Billionaire Husband Got Secretary Pregnant, I Bankrupted Him

On our third wedding anniversary, I brought a gift to my husband’s office.

Walking past the secretary's suite, I stopped dead. A king-size bed had been set up inside.

A young woman in a designer dress was sprawled across it, a handheld game console in her hands, surrounded by imported snacks of every variety.

"Kevin, the lunch you ordered yesterday was pre-packaged meals. Marcus and I both felt sick after eating it. Today, make sure it's from The Palace Hotel."

Kevin -- my husband's personal assistant -- bowed and scraped before her, his face a mask of obsequious flattery.

"Mrs. Thorne, please don't worry. Mr. Thorne made it very clear -- everything should be tailored to your preferences and the baby's. He knows you love the chef at The Palace Hotel, so he set up a standing VIP account for you. Anything you want, anytime."

She was Mrs. Thorne? Then what exactly was I?

My brow furrowed. I glanced down at the wedding ring I'd worn for years.

The girl beamed, radiant.

"For the baby's arrival, my husband is throwing a lavish yacht party. Every important person in New York is getting an invitation. I want the whole world to know that I'm the love of his life, and that our son will be blessed by the most powerful people before he's even born. The champagne and flowers must be the finest available -- no budget limit. Our child is going to have the best of everything from day one."

I stared at the gentle swell of her belly and called my father.

"Dad, that divorce agreement you drew up three years ago -- you can have the lawyers send it over now."

On our third wedding anniversary, I brought a gift to my husband's office. But as I passed his secretary's suite, I saw a young woman lying on a king-size bed.

My husband's personal assistant was very respectful to her: "Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne ordered that everything should be tailored to your preferences and the baby's. Anything you want, anytime."

I stared at the gentle swell of her belly and called my father.

"Dad, that divorce agreement you drew up three years ago—you can have the lawyers send it over now."

I'd barely hung up when the girl climbed off the bed.

"My husband's spending the afternoon with me, reading stories to our baby. Unless it's urgent, don't bother us. Don't interrupt our little family's quality time."

She tossed the instructions at Kevin, then skipped off toward the CEO's office next door.

As she passed me, I noticed the diamond bracelet on her wrist.

It was the same one I'd had my eye on at an auction two weeks ago -- the one a mystery buyer had outbid everyone for, driving the price sky-high.

So that was it.

The mystery buyer who'd spent a fortune just to make his girlfriend smile was my husband, Marcus Thorne.

My gaze drifted toward the CEO's office.

The girl was straddling Marcus's