him.

"For the dry cleaning. Consider it on me."

"No need. I wanted to help."

Carter reached out to push the money back. The moment his fingers almost brushed my wrist, I flinched and pulled my hand back.

His hand froze in midair. His voice carried a faint, pathetic tightness.

"Seriously, it's fine. I have to go anyway."

As he turned, he almost knocked over Lily, our junior receptionist, who was walking in with a hot dog.

Lily watched his hurried departure, her eyes wide with excitement as she grabbed my arm.

"Audrey! Oh my god! Was that Carter from the New York Carter Group? He is insanely hot!

"I saw his interview online. He's a self-made billionaire, and he talks about his wife in every single sentence!

"Rich, powerful, and so devoted. He is literally the perfect man!"

A few guests nearby chimed in.

"I know, right! But I heard his ex-wife was a total psycho. She actually stabbed someone and was supposed to go to prison.

"He was too kind, paid her a massive divorce settlement, and only divorced her because he couldn't take her craziness anymore."

Hearing those lies again, my heart was as still as dead water.

Only the ugly scar on my hand throbbed with a faint, phantom pain.

I rubbed my thumb over the jagged, centipede-like scar on my hand, and the past rushed back like a flood.

Carter was never some self-made billionaire prodigy. When I met him, he was just a poor, bullied high school kid.

On a freezing winter day, a group of rich heirs had cornered him in an alley. His forehead was bleeding, staining his faded school uniform red.

I was the one who passed by, grabbed a thick wooden plank, and fought them off to save him.

In the chaos, my hand was sliced open by broken glass. The cut was so deep I could see the bone. It took eight stitches to close.

Carter tried to sneak out of the hospital back then. I ran after him, only to realize he didn't even have enough money in his pockets to pay for my stitches.

He had an alcoholic father and a mentally unstable mother.

After that day, I always protected him.

He remained quiet and stoic, but he would spend hours tutoring me in math after class.

He got accepted into the best prep school in New York, but he couldn't afford the tuition.

I begged my father to sponsor him, paying for his education until he could get a part-time job in college.

When we were seniors in college, those rich heirs tried to blackball him from getting internships. It was my father who broke the rules, brought him into our family firm, and taught him the business step-by-step.

Carter was a genius. He could understand complex financial reports after looking at them just once.

I used to sit next to him, resting my chin on my hands, looking at his handsome profile with pure adoration.

My father saw right through me. Even though he knew Carter only felt gratitude toward me, he still gave Carter the startup capital to launch his own company after graduation.

Within a year, Carter had secured his footing in New York.

Then, my mother became terminally ill. My father, desperate to make quick money for her treatment, made a massive investment mistake.

When our family company was on the brink of bankruptcy, it was Carter who saved it.

My father always said Carter was our savior. He told Carter that the debt of gratitude was paid off, and that Carter should live his own life.

But Carter got down on his knees in front of my father, his eyes dead serious as he swore.

"Arthur, I can never repay what you've done for me. Please, let me take care of Audrey. I will cherish her for the rest of my life. I won't let her suffer a single day."

The old scar on my hand throbbed again.

I looked down at the ugly mark, suddenly wanting to laugh.

How could I have been so naive to mistake his gratitude for love?

After we got together, I didn't even care that we didn't have an official wedding. I proudly called myself Mrs. Carter.

I made my presence known at his company, silently marking my territory.

Carter never complained. He even let me hire his personal assistant, saying, "Just pick a smart guy."

But on the day of the interviews, my eyes locked onto Rachel's resume.

It wasn't because her resume was impressive.

It was because her eyes looked exactly like Carter's late mother's eyes.

Carter's mother was only sane occasionally, but when she was, she was the only warmth in his dark childhood.

So, without asking questions, I hired Rachel on the spot.

The moment Carter saw Rachel, his eyes went red.

That night at home, he held me and cried, shaking as he thanked me over and over again.

I felt so sorry for his past. I constantly invited Rachel to our home, trying to create opportunities for them to bond as boss and assistant.

