That evening, I personally bought fresh wild salmon, expensive red wine, and white lilies to celebrate the wonderful news with my husband. I planned to tell him that he could finally resign from his stressful corporate job, that we could buy a beautiful home together, and that his mother could enjoy a peaceful retirement.
However, right before he stepped out of the bathroom, his cell phone lit up on the nightstand. A clear text message flashed on the glass screen: “When are you finally going to dump your poor, useless wife? You promised me that we would be free together very soon.”
The message came from his executive assistant at the office. I scrolled through their long chat history and discovered that they had been carrying on a secret affair for nearly a year. The most painful part was not just discovering his infidelity, but reading the horrific ways my husband mocked me to another woman. He typed that I looked like a plain country girl who did not know how to dress, complaining that I could not even produce a child, and promising to file for divorce the moment a better financial opportunity presented itself.
That night, I quietly threw the entire dinner into the trash bin and chose to remain silent. My husband never learned a single detail about my sudden inheritance.
A week later, I arranged a private meeting with Paige, an ambitious young theater actress who was struggling to pay her rent.
“I need you to play the role of Charlotte, the pampered daughter of a real estate tycoon,” I told her directly as I pushed a contract across the table. “I will provide high-end designer wardrobes, an unlimited credit card, a rented sports car, and convincing luxury accessories. All I want you to do is see how quickly my husband will trade five years of marriage for the mere promise of immense wealth.”
Paige accepted the offer without hesitation.
It did not even take two full weeks for him to fall into the trap. “Charlotte” casually bumped into my husband at a financial summit in the city. She pretended to admire his professional expertise, subtly hinted that her father was actively recruiting new executives for his holding firm, and made him believe that she held the key to the elite lifestyle he had always craved.
My husband took the bait completely, even callously abandoning his office assistant without a second thought. He began coming home in the early hours of the morning, charging expensive tailored suits to our shared credit card, and boasting about private dinners with potential investors.
His mother became even more intolerable. When he secretly told her that a wealthy heiress had fallen in love with him, she completely dropped all fake politeness toward me.
“If you had any self-respect left, you would pack your bags and leave before he officially kicks you out,” she sneered at me in the kitchen one morning.
A week before the divorce, Paige visited our condo wearing a replica handbag, and my mother-in-law practically bowed down to serve her tea. Soon after, the final strike arrived in the form of a altered medical document showing a six-week pregnancy.
“I am finally going to be a grandmother to a high-society baby!” my mother-in-law squealed in triumph, while my husband tossed the printed paper onto the dining table.
“Charlotte is expecting my child, so sign these divorce papers today,” he demanded coldly.
They had walked right into the trap.
His mother immediately took out massive high-interest loans to book the grand ballroom at the lakefront hotel, inviting over a hundred prominent guests to celebrate the arrival of their new family member.
That evening, shortly after signing the final divorce decree at court, I received official confirmation that my aunt’s vast estate had been fully transferred into my name. Two hours later, I arrived at the hotel entrance in a sleek chauffeured limousine.
When I stepped into the brightly lit ballroom, the loud chatter instantly died down.
My mother-in-law marched toward me in a rage, her glass of champagne trembling in her hand.
“What on earth are you doing here?” she spat viciously. “Did you rent those fancy clothes just to make us feel guilty?”
My husband smirked with utter contempt as he stepped beside her.
“Do not embarrass yourself like this, Nora,” he said condescendingly. “Charlotte can actually afford a lavish lifestyle, whereas you are nothing.”
I ignored them both and looked toward the raised stage, where Paige sat gracefully in an elegant gown, gently holding her stomach. I walked straight up the carpeted steps, causing my husband to rush forward frantically to block my path.
“Do not you dare go near the mother of my child!” he yelled defensively.
I calmly unzipped my leather clutch, pulled out several thick stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills, and dropped them right onto the table in front of Paige.
“The show is officially over,” I announced clearly.
Paige looked up at me, offered a graceful smile, and gathered the cash. Then, right in front of my husband’s entire extended family, I delivered the words that caused his mother to drop her crystal glass onto the floor.
“Here is the rest of your agreed acting fee, Paige,” I said loudly. “You did an absolutely brilliant job playing the part of Charlotte.”
My husband stood completely frozen, his mouth hanging open in total disbelief.
PART 3
For several agonizing seconds, nobody in the grand ballroom dared to breathe. My husband stared at Paige with wide eyes, desperately waiting for her to burst out laughing and reveal that it was all a bad joke.
“Paige?” he stammered out, his voice cracking horribly. “What is she talking about? Your name is Charlotte!”
She stood up slowly, smoothing down her designer dress as the sweet expression of a pampered heiress vanished from her face.
“No, it is not,” she replied calmly. “Charlotte does not exist.”
My mother-in-law stumbled up the stage steps, grabbing the wooden railing for support.
