Discarded Wife Is A Hidden Billionaire Heiress

She glanced at the wall clock. Seven-thirty. The last dish was already placed on the table at exactly seven o'clock.

He was half an hour late.

Adah Beaumont nervously wiped her damp palms on her simple cotton dress. Her gaze fell to the center of the table, to the birthday cake she had spent the entire day baking from scratch.

A familiar tightness coiled in her stomach.

She unconsciously smoothed the fabric of her skirt. She never wore expensive clothes. Her husband, Atticus had made it clear she wasn't worthy of them.

The soft beep of the electronic lock at the front door sliced through the silence. Her heart leaped into her throat. She immediately stood, forcing a pleasing smile onto her face.

Atticus Sterling's tall frame filled the doorway. He wore a bespoke suit that probably cost more than her entire life before him. He radiated a cold, expensive aura.

His eyes swept over her, then the table laden with food. His handsome face remained a mask of indifference. He loosened his tie with an impatient tug, tossing his suit jacket onto the sofa.

Adah took a small step forward, her voice timid. "Atticus, you're home. Happy birthday. I made your favorites..."

"Enough."

His voice was a blade, cutting her off. His gaze landed on the cake, a flicker of disgust in his eyes. "Cayla's back."

The smile on Adah's face froze. The blood in her veins felt like it had turned to ice. Cayla Weaver, Atticus's mistress.The name had been lodged in her heart for three years.

Atticus watched her face pale, a cruel curve touching his lips. "She injured her leg saving me three years ago. Lost her dream of being a dancer forever. Now she's back. It's time I repaid what I owe."

Adah's lips trembled. "What about me?" she whispered. "We've been married for three years..."

"Married?" Atticus let out a laugh, as if it were the funniest joke he'd ever heard. "If it weren't for the despicable means you used back then, do you think you'd be standing here?"

He advanced on her, his shadow swallowing her whole. "You, a poor girl from the Rust Belt, should be grateful you got to marry into the Sterling family. Don't delude yourself into thinking you deserve more."

Tears welled in Adah's eyes. She pointed a shaking finger at the cake, a last, desperate plea. "But it's your birthday... this cake, I spent all day on it..."

Atticus's gaze fell on the cake, his revulsion deepening. He walked over, picked it up, and without a moment's hesitation, flipped it upside down into the nearby trash can.

Cream and fruit smeared against the bin's edge, a grotesque mess that mirrored her trampled heart.

A choked sob escaped Adah's throat. She lunged forward, trying to grab his arm. "How could you..."

"Don't touch me with your filthy hands!" he snarled, flinging her arm away.

He used too much force. Adah, caught completely off guard, stumbled backward, losing her balance.

Her head slammed into the sharp marble corner of the dining table.

There was a dull, sickening thud. Then, an explosion of pain from the back of her skull as darkness bloomed behind her eyes. It felt like something inside her mind had shattered.

Countless dusty, fragmented images flooded her consciousness like a tidal wave-a luxury yacht, the warm smiles of her parents, waterfalls of green code, the shadowless lamp over an operating table...

The trauma from the yacht explosion three years ago had given her PTSD and selective amnesia. A psychologist had implanted a false memory, a fabricated history of a "poor background."

Now, this violent physical impact was the key that unlocked the cage of her true memories.

Adah collapsed to the floor. But she didn't cry. She simply lifted her head, and the way she looked at Atticus had fundamentally changed.

The eyes that were once timid and full of adoration were now filled with nothing but icy clarity and a bone-deep chill.

Atticus, startled by her unfamiliar gaze, frowned. "What new trick are you playing now?"

She didn't answer him. Inside her head, a voice spoke with absolute certainty: I am Adah Beaumont, the sole heiress of the Beaumont family of New York.

She looked at the man who had humiliated her for three years as if he were a clown.