I thought I was helping him. I didn't know I was digging my own grave.

The gossiping guests eventually dispersed. I shook off the memories and picked up the photo frame of my daughter, gently wiping the dust off it.

Lily walked over, chewing on a piece of fried chicken. "Audrey, fried chicken is literally the best thing on earth. Why do you never eat it?"

My hand froze. The agonizing memories hit me like a physical blow.

My mother and I used to love fried chicken.

Every time my dad came home from work, he would bring a warm bag of crispy fried chicken.

But the year my mom was dying, during her final hours of clarity, she whispered that she wanted fried chicken.

My dad rushed out to get it. On his way back, he got a call saying my mom was crashing.

In his panic, he sped, crashed into an oncoming semi-truck, and died instantly.

That bag of fresh fried chicken was soaked in my father's blood, scattered all over the cold asphalt.

In that freezing winter, on the same day, I lost both of my parents.

Lily's eyes welled up with tears. She quickly set the chicken aside, her voice turning soft and careful.

"Audrey, I'm so sorry. Don't be sad. Lucy and I will always be here for you."

"Lucy is almost done with preschool. How about we go shopping tonight..."

She stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes locked onto my daughter's face in the photo frame. Her mouth fell open in shock.

"Audrey... Lucy's mystery dad... it's not him, is it?"

I nodded slowly.

Lily was speechless for a long moment before she whispered, her eyes full of pity.

"Then... those rumors... Audrey, how much did you suffer back then?"

I blinked, my throat tightening at her genuine concern.

I forced a small smile.

Actually, we did have a few sweet years.

The day my parents died, Carter proposed to me.

He had a notary public transfer all his company shares to my name for free.

He got down on one knee and swore he would give me a new family, that he would protect me forever, and begged me to stop crying because it was breaking his heart.

He even handled my parents' entire funeral because I was too weak and kept fainting from grief.

Once the dust settled, we signed the marriage papers.

There was no grand wedding. Our rings were just the cheap matching bands we bought back in college. But I was content. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive.

I poured all my love into Carter.

I knew he was busy building his empire, so I never demanded his time.

If he worked late, I would leave the living room lamp on and wait up for him.

If he went on business trips, I would pack my bags and travel with him to take care of him.

And he didn't disappoint me.

For the first few years, Carter's world revolved entirely around me. His public displays of affection were the talk of New York.

He bought billboards across Times Square just to write, "I love you, Audrey."

But right when I was drowning in his love, finally healing from the grief of losing my parents, the news of his affair with Rachel trended on Instagram.

The woman I had treated like a sister was caught hugging and kissing my husband in the garden of a rooftop restaurant.

That day was my birthday.

I had cooked a table full of Carter's favorite dishes, wearing the beautiful dress he had bought me, waiting for him all night.

I called him repeatedly. He answered every single time, his voice as smooth and comforting as always.

"I'm at a business dinner, baby. Be good. I'll be home soon."

Rachel had even sent me a luxury jewelry set, using her entire annual bonus, with a note.

"Happy birthday to my best friend."

On that night, surrounded by illusions of love and friendship, I thought I had everything.

I had no idea that the two people I cherished most were ripping my heart out.

The moment I saw the photos on Instagram, I lost my mind. I hopped into my car and drove like a maniac.

Tears blinded my eyes, and I almost crashed twice.

But I didn't care. I just wanted to look them in the eyes and ask them why.

When I arrived at the restaurant, I saw Carter opening the passenger door for Rachel, his movements incredibly chivalrous.

I threw my car door open and ran over. Carter immediately stepped in front of Rachel, his eyes cold and completely devoid of guilt as he glared at me.

"Audrey, what is wrong with you? Stop making a scene."

Rachel peeked out from behind him, still offering me that sweet, innocent smile.

Around her neck was the ruby necklace I had wanted for years but could never bring myself to buy.

And right next to that ruby, a dark red hickey burned into my eyes.

I snapped. I lunged at her like a wild animal, ripping at her hair, slapping her face over and over.

