Look My Way

I was married to one of the world’s richest men—Zayne Ford—

yet no one knew I existed.

To the world, he was a charming billionaire.

To me, he was the man who once promised love… then buried me in silence.

For five years, I lived as his secret wife, convincing myself that love was enough.

That it didn’t matter if no one knew my name, as long as he still looked at me the way he once did.

But when his childhood sweetheart returned from abroad, I finally saw the truth.

The only thing holding our marriage together was a legal document—cold, lifeless, and easily replaced.

So I disguised my divorce papers as a school form and watched him sign them without even glancing up.

That careless signature ended our marriage—

and freed me.

Now, as I start a new life in another country, I carry more than my independence.

I carry his child.

When Zayne discovers what he’s lost—his wife and his heir—

he’ll do anything to find me.

But the woman he once ignored no longer exists.

He taught me how to break.

Now he’ll learn what it means to lose me.

The ring on my finger felt heavier than ever as I pushed open the lawyer’s office door.

It wasn’t just metal pressing against my skin—it was a reminder of a promise that had already died.

The man behind the desk looked up briefly, his gaze sweeping over my plain blouse and worn heels before sliding away again. His suit was pressed to perfection, his shoes shining. He looked like someone who never had to beg to be seen.

I probably looked like someone who always did.

“I need to know if this divorce agreement is valid,” I said, my voice steadier than my hands. “If I get your stamp and my husband signs it… it’s official, right?”

He blinked, mildly surprised—as if women like me didn’t get married, let alone need a lawyer to end it.

He glanced through the papers and nodded. “Everything’s in order.”

A shaky breath left my lips.

Zayne Ford, please, just sign it quietly. Let this end the same way our marriage began—without love, without witnesses.

When I arrived at the Ford residence, the guards barely glanced up from their post.

They never did.

To them, I was invisible—a rumor in cheap shoes. The man they served had never once told them I was his wife.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of cigar smoke and money. The housekeeper gave me a polite nod, the kind you’d give to a distant relative you hoped would leave soon.

No one called me Mrs. Ford.

No one dared.

Except for Zayne, on the day he put a ring on my finger. But even then, his voice had sounded like he was signing a contract, not a vow.

I pushed open the study door—and froze.

Jane Dunn was sitting beside him, legs crossed, her laughter soft and warm like music.

Zayne was feeding her a