He Said I Needed Him to Marry Rich,But I'm the Richest of Them All

On my wedding day, I caught my fianc with his secretary in the dressing room.

With my heart turned to ash, I canceled the ceremony and broadcast their affair on the reception's big screen for every guest to see.

Bartholomew Gilbert hated me for going that far. He leaked company secrets to destroy me and drove me into bankruptcy.

He draped his arm around his secretary, smiling like none of it mattered. "Scared yet, Zoe?"

"Let's be honest. Your family was never in the same league as mine. I'm the golden heir of the Gilbert empire. So what if I keep a few women on the side?"

He waited for me to drop to my knees and beg. Waited for me to crawl back and ask him to take me again.

Instead, I turned around and married a man no one had ever heard of.

Then, one year into our marriage, my husband was diagnosed with cancer. He was gone before I could save him.

When Bartholomew found out, he showed up at my door with a pack of trust-fund brats in tow, all of them grinning like it was a spectator sport.

"Face it, Zoe. You're secondhand goods now. Some other man's leftovers. So drop the act," he said, loosening his cufflink like he owned the room. "I can't exactly make you my wife, but I can put a roof over your head. How about it? Be my kept woman."

I didn't hesitate. "No thanks. I have more money than I know what to do with."

Because I had inherited every last cent of my late husband's estate. I didn't need a benefactor. I was the fortune.

The moment the words left my mouth, Bartholomew and his entourage erupted into laughter.

They called me delusional. Said I was a beggar too proud to admit she was broke.

I didn't dignify their mockery with a response. I simply went back to sorting through my late husband's belongings, calm and unhurried.

Bartholomew watched me ignore him. Watched me handle my husband's things like they were priceless treasures.

His expression darkened. When he spoke again, his voice carried a threat barely concealed beneath the words.

"Throw that garbage out, Zoe. Every last piece. Or I'll have his grave dug up."

My hands went still. A wave of fury surged through me so fast it nearly blinded me.

I hadn't even begun to surface from the grief of losing the man I loved, and now I had to stand here and endure threats from a man I despised.

I lifted my chin and fixed my gaze on Bartholomew. No warmth. No feeling. Nothing.

He didn't care. My coldness didn't even register. He just kept talking, that insufferable smirk still plastered on his face.

"That temper of yours needs work. Stop snapping at me every chance you get. Even as my kept woman, you'd have my name behind you. Nobody would dare touch you."

"And don't worry about Rosalind. She won't give you any trouble. You'd live in the east wing, she'd stay in the west. She knows exactly how to keep me happy."

His pack of freeloading friends raked their eyes over me, every gaze dripping with contempt. They were already picturing it: me, tucked away in some back room, a dirty little secret no one talked about in polite company.

I listened to Bartholomew's delusions long enough.

"Are you all going to shut up and leave? Or do I need to spell it out?"

"Because right now, every last one of you looks like a circus act. The uninvited kind."

Silence. Then their faces twisted with anger.

"Who do you think you are, Zoe Henson? Calling us clowns?"

"We came here out of pity. Your husband's dead, you don't have a penny to your name, and we were kind enough to check on you."

"Unbelievable. This is the thanks we get!"

Kind enough to check on me? They hadn't come to offer condolences. They'd come to watch me drown.

Bartholomew straightened his jacket. "Fine. Come with me. Let's go."

Then, almost as an afterthought: "But don't bring any of his junk into my house."

I couldn't tell if he was deaf or just shameless. I had told them to get out, and he was still standing there, acting like I'd said yes.

"Listen carefully, Bartholomew."

My voice was steady. Every word deliberate.

"In this life, there will never be anything between us again. Not a thread. Not a shadow. Nothing."

"Now get out."

Bartholomew stared at me, fury boiling behind his eyes. "Fine. You asked for this. Let's see how long you last."

"I ruined you once. I can do it again."

After they were gone, I called for Winston.

"If those dogs ever show up at my door again, don't let them in."

"Yes, ma'am!"

The little episode with Bartholomew was soon behind me. There was no chance in this lifetime I'd ever reconcile with him.

Just then, my phone buzzed with a notification. It was from ZQ Jewelers. Adam had placed a custom order for a pair of matching diamond rings the month before.

He was gone now. The least I could do was pick them up and keep them as a memento.

No one would have guessed that I'd fallen in love with Adam a long time ago. But our time together had been far too short.

So short that I never got the chance to tell him how I felt before he slipped away from me.

The next day, I went to the mall to collect the rings.

I had barely reached the storefront when I spotted Bartholomew and Rosalind Finch inside.

He froze for a second, then his lips curled into a mocking smirk, his face practically screaming I knew it.

He couldn't possibly think I was here for him. I was about to walk right past him without a word, but Bartholomew stepped into my path and blocked me.

"Zoe, still going to deny you're stalking me?"

"Just admit you still have feelings for me. Enough with the hard-to-get act."

One look at that smug, self-important face of his, and my disgust deepened another notch.

"Move. Who said I'm here looking for you?"

"If you're not here for me, then what are you doing here?"

