He Mocked My Net Worth To His Friends — So I Revealed I Own Half The City
Part 1
The crystal chandeliers at Brenda’s annual charity gala cast a harsh glare over the sea of designer gowns and tailored tuxedos.
I stood in my usual spot near the potted palms.
My modest, off-the-rack gray dress marked me as clearly as a neon sign.
Here stands the wallflower, the woman society deemed past her prime.
I had long since stopped expecting anyone to ask me to dance.
Tonight, the entire room shifted when Tyler Davenport walked through the double doors.
His tall frame cut an impressive figure in a perfectly tailored dark blue suit.
Everyone knew Davenport Industries was hemorrhaging cash.
Tyler desperately needed a wealthy merger to save his crumbling family empire.
He carried himself with such pride that no one could guess the financial storms brewing behind those cool gray eyes.
I watched my cousin Heather immediately maneuver herself into his path.
Her golden curls caught the light as she offered him a practiced, blinding smile.
Tyler nodded politely at her greeting.
I noticed his gaze sweeping the room even as he spoke to Heather.
He cataloged the young women present like a merchant evaluating goods.
A bitter taste coated my tongue.
I pressed myself deeper into the shadows.
His assessment would never include plain Megan Higgins.
I had unremarkable brown hair and a supposedly modest savings account.
Tyler did not know the truth.
No one in this glittering assembly knew the truth.
My late grandfather had left me a commercial real estate empire.
The sheer scale of my holdings would make even the wealthiest hedge fund managers choke on their drinks.
I had learned long ago that revealing my portfolio would only bring fortune hunters to my door.
It was better to be ignored than to be wanted only for a bank balance.
I checked my watch as the clock struck ten.
I had endured enough of the subtle snubs and decided to make my way toward the coat check.
I passed behind a cluster of men gathered near the entrance to the VIP lounge.
Tyler Davenport’s distinctive baritone cut through their laughter.
His words made me freeze mid-step.
“The dating market this season is particularly dismal,” Tyler said.
His tone dripped with aristocratic disdain.
“Brenda brings barely fifty thousand to the table.”
“Heather might have a hundred thousand if you count her mother’s jewelry.”
“As for the others lurking about the edges of the room, you might as well marry a barista for all the good their pennies would do.”
The men chuckled into their scotch glasses.
One of them specifically mentioned my name.
Tyler responded with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Megan Higgins?”
“Have you taken leave of your senses, Dan?”
“The woman is as plain as a blank sheet of paper.”
“What could she possibly bring to a marriage besides her tedious respectability?”
“Perhaps twenty thousand dollars, if one is being incredibly generous.”
The casual cruelty of his assessment struck me like a physical blow.
A fierce, rebellious heat ignited within my chest.
My hands curled into tight fists until my nails dug sharply into my palms.
I stepped around the marble pillar that had concealed my presence.
I locked eyes with Tyler.
The laughter died instantly on the men’s lips.
“Mr. Davenport,” I said.
My voice carried with surprising clarity across the sudden hush of the corridor.
“I find it fascinating that you presume to know so much about the financial circumstances of women you have never bothered to speak to.”
Tyler turned slowly.
His gray eyes widened slightly as he took in my presence.
He was clearly calculating exactly how much I had overheard.
I was far past caring about social propriety or the consequences of my words.
“Since you seem so intensely interested in the monetary value of your potential partners, I thought I should correct your math.”
A crowd began to gather as guests sensed the delicious tension of a brewing scandal.
Heather pushed her way to the front with barely concealed glee.
She assumed she was about to witness my complete social destruction.
I met Tyler’s increasingly wary gaze.
I delivered the words that would echo through the city’s boardrooms for weeks to come.
“I own half the commercial real estate in this city, Mr. Davenport.”
“From the industrial docks to the finest high-rises downtown.”
“My properties generate more in monthly rent than your failing company has seen in years.”
“But please, do continue explaining how my twenty thousand dollars and plain face make me unworthy of your consideration.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Tyler’s face drained of color.
The implications of my declaration sank into his features.
I offered him a mocking nod.
I swept past his frozen form and walked out the front doors into the cool night air.
I left the great Tyler Davenport standing among his peers with his world tilted completely off its axis.
The rain that had threatened all night finally arrived with the dawn.
It drummed against the windows of my modest townhouse.
I sat at my kitchen table wrapped in a thick sweater.
My hands gripped a mug of rapidly cooling coffee.
Fierce pride warred with a creeping horror at what I had done.
I had revealed the secret I had guarded so carefully for years in a single moment of wounded fury.
Now the entire city would know that plain, overlooked Megan Higgins was one of the wealthiest women in the state.
My phone buzzed continuously on the counter.
A sharp knock echoed from the front door.
I found Tyler Davenport standing on my front porch in the pouring rain.
