Chapter 1

The invitation was a mistake, a clerical error. It was addressed to "The Chen Residence," but it was meant for the man hailed on stage, not the woman in a worn-out coat hiding in the back of the auditorium.

I stood there, surrounded by the hum of expensive suits and the clinking of champagne glasses, feeling like a ghost. The man on the giant screen was David Chen, my husband. But the man they described was a stranger.

"A visionary," the announcer boomed, his voice echoing through the massive hall. "The silent genius behind 'Genesis,' the platform that reshaped our digital world. A man who built a multi-billion dollar empire from nothing."

My mind went blank. Billions?

The David I knew was a humble app developer, a man who struggled to make rent for our tiny, drafty apartment. The David I knew was the reason I worked three jobs, the reason my hands were raw from washing dishes at Liam' s diner, the reason my own art supplies gathered dust in a corner, untouched for years.

Ten years. A decade of my life, lived on a knife's edge of poverty, all for him.

Laughter and applause erupted from the crowd as David, my David, walked onto the stage. He looked different. His cheap, ill-fitting suits were gone, replaced by a tailored charcoal masterpiece that probably cost more than our car. His posture, usually slightly stooped with feigned humility, was now confident, commanding. He owned the stage. He owned the world.

My breath caught in my throat. I felt a wave of nausea so intense I had to grip the back of a chair to stay upright.

The screen behind him flashed with corporate logos and soaring stock prices. Genesis Inc. I' d heard him mention it, but he' d always called it a "small, struggling startup." He' d said he was just a low-level coder there, working for a demanding boss named Mr. Henderson.

My memories flooded back, a torrent of sacrifices. The time I sold my car so he could buy new servers for his "project." The countless nights I' d brought him meals at the small, rented office space where he supposedly worked, a place that now seemed like a prop in a long-running play.

And then, the sharpest memory of all. My grandmother' s necklace. It was a delicate antique, the only thing I had left of her, my only family heirloom.

"Sarah, I'm so close," he had told me, his eyes filled with a desperate, convincing sincerity. "Mr. Henderson is threatening to pull the plug. We just need one more cash injection. Please. It' s our future."

I cried as I handed it over to the pawnshop owner. But I did it. For him. For us.

Now, watching him on that stage, accepting an award for being a titan of industry, I realized that our future was a lie. My future had been stolen to fund his.

As the ceremony concluded, a wave of well-wishers swarmed him. I watched, paralyzed, from the shadows. And then I saw her.

Emily Hayes.

She was stunning, dressed in a sleek, crimson dress that screamed power and wealth. She moved through the crowd with an easy grace, walking right up to David. He turned, his public smile melting into something more intimate, more real than any smile he had ever given me.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. She was his COO, the announcer had said. His college sweetheart, a voice in the crowd whispered nearby.

They leaned in, their heads close together. I was too far to hear everything, but a few words drifted towards me, carried on the air of celebration.

"...she's here," Emily murmured, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes as she subtly glanced towards the back of the room.

David' s expression didn't change. He kept his arm around her, his thumb stroking her side.

"It doesn't matter," he said, his voice low and dismissive. "She' s still useful. The story of my 'struggle' is good for PR. It makes me relatable."

Emily laughed, a light, cruel sound. "The poor, devoted wife. I almost feel sorry for her."

"Don't," David said, his lips brushing against her hair. "She's too naive to understand anything anyway."

The world tilted. The air in my lungs turned to ice. It wasn't just a lie. It was a performance. A decade-long piece of theater, and I was the unwitting, unpaid lead actress. He hadn' t just deceived me; he despised me. He pitied my devotion, the very love he had so carefully cultivated.

My savings. My grandmother' s necklace. My dreams of being an artist. He hadn't just taken them. He had taken them and laughed.

The pain was so immense, so all-consuming, it eclipsed the shock. It was a physical thing, a hollow ache in my chest that spread through my entire body. I looked down at my hands, the rough, chapped skin, the broken nails. These were the hands that had supported a billionaire.

The humiliation burned hotter than any anger. He was lauded as a visionary, and I was the fool who funded his first steps with the last remnants of my family's legacy. While he was secretly building an empire with another woman, I was counting pennies to buy groceries.

I backed away slowly, melting into the crowd and slipping out a side door. The cold night air hit me, but I didn't feel it. I felt nothing but a vast, empty coldness inside. The lie wasn't just about money. It was about everything. My entire married life was a fraud.

---