The Billionaire's Ex-Wife Is The Real Heiress

Vivienne POV

I stood in the middle of the city hall, staring at the screen of my phone.

Inside my bag were the torn pieces of my marriage certificate. It was a stupid accident. Our dog had knocked over a vase on my nightstand this morning, and while I was trying to save the framed document from the water, the damp paper tore right down the middle.

I had panicked. Two years of being married to Ethan Montemayor, and I was still superstitious enough to think a torn document was a bad omen. So, I took an early lunch break from the bookstore where I worked and rushed here to get a replacement. I wanted it fixed before Ethan got home from his corporate meetings.

"Next," the clerk said, not even looking up.

I walked up to the counter and handed her the pieces. "Hi. I accidentally tore my marriage certificate. Can I get a certified copy?"

The woman took the papers, typed a few things into her computer, and waited. Then she typed again. Her forehead creased. She looked at the paper, then at the screen, and finally up at me.

"Are you sure this was registered here?" she asked.

"Yes. My husband handled all the paperwork two years ago. Ethan Montemayor."

She let out a short sigh and slid the papers back to me. "I checked the names and the registry number. There's no record of this marriage, ma'am. Not in this branch, and not anywhere else."

I blinked, confused. "What do you mean no record? We had a ceremony. We signed the papers."

"The registry number on this paper actually belongs to someone else's birth certificate from years ago," the clerk explained, her tone turning uncomfortably sympathetic. "And the official seal here is a replica. This document is completely fake. Legally, you aren't married."

The noise of the crowded room seemed to fade into a dull hum.

Fake.

I stared at the torn paper on the counter. The word didn't make sense. If the certificate was fake, then the last two years of my life were a joke. The family dinners where his mother insulted my lack of a pedigree, the galas where his friends treated me like an unwanted ghost, the endless sacrifices I made to be the quiet, obedient wife he needed—all of it was for nothing.

Why would Ethan fake a marriage? He loved me. He told me every single day that he married me because he didn't care about status or money.

My phone vibrated violently in my hand. Speak of the devil.

I answered it, my fingers shaking so badly I almost dropped the device. "Ethan?"

"Viv, where are you?" His voice was calm, sharp, and perfectly normal. "I called your work and they said you left early."

"Ethan, I'm at the city hall," I said, my voice dangerously thin. "Something is wrong with our marriage certificate. The clerk is saying—"

"We don't have time for that right now, Viv," he interrupted, cutting me off with the usual authoritative tone he used when he was handling business. "My mother just called. There’s a mandatory family dinner at the main estate tonight. Elena is back from her penthouse in Europe. The family is hosting a welcome dinner."

Elena. His former university professor. The woman his family actually wanted for him.

"Ethan, listen to me—"

"I already told the maid to lay out your dress," he continued, completely ignoring my distress. "Just wear something simple and don't make a scene tonight, alright? The board members will be there. I'll meet you at the estate."

The line went dead before I could speak.

I slowly lowered the phone. Two years of whispers, two years of being told I wasn't good enough, and now this fake piece of paper in my hands.

I grabbed the useless documents, stuffed them into my bag, and walked out of the building.