After My Betrayed Wife Found Love Again

On that ill-fated night when my husband’s childhood sweetheart, Maisie, was found intoxicated and nearly assaulted, our lives took a twisted turn. Soon after, we both carried the shared weight of pregnancy. On the day I went into labor, Rowen Harris handed me divorce papers.

"Maisie is getting ready for her big return to the film industry. I need to give her and the baby a legitimate place in my life, or the scandal could destroy her career," he said.

I dragged my weakened body forward and signed the papers, outwardly composed despite my turmoil. In a previous life, I refused to let go. I went public with my daughter’s story, exposing Maisie Baker, the actress who knowingly became the other woman.

She faced relentless online harassment, lost all her endorsements, and the crushing weight of compensation demands led her to a tragic demise. Rowen Harris managed her affairs coldly, even as he enabled Maisie’s fans to publicly vilify me, attempted arson, nearly killing me and my child. Only when I saw him bolt the door did I understand he wanted us gone.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment he handed me the divorce papers.

Due to a premature birth, my daughter, Thalia, was immediately placed in an incubator. Just then, Rowen presented me with divorce documents once more.

"You know, Camille, before everything happened, Maisie was a rising Hollywood star. Her star has dimmed over these past ten months," he explained. "If news breaks about a child born out of wedlock, the backlash could obliterate her."

Having just brushed against death, every movement tugged painfully at my wounds. Being reborn on this day must mean that fate was granting me a second chance.

"I will agree to the divorce, but I want our child’s birth certificate issued first, and I demand alimony," I stated firmly.

Rowen had rehearsed arguments for anticipated resistance, but my calm acceptance threw him off balance, and he visibly relaxed.

"Alright, a million dollars then. Is that satisfactory?" he offered.

Despite his billion-dollar empire, he was only willing to give a million. Clenching the sheet, I understood pushing for more would be fruitless, and reluctantly nodded. He left to finalize the birth certificate, and after confirming everything was in order, I signed the papers.

With the agreement in hand, Rowen dashed off to be with Maisie without sparing a glance for our child. The neighboring hospital room buzzed with the celebration of new life. Meanwhile, I had neither family nor a partner to lean on.

Two days later, when Thalia was released from the incubator, I wrapped her carefully and prepared to go home. En route, my secretary called:

"Ms. Rice, don’t forget to share the company’s press release."

I hadn’t even collected the divorce certificate yet and was unworthy of the "Mrs. Harris" title. To preserve Maisie’s dignity, Rowen insisted that I announce the divorce was due to irreconcilable differences.

I agreed without a second thought, but with