The Betrayed Heiress: Marrying His Billionaire Rival

The elevator doors closed, trapping Adaline in a mirrored box. She stared at her reflection, at her pale face, thinking silently.

For months, the rumors had been impossible to ignore. People said Damarion was having an affair with Breanna. She had dismissed them as gossip. She had been wrong.

Damarion Nixon had married into the Henry family. He depended entirely on her. Everything he had now--his status, his lifestyle, even his power--had been given to him by her.

She recalled the way Damarion and Breanna had kissed, as if no one else existed. When had everything begun to change? she thought, with a trace of self-mockery.

This was nothing but a long con. A hunt. And she herself was the prey.

The elevator doors opened onto the lobby. The receptionist who had smiled at her earlier now looked at her with a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. News had clearly traveled fast.

Adaline lifted her chin. Her pride--the deep-rooted legacy of the Henry family--was her shield. She crossed the vast lobby, her stride unwavering, her gaze fixed straight ahead, ignoring the whispers that fell silent as she passed.

Her driver waited at the curb and opened the door of the luxury sedan for her. He saw her expression, and concern flickered across his face, but he said nothing--a model of professional discretion.

Inside the car, shielded from public view, Adaline took out her phone. Her hands were steady. She opened the banking app. The trust account still showed zero. Her personal checking account had not yet been touched--at least not for now. The Henry Family Trust was separate, governed by her father's ironclad terms. Damarion had never been named trustee. That was her first weapon.

Her mind raced, connecting the dots she had refused to see before. Two years ago, Damarion had insisted on hiring his distant cousin Sharon as their housekeeper. He had handled all their finances, calling it "taking care of her." The frequent "business trips." The sudden influx of his relatives into junior positions at Henry Holdings subsidiaries. It was a systematic infiltration.

The car pulled up in front of her stately Upper East Side townhouse, a property that had been passed down through generations of the Henry family. Now, however, it seemed to have lost its former glory. But it was not marital property; it belonged to the Henry Family Trust.

When she opened the front door, the housekeeper, Sharon Nixon, was in the foyer dusting a console table. She was a stout woman with small, watchful eyes.

"Mrs. Nixon, you're back early," Sharon said, her tone a little too casual as she glanced at the clock.

Adaline looked at the woman who she now realized was a spy in her own home. Two years of politeness toward this woman curdled into disgust.

"Sharon," Adaline said, her voice devoid of its usual warmth. "Pack your things."

Sharon's hands stilled. She turned, a confused and belligerent expression on her face. "What? What did you say?"

"You heard me," Adaline continued, walking past her into the grand living room. "Your employment here is terminated. Effective immediately."

Sharon's face flushed with anger. "You can't do that! Mr. Nixon hired me. He won't allow it!"

"This is a Henry house, not a Nixon house," Adaline retorted, her voice cutting like glass. "Mr. Nixon is my husband, not my master. And you are his relative, not my employee. Not anymore."

She turned to face Sharon, her icy gaze pinning the woman in place. "I want you out of my house within the hour."

Sharon sputtered, reaching for her phone, no doubt to call Damarion. "You'll regret this! He'll be furious!"

"Let him be furious," Adaline said calmly, already moving toward the staircase. "Tell him your last paycheck will be mailed to your home."

As Adaline ascended the stairs, she could hear Sharon whispering frantically into her phone.

She entered the bedroom; the lingering scent of his cologne in the air made her jaw tighten. Firing Sharon was only the first step. Damarion thought she had always been meek and submissive, but this time she would definitely fight back.

Her phone buzzed. It was Damarion. The screen flashed with the name "My Love." The irony was sickening. She stared at it, her thumb hovering over the decline button. He called again and again. A string of texts followed.

"Adaline, please answer me."

"We need to talk."

"Don't do anything rash."

Adaline thought it was a shame his acting talent was wasted on anything but the stage. She picked up her phone and typed:

"You love chasing other women, don't you? Then why are you still calling me? Go back to her."

She turned off the phone and tossed it onto the bed, ignoring the continued buzzing afterward.