"I treated you like a sister! I shared my home with you! Why did you do this to me?!" I screamed.

Rachel cried hysterically, shrinking into Carter's arms, but her eyes held nothing but smug triumph.

Carter shoved me away with immense force. He didn't care about me at all; he just held a sobbing Rachel, comforting her.

I fell hard onto the concrete. A sharp, agonizing pain shot through my lower abdomen. I clutched my stomach, looking at the two of them, unable to breathe from the pain.

Carter turned around, furious, ready to yell at me, but he froze when he saw the dark red blood pooling beneath me.

I miscarried.

Our first child was killed by his own father's hand.

He rushed me to the hospital. He stayed by my bedside, looking just as devastated and worried as he used to. He kept crying and apologizing.

"Audrey, I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I swear I'll never hurt you again."

I slapped him across the face, kicking and punching him, calling him a monster, cursing him to burn in hell.

Carter took the beating silently, his eyes red. "Calm down, Audrey. Think of your health."

I wasn't satisfied. I screamed like a lunatic, demanding that Rachel pay for what she did.

For the first time in his life, Carter slapped me. His voice was freezing cold as he warned me.

"If you dare touch Rachel, Audrey, I will make your life a living hell."

Seeing him protect his mistress like that, the hatred in my veins turned into a raging fire.

After that day, Carter never visited me again. He began flaunting Rachel openly.

My Snapchat was flooded with photos of them in bed, sent by anonymous accounts mocking me.

I smashed our marital home, shredded everything that belonged to him, and burned our wedding albums to ashes.

Once I discharged myself from the hospital, I used my late father's old connections to blackball Rachel from every industry in New York.

I leaked the entire story of her affair with Carter online.

Overnight, Rachel became a despised homewrecker, and Carter lost several massive business mergers.

In retaliation, Carter went mad. He locked me in a hotel room for months. He tied me to the bed, took his pleasure by force, and recorded the entire thing.

He blurred his own face in the videos, leaving only my humiliated, crying face, and leaked it on the internet.

The public's anger shifted from Rachel to me. I became New York's favorite joke.

The people who used to flatter me blocked my number overnight.

My father's already struggling company lost its very last client because of the scandal and went completely bankrupt.

The day my reputation was entirely ruined, Carter finally let me go.

With years of built-up hatred, I grabbed a kitchen knife and ran into Carter's corporate office.

I slashed Rachel's arm and cut Carter's shoulder.

As I stood there screaming like a maniac, Carter calmly sat at his desk and signed the papers to sell my father's company's remaining shares for pennies.

My father's life's work was destroyed in a second.

I fell to my knees, sobbing, begging him to stop, bringing up my father's kindness to him, trying to find a shred of his humanity.

But Carter just looked down at me, his eyes full of pure disgust.

"Audrey, whatever debt of gratitude I owed your family, I paid it off the day I saved your father's sinking company years ago.

"You dared to hurt Rachel. Now, I'm going to take my time destroying you."

It was also on that day that I saw their three-year-old son, Leo.

Only then did I realize that their affair had started the very day I hired Rachel.

I had no wedding, no diamond ring, all because Carter didn't want Rachel to feel like a second choice.

Even those public love letters on Times Square were suggested by Rachel to keep me blinded while they built their secret family.

I was a clown, played by the two of them for years.

My heart didn't even hurt anymore. It was just filled with a dark, toxic desire for revenge.

That night, I rigged our mansion with explosives, planning to drag Carter to hell with me.

But that was also the night I realized I was pregnant again.

A flicker of hope appeared in my dark world. I detonated the mansion, faked my death, and vanished from New York forever.

Lily was crying so hard her shoulders shook. I wiped her tears and went to the front door to wait for the preschool bus.

Lily followed me, her voice hoarse from crying as she cursed Carter.

But the moment I took my daughter's little hand, I froze.

I came face to face with a familiar pair of eyes.

The thermos of fish soup Carter was holding crashed to the ground. His eyes widened as he stared at my daughter.

"Whose... whose child is this?"