The Game My Husband Lost

My daughter, Emma Blackwood, was sick.

We were thirty thousand short of the treatment that could save her life.

My husband, Nathan Blackwood, looked devastated, his face tight with guilt. "Honey, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I don't have the money to save our daughter."

To pay for Emma's treatment, I worked four jobs daily, but during a restaurant shift, I saw Nathan rent the entire place to wine and dine another woman.

With a bright smile, she poured him a drink. "Mr. Blackwood, you are generous. You spend tens of millions like it's nothing. You can have any woman you want, so why marry some broke, low-class woman?"

Nathan slowly blew out a stream of smoke, his eyes full of contempt. "You wouldn't understand. Marrying a poor woman like that makes it fun.

"Watching her humiliate herself over a little money, working herself to the bone. It's entertaining."

My body went cold. I could barely breathe.

So Nathan had been a wealthy heir all along, pretending to be poor and lying to me from the start.

What he didn't know was this: I was the long-lost daughter of the richest family in the country. And with a single word from me, his entire world could be destroyed.

I Married a Fake Poor Man

"Ow!" The woman let out a sharp cry, and I immediately apologized. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I had been trying to slip past quietly when I accidentally brushed against a woman in a glittering evening gown. I barely had time to react before my arm grazed hers.

She frowned in disgust. "Do you have any idea how much this dress costs?"

I truly had no idea.

Still, anyone dining in a place like this was either wealthy, influential, or both.

"I'm sorry, miss."

Her dress was spotless. All I had done was brush her arm, but she acted like she'd been touched by something filthy.

"What good is an apology? Go get your manager."

The other guests turned to look, several of them frowning in annoyance. The manager hurried over and personally escorted the woman into a private VIP room.

"Ms. Sinclair, I'm terribly sorry," he stated. "This meal is on the house. Will that be acceptable?"

Charlotte Sinclair rolled her eyes. "And what about her? She saw me coming and still didn't get out of the way. A clueless waitress like that should be fired, shouldn't she?"

The moment I heard the word 'fired,' my heart jolted.

"I'm really sorry," I blurted out. "I didn't see you coming. It was my fault."

In truth, I had seen her and even moved out of the way, but somehow, she still collided with me.

Charlotte curled her lip with open contempt. "So, that's all you are."

I wondered, 'What is that supposed to mean?'

Yet, she said nothing more.

All I could do was keep apologizing, the words tumbling out one after another.

The pay here was good, and I knew the supervisor had only