Billionaire Husband Pretended To Be Poor, I Left

On the day Caspian and I got our marriage certificate, he dropped a bombshell: as the illegitimate son of the Thorne family, he hadn't inherited a penny. Instead, he was saddled with a massive gambling debt left behind by the family.

I didn't despise him for it. For the past five years, I lived with him in a moldy basement, working three jobs to support him, while our son, Alaric, survived on discounted canned food that was nearing its expiration date.

Today was Alaric's fifth birthday.

To earn enough overtime pay to buy him a decent cake, we were braving the hundred-degree heat in New York City, stuffed inside heavy, filthy mascot costumes, handing out flyers in front of the Hilton.

However, just as I tried to adjust my helmet, my vision went black.

But as I fell backward, an extremely handsome man caught me: "Be careful."

It was Valerius Sterling.

The ruler of a media empire; I had seen him in financial magazines.

He looked at me intently, his gaze suddenly fixing on the necklace that had slipped out from under my collar—the only memento my mother had left me.

"If you want to leave, call me. I’ll help you." he said, handing me a business card.

I was a little confused. Leave? What did he mean?

But before I could ask, the hotel manager's voice interrupted me.

"Hey! You two in the ragged suits!" The manager walked over and kicked my knee in disgust. "You got lucky today. Mr. Thorne is throwing a birthday party for the young master here, and the kid loves these stupid dolls. Go in there, dance, make the little master laugh, and this hundred thousand dollars is yours."

One hundred thousand dollars?!

Alaric was thrilled; opportunities like this were rare.

That was, until I walked in and saw my "bankrupt" husband sitting in the luxurious seat of honor, wearing an expensive handmade suit.

He didn't look a thing like the shabby man who needed me to mend his torn shirts.

The guests around were gasping in awe: "Mr. Thorne is so generous! He actually gave his stepson a yacht worth tens of millions as a birthday gift!"

"Exactly. Not only is he the richest man on Wall Street, but he's also so devoted. He treats his lover's child like his own. Where can you find a good man like that?"

Richest man? A multi-million dollar yacht?

I stared dead at the woman next to Caspian—Isolde. Her red haute couture gown was worth more than my wages for the next ten years.

Caspian was looking down at Isolde's son, Julian, his eyes filled with the doting affection of a loving father. If he had given even a fraction of that tenderness to Alaric, my son wouldn't be crying out for his daddy in his sleep.

But now, he was giving all his love to someone else's child, a child who didn't even share his blood!

"Caspian..." Isolde giggled, pressing her body against his. "You threw such a grand party for Julian, but today is also your son's birthday. Don't you need to go see him?"

She pretended to be kind, but her eyes glinted with malice.

Caspian took a careless sip of his champagne, not even lifting his eyelids.

"There's no need," he said indifferently. "I told you, my wealth and my love are for you alone. Isolde, I never break my word."

I felt like I had been struck by lightning, like someone had slapped me hard across the face.

Beside me, Alaric froze. He was terrifyingly smart; even through the mascot head, he recognized that voice. It was the father he waited for every day and night.

"Mommy, look! These two beggars are so funny!"

Isolde's son, Julian, suddenly burst into laughter. He grabbed a handful of cash and smashed it into our faces like he was feeding dogs. "Catch! This is your reward!"

Green bills rained down on us like snow. Caspian and Isolde exchanged a smile, their eyes full of indulgence, as if we really were just two stray dogs there for their amusement.

In that moment, my heart shattered completely.

Five years. Five whole years.

So, he pretended to be poor, letting my son and me scavenge for scraps, just to keep his promise to the love of his life—that his money would only ever be spent on Isolde?

It turned out he had never forgotten her.

Memories cut through my heart like a rusty, dull knife.

I grew up in an orphanage. I knew from a young age that Caspian was a star far out of my reach, while I was just a shadow hiding in the dark corners, peeking at him.

I never asked for anything. I just watched as he put his childhood sweetheart, Isolde, on a pedestal.

When she was eighteen, Isolde mentioned she wanted to see a meteor shower. He rented a private island and set off fireworks all night to simulate it.

Isolde, wrapped in fur, threw herself into his arms and pouted, "That was so expensive!"

He hugged her tight, his voice dripping with tenderness. "You deserve the best of everything in this world. I have money, and from now on, my money is only for my little princess."

Later, they fought. Isolde broke up with him in a fit of pique and went to Paris. He chased her to the airport like a madman, only to be crushed by her words: "Stop pestering me. I’m marrying a duke."

He married me only to use me to forget Isolde. While I was working myself to death just to survive, he was throwing away millions for another woman.

The moment the party ended, I tremblingly pulled off Alaric’s headgear. My son’s face was covered in tears, flushed red from the heat and crying.

"Mommy, Daddy lied to us, didn’t he?" he sobbed. "He isn't poor. He just doesn't love us."

The pain was suffocating. I hugged my son tight and finally made up my mind. "Alaric, we don't want this Daddy anymore. Mommy will take you away, okay?"

"Okay!" Alaric clutched my collar tightly. "Let's go far away!"

I took Alaric straight to a roadside law firm and printed a divorce agreement.

Late that night, Caspian returned to our moldy basement.

He had already taken off the expensive haute couture suit and changed back into his cheap clothes with frayed cuffs. He massaged his temples, putting on an act of exhaustion. "Work at the construction site was crazy today. I'm dead tired. Is there anything to eat?"

Looking at his hypocritical face, I felt nothing but disgust.

I didn't say a word. I just slammed the document onto the table.

"Sign this."

Caspian paused, confused. "What is this?"

Just then, the phone in his pocket rang. Isolde’s charming voice drifted out clearly. "Caspian, Julian is crying and won't sleep until you tell him a bedtime story. Come over, please?"

Caspian’s expression instantly turned as soft as water. "Okay, I'll be right there."

He didn't even glance at the document. He scribbled his signature in a rush, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. "I can't breathe in this house. I'm going out for some air."

As the door clicked shut, I looked at the signed divorce agreement and laughed coldly into the empty room.

"Caspian, those were the divorce papers."