Six hours after I gave birth, my husband Daniel stood by my hospital bed and checked his watch. “Take the bus home tomorrow,” he said casually. “I’m going out for hotpot with my family to celebrate the baby.”
I looked at him in disbelief. “I can barely walk, Daniel. You’re leaving me here alone?”
His mother, Elaine, rolled her eyes while adjusting her silk scarf. “Don’t be a martyr, Claire. Women give birth every day. We have reservations.” Daniel leaned in and whispered, “Be grateful my family even accepted a nobody like you.”
They walked out, leaving me in a cold hospital room with my newborn son. They thought I was a girl with no family and no fortune. They were wrong. I had spent years hiding my wealth to ensure Daniel loved me for *me*. Now, I had my answer.
I waited until the door clicked shut, then I called my family’s attorney. “Martin,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “Freeze it all. The penthouse, the joint accounts, and the black card Daniel is about to use for dinner. Evict them from the estate immediately.”
Two hours later, my phone exploded with calls. I finally picked up. Daniel’s voice was hysterical. “Claire! What is happening? The cards were declined at the restaurant! I tried to go home to get cash, but the security team wouldn’t let us past the gate! They said the house doesn’t belong to me!”
“It never did,” I replied, watching my son sleep. “That house belongs to my father’s corporation. Since you wanted me to take the bus, I decided you should lead by example. I hope your family enjoys the walk.”
I hung up and blocked his number. I didn’t need a husband who saw me as an inconvenience—I had a kingdom to run and a son to raise.