He glanced over his shoulder at the display counter behind him, and something clicked.

"Tch. Don't tell me you heard I was shopping for diamond rings and rushed over to buy me a pair first."

"But you're broke now, aren't you? Your company's been in a financial tailspin ever since that dead husband of yours checked out."

"Here. Take this card."

"There's more than enough on it for you to blow through."

It was true that Adam's passing had rattled the employees and shaken morale at the company. But a financial tailspin? Hardly.

I had more than enough capital to keep things running smoothly. My company wasn't going anywhere.

I drew a long breath, willing myself not to lose my temper over this shameless man.

"Bartholomew, if your ears have stopped working, go see a doctor."

"Let me make this perfectly clear."

"First, I'm not here stalking you. I'm here to pick up rings my late husband ordered."

"Second, put your card away. I haven't sunk so low that I need your money."

"And if you've got that much free time on your hands, go find a few more trophy mistresses to keep you entertained."

I dropped those words like stones, stepped around him without another glance, and walked straight inside.

Bartholomew's face went scarlet. I'd clearly struck a nerve.

His entourage crowded around him. "Bart, you're just going to stand there and take that? She humiliated you to your face."

"And her shopping here? Isn't that a joke? Everything in this store costs a fortune. Where would she get that kind of money?"

"Didn't you hear what she said?"

"Her dead husband ordered some rings here. She's just picking up his leftovers."

"Hmph. If she doesn't know a good thing when she sees one, then I'm done being nice. I'll double the price and snatch them right out from under her."

Bartholomew stormed into the store, fury rolling off him in waves.

The moment the sales associate brought out the rings Adam had ordered, Bartholomew's voice drifted over, light and careless.

"Nice set. I'll take them."

Him again. He was determined to push me past my limit.

"Bartholomew, my husband ordered these rings. If you want a pair, go place your own custom order."

He didn't even acknowledge me. Instead, he turned to Rosalind beside him.

"It's a couple's set. The women's band looks rather lovely. If you like it, I'll pay triple and take it."

Rosalind's eyes lit up the instant she saw the women's ring. She was absolutely smitten with it.

The ring was elegant and refined, the kind of piece that whispered wealth and status the moment it touched skin.

"Bartholomew, I love that couple's set. The design looks like it symbolizes love that lasts beyond death." She pressed closer to him. "I want us to put them on together."

Bartholomew listened, then slid a cold glance my way. The smugness on his face was unmistakable, as if he were mocking me for being too blind to see what I'd lost.

"I'll pay triple the price for those rings," he told the saleswoman.

Before the words had even settled, Rosalind whipped out the card Bartholomew had given her and thrust it toward the saleswoman.

"Make her put the ring down," Rosalind said, not even bothering to look at me. "Someone as broke and washed-up as her doesn't deserve you people bowing and scraping."

She flicked her fingers toward the ring. "And wipe it clean. Thoroughly. I'm particular about hygiene."

"Once it's polished up, I'll tip you. Twenty thousand sound fair?"

The saleswoman's demeanor shifted instantly. She snatched the ring from my hand and pulled out a cloth, gently buffing the diamond with careful strokes.

"Give that back to me." My voice cut through the store like a blade, stopping her mid-motion. "That ring is mine."

"Transactions follow a first-come, first-served rule. More importantly, my husband placed this order."

Bartholomew's expression twisted into open contempt.

"Zoe, sure, your dead husband placed the order. But he's dead, isn't he? And the remaining deposit hasn't been paid." He spread his hands in mock innocence. "So I'm not stealing anything. I'm simply outbidding you. Highest offer wins."

Fury coiled tight in my chest.

"Business transactions follow contracts and the law," I said, keeping my voice level. "I have the order form right here. The price is written in black and white."

"My husband may be gone, but I'm still here. Legally, collecting an order with the receipt my husband left behind is my right. No one can dispute that."

They made no move to return the ring. I stepped forward, reaching for it.

Rosalind was faster. She grabbed the ring from the saleswoman's hand and backed away, clutching it behind her.

"You want it back, Zoe? Not that easy."

She turned to the saleswoman. "Go ahead. Tell her what the remaining deposit is."

The saleswoman stepped forward, her face perfectly composed, and announced, "Twenty-five million dollars."

"What?"

I looked down at the order form in my hand. Five million. It said five million, plain as day. Where had twenty-five million come from?

I had inherited everything Adam left behind. Twenty-five million was pocket change to me.

But money still had to be spent on principle. They were inflating the price on the spot just to humiliate me.

I leveled a cold stare at the saleswoman. "You're a sales associate. You don't have the authority to change pricing. I want to see the manager."

"Her words are my words."

The voice came from behind us. The store manager strolled out, all smiles, but not for me. She walked straight past me and positioned herself in front of Bartholomew and Rosalind like a loyal attendant greeting royalty.

"Mr. Gilbert, what a pleasure to have you here." She snapped her fingers at a junior employee. "Darling, go brew some tea. Now."

"Right away!"

Watching the scene unfold, I finally understood the true meaning of the word "lapdog."

