Pretending to Be Poor

The moment we stepped out of the car, my son raced toward the brightly lit yacht, where laughter and music floated across the harbor.

"Dad!"

Every conversation on deck stopped.

The silence was so sudden it almost hurt.

Graham Langford, immaculate in a bespoke suit, instinctively let go of the woman on his arm.

"Audrey?" He stared at me. "What are you doing here?"

Ignoring the whispers erupting around us, he hurried over and caught my hand. His fingers were trembling.

"Audrey, don't jump to conclusions. This isn't what you think."

My eyes burned. Somehow, I managed a smile.

"Then tell me what it is, Graham. Who is she? And what exactly are you celebrating your third anniversary of?"

My gaze slid to the other woman. Emeralds gleamed at her throat, and gold glittered from her wrists.

Suddenly, the gold-plated jewelry I was wearing felt like a cruel joke.

When I'd married Graham five years ago, he supposedly had nothing. To keep my parents from worrying, I'd secretly bought a cheap gold-plated wedding set and worn it ever since.

He'd held me, his eyes wet, and promised, "Give me three years. I'll replace every piece with solid gold."

I'd treasured that promise. Now I knew the real gold had been meant for another woman all along.

"Dragging your kid into Graham's anniversary party?" a familiar voice sneered. "It's obvious you're trying to worm your way into a rich family."

I turned.

Sabrina Holt. My best friend of ten years.

Each time my son came home with expensive gifts, he'd used Sabrina as his excuse. I'd trusted her so completely that I'd never once checked.

And she'd spent that trust helping him deceive me.

"Know your place," another woman snapped. "We've seen plenty of gold diggers like you."

This time it was Graham's sister, Isabel. For five years, she'd sweetly called me her sister-in-law every time we met and told me I was like a real sister to her.

"Exactly!" my son chirped. "Mom is so annoying. She just had to follow me here."

Hearing my son say that felt like having acid poured down my throat. It burned all the way down.

I'd nearly bled to death giving birth to Oliver. Even in the operating room, I'd fought to make sure the doctors saved my baby before me.

Now he clung to another woman as though I were his enemy.

I looked around the deck. Our neighbors were here. Coworkers. Graham's closest friends.

All of them had known Graham was the heir to the Langford fortune.

All of them except me.

Graham frowned, guilt flashing through his eyes.

"Audrey, making a scene won't help anyone. Go home. I'll explain everything privately. Don't embarrass yourself."

Embarrass myself?

I stared at him, refusing to look away, and let out a bitter laugh.

"Is that what bothers you, Graham? That I'm embarrassing you?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, but before he could answer, Vivienne Prescott, holding my son in her arms, gave a soft laugh.

"Miss Bellamy, plenty of women want to be my husband's mistress. But you're the first who's tried to use a child to claim a place in his family."

My nails dug into my palms.

I'd spent five years sharing a tiny rental apartment with Graham. I'd given up my career three years ago to raise our son. And she was calling me a gold digger?

Still, I didn't leave. I kept watching Graham, begging him silently to say just one thing in my defense.

Instead, he took my arm and pushed me toward the gangway.

"There are reporters over there. I'm doing this for your own good, Audrey. Be a good girl and leave."

Tears flooded my eyes. I squeezed them shut, then reached for Oliver.

He shrieked and clawed at my arm.

"No! I'm not going with you! You're Dad's mistress!"