My Ex Humiliated Me After 3 Years — So I Married His Billionaire Uncle and Took His Inheritance
Part 1
My Ex Humiliated Me After 3 Years — So I Married His Billionaire Uncle and Took His Inheritance.
Three years is a long time to love someone who only loves himself.
Everyone warned me that Tyler would never change.
They told me I was wasting my youth on a man who treated commitment like a punchline.
But I was convinced I could see the real him beneath the arrogant exterior.
I planned everything perfectly for our third anniversary.
I wore the dress he liked, made reservations at his favorite restaurant, and even bought a tiny pair of baby shoes to show him I was ready for our next chapter.
Instead of showing up with flowers, he stumbled through the door surrounded by a giggling entourage of women.
I stared in shock as he draped his arms around them, his eyes glassy and cruel.
Any hope for an apology vanished the moment his gaze met mine without a single trace of shame.
A sharp, cruel laugh erupted from his chest instead.
The entire group listened as Tyler publicly branded me a prude who wouldn’t put out after three years.
My dreams of having a family became his punchline, with him loudly declaring that I was delusional for wanting to play mommy.
The women giggled behind their manicured hands, looking at me like I was a pathetic joke.
My blood ran cold as I realized every warning about him had been completely true.
I threw the tiny baby shoes at his chest and walked out of that apartment forever.
The next three days were spent entirely in tears on my father’s worn living room couch.
My dad just held my hand, his frail body shaking from his own quiet battles with illness.
A sudden, fierce resolution washed over me that a toxic partner wasn’t necessary to make my dreams a reality.
Visiting a clinic for a sperm donor would allow me to have a beautiful baby on my own terms.
Without hesitation, an appointment was booked at the city’s most reputable fertility center.
When I arrived, the receptionist seemed incredibly flustered and rushed me into a lavish private office.
Sitting behind a massive mahogany desk was a man who looked like he belonged on the cover of Forbes.
Gripping my clipboard tightly, I assumed this ridiculously handsome man in a tailored suit was the premium donor.
Without waiting for an introduction, the interrogation regarding his medical history immediately began.
Any history of genetic disorders in his family had to be thoroughly documented.
The final, blunt question demanded to know exactly how many sexual partners he’d entertained in the last six months.
The man just stared at me, his sharp eyes narrowing in a mix of amusement and disbelief.
He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together.
He calmly informed me that he was a Harvard Business School graduate, worked out five times a week, and had absolutely no performance issues.
I nodded, taking diligent notes, completely oblivious to the sheer absurdity of the situation.
Then he pushed a contract across the desk.
He offered me a million dollars to carry his child, under the strict condition that I hand the baby over immediately after birth.
My pen froze in mid-air.
A sickening jolt hit my stomach when the truth finally clicked into place.
This wasn’t a consultation for a premium donor, but a private interview for a billionaire’s surrogate.
My chair tipped backward with a loud crash as I shot up from the desk.
Refusing to be a rented incubator for some arrogant rich man, I grabbed my coat and stormed out of the office.
My righteous anger evaporated the second I stepped into my father’s hospital room.
The doctor pulled me aside with a grim expression that made my stomach plummet.
My father’s cancer had spread aggressively.
There was a new, experimental treatment that could save his life.
The hospital required an immediate deposit of exactly one million dollars.
I broke down in the hallway, completely crushed by the impossible weight of that number.
When I looked up through my tears, that same billionaire from the clinic was standing in front of me.
His name was Craig Hoffman.
He had investigated me after I walked out of his office.
He proposed a completely modified arrangement.
He needed an heir within six months to secure his company from a hostile takeover by his nephew.
He offered me the million dollars for my father’s treatment.
He also offered me joint custody, promising that I would truly be the baby’s mother.
The only catch was that we had to pretend to be engaged and live together in his family’s estate.
I looked at my father resting weakly in his hospital bed.
I signed Craig’s contract without a second thought.
Moving into the massive Hoffman estate felt like stepping onto another planet.
A team of staff carried my meager belongings into a guest suite that was larger than my entire apartment.
I was wandering the grand hallway looking for the kitchen when I heard a sickeningly familiar voice.
I turned around and locked eyes with Tyler.
He was wearing a smug, triumphant grin as he sauntered toward me.
He accused me of tracking him down, laughing at how pathetic it was that I had followed him to his family’s house.
He reached out to grab me, his grip bruising my arm.
He whispered that I should drop the hard-to-get act since we both knew why I was really there.
Before I could react, a heavy hand clamped onto Tyler’s shoulder, gripping the fabric hard enough to make the seams pop.
Craig stepped smoothly between us, his jaw locked tighter than a vault door as he leveled a dead-eyed stare at his nephew.
He adjusted his cuffs with slow, deliberate precision before speaking in a voice so quiet it sucked the air out of the hallway.
“Remove your hands from my fiancé.”
I watched the color drain from Tyler’s face as the billionaire wrapped an arm around my waist, but my triumph vanished the moment I realized the trap I had just walked into.