"Manager." I kept my tone even. "What exactly did you mean just now?"

"Why are you ignoring the price on the order form and inflating it? That violates standard trade regulations. I can report you."

The manager dropped her fawning smile. What replaced it was the same look of undisguised disdain everyone else in this store seemed to wear when they looked at me.

"Then go ahead and report us."

"Let's see how far that gets you. Someone with no money and no connections? Who's going to listen?"

She tilted her head, savoring her own cruelty. "If you insist on buying, have your husband come pick it up himself. He placed the order, not you."

Bartholomew's lips curled into a satisfied half-smile. Under the manager's fawning attention, he settled into the leather sofa with the ease of a man who owned the place, accepted the tea the saleswoman offered, and took a leisurely sip.

"Zoe, let me spell it out for you." Bartholomew's voice dripped with condescension. "When you're up against real money and real power, fairness is nothing but a joke." He turned to Rosalind with a lazy wave. "Transfer her deposit back."

My anger shot through the roof in an instant.

"Manager, if you insist on rigging this transaction," I said, my expression going cold, "then don't expect me to play nice."

The manager let out a derisive laugh. "You? A nobody? What exactly are you going to do about it?"

He spread his hands wide. "You want the rings? Fine! Since your husband is dead and he's the one who broke the agreement first, we have every right to reprice them."

"Twenty-five million dollars. You want to walk out of here with those rings, then pay up."

I looked at the manager, who couldn't see past the dollar signs. I looked at the crowd of onlookers, every last one of them watching me like I was the punchline of a joke.

Even if I'd wanted to keep a low profile, that was no longer an option.

And those rings were Adam's. The last thing he'd left behind. I would sooner die than let them fall into someone else's hands.

"Fine." My voice was steady. "Twenty-five million. I'll pay it."

"Give me back the rings."

The words had barely left my mouth before Rosalind and the others burst into laughter. Even the manager and the sales associates shot me looks of open contempt.

"Oh, please, Zoe, who are you trying to fool?" Rosalind cackled. "That's twenty-five million. Not twenty-five hundred. You understand the difference, right?"

One of the staff snickered. "She doesn't understand a thing. Before Mr. Gilbert bankrupted her, sure, maybe she could've afforded it. But now? Not a chance."

Bartholomew fixed me with a mocking smile. "This is the difference between us."

"No matter how hard you struggle, it's pointless. I said I'd bankrupt you, and I did. But you just had to be stubborn. You just couldn't bring yourself to bow your head and admit you were wrong."

He tilted his chin up. "Apologize to me right now, and I'll give you the rings."

Listening to him talk was like listening to a mosquito buzz in my ear.

I didn't bother acknowledging any of them. I turned to the manager instead.

"If I produce twenty-five million dollars, I can take the rings. Correct?"

The manager clearly assumed I couldn't produce a cent of it. He nodded without hesitation. "Correct."

"But there's a time limit. I'm giving you thirty minutes."

"Oh, wait, wait." Rosalind raised a finger, her eyes glittering with malice. "She has to pay in cash."

She sauntered closer, her voice syrupy with mockery. "Zoe, if you want to buy those rings out from under me, you'll pay in cash. And if you can't manage that, I'll buy them right now for thirty million."

The crowd erupted in applause.

"Secretary Finch is brilliant!"

"That'll shut her up for good. Let's see her bluff her way out of this one."

Bartholomew nodded along, clearly delighted with Rosalind's move.

"Since your love for your husband runs so deep," he said, his tone dripping with false sympathy, "you really ought to protect what he left behind."

"And if you can't protect it, don't blame us for calling you what you are: worthless."

I ignored every word. I pulled out my phone and dialed Winston.

If I paid by card, Rosalind would simply outbid me on the spot. I refused to let Adam's rings become a bargaining chip in their petty war. And frankly, showing up with the cash would be the most satisfying way to wipe those smirks off their faces.

"Prepare twenty-five million in cash and have it delivered to the ZQ counter at Golden Plaza. As fast as possible."

The moment I hung up, their laughter turned shrill and grating.

Bartholomew shook his head at me with exaggerated disappointment. Rosalind rolled her eyes. "You should learn to wear a hat that fits your head. When you can't deliver in thirty minutes, you'll be the laughingstock of the entire city."

I didn't respond. Words were wasted on people like them.

Less than thirty minutes later, a woman walked through the boutique entrance. She wore a tailored suit, her posture ramrod straight, her expression carved from stone.

She carried a case in one hand, two bodyguards flanking her from behind.

With a deferential bow, she approached me. "Mrs. Henson, here is the twenty-five million you requested. If it's not enough, I can have someone bring another hundred million."

The case opened. Row after row of crisp hundred-dollar bills gleamed under the lights, almost blinding in their perfection.

Every person in the room sucked in a sharp breath, then turned wide, disbelieving eyes toward the woman who had just delivered a fortune to me.

Bartholomew shot up from the couch like he'd been electrocuted. "That'sthat's the famous chief director of Northgate City's central bank!"