I Was Broke, Pregnant, and Married to a Billionaire

Three days after I lost our baby, my husband finally remembered to call.

I was packing when Adrian Whitmore's name appeared on my screen.

"Vanessa told me you caused another scene over the medical bills," he said, sounding irritated. "I've authorized the payment. Can we please move on?"

I stared at the tiny knitted sweater lying in my suitcase.

I'd bought it the day I learned I was pregnant.

He didn't know I'd already prepared our divorce papers.

For three years, I'd been Mrs. Whitmore, the wife of one of New York's wealthiest men. No one would believe that after three years as Mrs. Whitmore, I couldn't find four decent outfits in my own closet.

Every dollar I spent required approval, and even my clothes and jewelry were locked away. To access anything, I had to ask his assistant, Vanessa Reed.

Adrian believed my modest upbringing made me incapable of handling money responsibly.

Three days ago, seventeen weeks pregnant, I needed money for an emergency medical transfer.

Vanessa deliberately delayed the approval until it was too late.

I lost our baby.

Adrian never cared enough to notice what I'd been through. I had endured years of humiliation just because I loved him, still holding out hope for the happy marriage he'd once promised.

But now our baby was gone.

And I had no reason left to stay.

...

I told Adrian I wanted a divorce.

He refused.

"Stop being dramatic," he replied coldly.

He didn't even look away from his laptop as he spoke.

I lowered my eyes, keeping my voice steady.

"I'm serious, Adrian. I want a divorce."

He drew a deep breath and rose from his chair, his expression hardening.

"I was the one who authorized the suspension of your medical expense request. Vanessa had nothing to do with that decision. She was simply following my instructions."

"If you hadn't stormed into my office and caused a scene, I wouldn't have needed to teach you a lesson."

"I had the payment approved yesterday. My time is valuable, Claire, and I don't have all day to deal with your tantrums."

Without giving me a chance to respond, he turned and walked away.

He was certain that it wouldn't be long before I lowered my head and came crawling back to him, just as I always had.

But my previous patience was because I love him.

Because I remembered the man who had once promised to spend the rest of his life making me happy, and because I'd believed that somewhere beneath his growing indifference, that man still existed.

But whether Adrian approved the medical expenses now no longer mattered.

Our baby was already gone.

If he had answered my call three days ago and listened to what I was trying to tell him, perhaps I would still have been foolish enough to cling to our marriage, doing everything I could to please him.

But Adrian had never been patient enough to listen when I called.

That night, I had begged him not to hang up, pleaded with him to let me finish explaining what was happening.

Yet all it took was one remark from Vanessa.

"Adrian, is Claire upset because I reminded her that she needs to follow the proper procedures?"

Her voice was soft and wounded.

"I didn't mean anything by it. I just don't want her to keep those careless habits she picked up before marrying into your family. She's still not used to the way things work at this level."

"That's why I've been a little stricter with her applications. I thought that if we held her to the rules, she'd eventually learn to manage things properly."

After hearing that, Adrian became even more impatient with me.

Ignoring my desperate pleas, he gave his order without hesitation.

"Do whatever Vanessa says."

It had always been the same whenever I needed something from him.

"I'm busy. Talk to Vanessa."

"Listen to Vanessa."

"Whatever Vanessa tells you to do, just do it."

I was his wife, yet I had no dignity in my own marriage.

I couldn't even go out whenever I wanted, let alone attend the social events and charity functions that came with being Mrs. Whitmore without first asking his assistant for permission.

Even when Adrian was required to bring his wife to a formal event, I still had to submit an application for approval.

And every single time, Vanessa would smile sweetly as she rejected my request over some ridiculous technicality.

"Claire, your application isn't detailed enough. You'll have to submit it again."

"Claire, how many times have I reminded you to check everything before submitting a request? You really need to be more careful."

She always waited until the very last moment to approve my applications, then watched with that pleasant little smile as I scrambled to collect a dress or a piece of jewelry and rush to wherever I was supposed to be.

Sometimes, despite my best efforts, I still arrived late.

And Adrian would look at me with unmistakable displeasure.

"Claire, have you never heard of punctuality?"

"You can't even handle something this simple. Why can't you be more like Vanessa?"

But it wasn't that I couldn't manage such a simple thing.

The reason I was constantly late, constantly embarrassed, and constantly made to look incompetent was the very woman Adrian trusted more than his own wife.

His indispensable assistant.

His precious Vanessa.

He never saw what she was doing. Or perhaps he simply didn't care.

Just as he had known that I was pregnant, that I had suffered a medical emergency, and that delaying my treatment could put our baby in danger.

Yet when I called him that night, frightened and desperate, he had still responded with the same impatient certainty.

"Haven't I told you this a hundred times? If you urgently need money, go to Vanessa. It's not as if she'd refuse to approve something you genuinely needed, is it?"