Wealth Without Him: Rising from Betrayal

Grace's POV

I adjusted the rearview mirror of my Bentley Continental, catching a glimpse of Emma's sullen face in the backseat. Her Starport Private Academy uniform was slightly wrinkled, but when I reached back to straighten her collar, she jerked away as if my touch burned.

"Don't touch me," she muttered, her six-year-old voice carrying more venom than a child's should.

"Emma, please. I just want you to look nice for school."

She rolled her eyes—a gesture she'd perfected despite her young age. When the school's imposing brick buildings came into view, I noticed her tiny shoulders relaxing. She couldn't wait to escape me.

As we pulled up to the drop-off area, I grabbed my designer handbag and the portfolio containing my marketing proposal for Harrison Group's upcoming IPO. The proposal I'd stayed up until 3 AM perfecting.

"Have a good day, sweetheart. I made your favorite lunch," I said, forcing cheerfulness into my voice.

Emma's response was to reach for my perfume bottle on the console. Before I could stop her, she deliberately tipped it over, spilling the liquid across my meticulously prepared documents.

"That smell is disgusting," she said with a smirk before slamming the car door.

I watched her run toward her friends. She was such a troublemaker. Always Richard's daughter, never mine, despite five years of trying to be her mother.

The light turned green, and I made a left turn toward downtown. I never saw the sedan that ran the red light until it was too late. The impact came from my left, sending my car spinning. My head slammed against the window, and everything went black.

"Mrs. Harrison? Can you hear me?"

I blinked against the harsh hospital lights. A doctor—Dr. Patel according to her name tag—stood over me, clipboard in hand.

"You have a mild concussion and some bruising, but nothing serious," she explained.

"What a terrible day," I sighed.

"Now that you're awake, would you like us to do a full health assessment? Your insurance covers it."

I nodded, wincing at the pain. "That would be helpful. And... could you check my reproductive system? I want to know if I'm still unable to conceive."

Two hours and several tests later, Dr. Patel returned with a puzzled expression.

"Mrs. Harrison, I'm reviewing your results and I'm confused. Your reproductive system is completely healthy. There are no abnormalities whatsoever that would prevent conception."

The room seemed to tilt. "That's impossible. Five years ago, I was told after my miscarriage that I could never conceive again."

"I can assure you, whoever told you that was entirely mistaken. You're perfectly capable of bearing children."

Richard's voice echoed in my mind: The test results show uterine damage from the miscarriage—you'll never be able to get pregnant again, Grace. But I still love you. We'll adopt.

And then Richard's mother Margaret Harrison's cutting words at our last family dinner: The Harrison family needs women who can continue the bloodline, not decorative accessories.

My hands trembled as I processed this first betrayal. The foundation of my marriage—the reason we'd "adopted" Emma—was built on a lie.

As Dr. Patel continued explaining my perfect reproductive health, my phone buzzed with a notification: "Movement detected in Emma's room."

I frowned. No one should be home at this hour. A month ago, when Emma had complained of nightmares, I'd installed a monitoring system wanting to check on her without disturbing her sleep.

With unsteady fingers, I opened the app. The video showed a blonde woman sitting on Emma's bed, straightening the stuffed animals. I recognized her immediately—Laura Parker, my college roommate. The woman who had introduced me to Richard six years ago.

Richard entered the frame, kissing Laura on the cheek with an intimacy that sent ice through my veins.

"Darling, we've been married for six years now," Laura said, leaning into his touch. "How long do we have to keep hiding?"

"Just until the company goes public," Richard replied. "We need her skills for the IPO. And you know my grandmother has issues with you. I worry she'll make things difficult."

Six years? They'd been married for six years? What did that make my marriage certificate with Richard?

I felt all my strength drain away as I collapsed into the chair.

Rage filled my chest as I internally screamed for a divorce.

I stood in front of the court, the bandage still covering the wound on my head, my world still spinning. I decided it was time to end this marriage.

The clerk typed on her computer, then looked up with confusion.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but there's no record of a marriage between you and Richard Harrison."

"That's impossible. Here's our certificate." I slid the document across the counter, the paper suddenly feeling flimsy in my hands.

She examined it carefully, then called over a supervisor. After a brief consultation, they turned to me with pitying eyes.

"This seal is misplaced, and the signatures don't match our records," the supervisor explained gently. "I'm afraid this is a forgery. Legally, you were never married to Mr. Harrison."

My knees nearly buckled.

I recalled Richard's insistence on a private ceremony, his excuses about keeping our marriage out of the public eye for "privacy reasons"—it all made terrible sense now.

I wandered through the streets in a daze, the truth crushing me with each step. A sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled alongside me, and an elderly gentleman in an impeccable suit stepped out.

"Ms. Wilson? Grace Wilson? I've been looking for you for a very long time."

"My name is Grace Harrison," I replied automatically, though the court had just proved that was a lie.

"No, you're Grace Wilson, daughter of Robert Wilson." He handed me a business card. "I'm William Stein, your father's attorney. DNA testing has confirmed you're Robert Wilson's only blood relative."

This sudden shocking news left me not knowing what expression or emotion to show. My entire mind was in chaos.

"Robert Wilson... the founder of Wilson Holdings?"

"Yes, your mother sent you to a welfare center after your birth. Your father searched for you for years. He found you one month before his death and changed his will. After Mr. Wilson's passing, Wilson Holdings Group and personal assets exceeding $40 billion will pass to you."

I felt lightheaded. "I need time. There's something I need to check first."

As I took a taxi back to Harrison Villa, memories flooded in. Meeting Richard at that campus party where Laura had introduced us. His relentless one-year courtship. How desperately I'd wanted to belong to someone after a lifetime in foster care.

But now everything was broken.

My phone rang—Richard.

"We have a special guest at home today," he said cheerfully.

"I'll be there soon," I replied, my voice eerily calm. I knew who this special guest was.

I walked into the mansion with ice in my veins. Richard rushed to me, his handsome face creased with what I now recognized as fake concern when he saw my bandaged head.

"Grace, what happened? Are you—"

I walked past him without a word, feeling nothing but disgust now. I entered the living room where Laura sat with Emma on her lap. They were laughing, everything looked so harmonious. Emma, who usually opposed me at every turn, was unusually close with Laura.

Richard followed me, beaming as he gestured toward Laura. "Look who surprised us today!"

I studied Emma's features, comparing them to Laura's. The same nose, the same blue eyes and identical smiles leaving no doubt about their relationship, with only their different blonde hair as the sole distinction.

"Grace, long time no see," Laura said in that sickeningly sweet voice that made me uncomfortable.

"Long time no see, Laura," I forced myself to respond in my normal tone. "I need to use the bathroom. We'll talk more later."

I hurried to the bathroom, a nauseated feeling knotting my stomach.

Inside the bathroom, I locked the door, retched for a moment, and washed my face with water to calm myself down.

Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I felt a wave of sadness. I contemplated what to do next.

I wouldn't leave like this in defeat. They would pay for what they'd done.

Remembering the business card William Stein had given me, I dialed his number without hesitation.

"About the inheritance," I said quietly, "I'm prepared to sign the papers now."

"Excellent. We'll need to confirm your marital status and whether you have any children."

I watched through the bathroom window at the perfect family portrait they truly were.

"I'm unmarried," I stated firmly. "And I have no children."