So this is the man she has "loved" for three whole years? A cowardly, stupid fool-a pathetic wretch who has been toyed with and manipulated like a puppet? And she wasted three full years on someone like that, enduring endless humiliation. What once was admiration has now turned into nothing but cold, biting scorn.

Slowly, she rose to her feet. She brushed the dust from her dress, her voice terrifyingly calm.

"Atticus Sterling," she said. "Let's get a divorce."

"Divorce?"

Atticus froze for a second, then let out a short, sharp laugh. It was the best joke of the year.

He crossed his arms, his eyes raking over her with contempt. "Adah, Did you hit your head? Without me, you can't even afford next month's rent."

Adah ignored his mockery. She turned and walked straight up the stairs to the second-floor study.

She opened the dust-covered safe she hadn't touched in three years, entering a long, complex password from muscle memory.

Inside, there was a blank divorce agreement template pre-drafted by the family lawyer and a black satellite phone waiting to be used. Adah picked up the document, quickly filled in her own requirements under Party B's terms-only taking the personal belongings she had brought with her when she married into the Sterling family, and not demanding any money or property compensation.

Then, she picked up the satellite phone, put it in her pocket, and went downstairs with the document.

Back downstairs, she placed divorce agreement on the table in front of her.

Seeing that she was prepared, Atticus's eyes darkened. He was certain this was a new, premeditated blackmail scheme.

He flipped open the agreement. He saw that Adah was asking only to take the items she had brought into the marriage. She was leaving with nothing, not a single cent from the Sterling family.

"Playing hard to get? Trying to gain sympathy so you can demand more later? Your tactics are as low-class as ever," he sneered.

Adah didn't bother to explain. She simply picked up the satellite phone and dialed a number.

The call was answered almost instantly. A steady male voice answered the phone: "Miss Beaumont. Is that you? I've been looking for you all these three years."

Adah took a deep breath and commanded in that innate, imperious tone that brooked no disobedience: "Kian,It's me. For the past three years, I lost my memory and became Atticus's wife, but now I have regained my memory. Immediately dispatch a helicopter to Sterling Villa, arrive within fifteen minutes, and pick me up."

"Yes, Miss." Kian's reply was immediate, without a hint of question.

Atticus listened to the nonsensical call, more convinced than ever that Adah was putting on an act. He picked up the pen from the table and impatiently scrawled his signature on the divorce agreement.

"I'll grant your wish. Now, get out of my sight." He tossed the signed document at her.

Just then, his cell phone rang. It was his executive assistant, Anthony Olsen. "Sir, bad news! Miss Weaver was in a car accident on her way to see you!"

Atticus's face changed dramatically. He grabbed his car keys and bolted for the door, not forgetting to throw a final warning over his shoulder. "If you dare touch a single hair on Cayla's head, I'll make you wish you were never born."

Adah watched his frantic retreat with an empty gaze. She knew this "accident" was just one of Cayla Weaver's little tricks to declare her sovereignty.

A deafening roar of rotor blades grew outside, and a powerful beam of light shot through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

A black Bell 429 helicopter hovered precisely over the villa's front lawn.

Kian Knight, dressed in a sharp black suit, disembarked with two bodyguards and strode into the villa.

He saw Adah and dropped to one knee, respectfully offering her a cashmere coat and a tablet. "Miss, welcome back."

Adah took the coat and draped it over her shoulders, instantly warding off the chill of the house. She took the tablet, her fingers flying across the screen.

She spoke to Kian. "Erase all video and data records of me from the Sterling Group's security systems for the past three years. Terminate all business dealings between Beaumont subsidiaries and the Sterling Group. Effective immediately."

"Understood." Kian nodded, executing the commands on his own device. Adah, meanwhile, personally hacked into the Sterling villa's main server. Within seconds, a new firewall was in place, and every trace of her existence was wiped clean.

With that done, she handed the signed divorce agreement and the tablet to Kian.

"Have the legal team process this immediately. I want to be legally free of this man before the sun rises tomorrow."

Adah turned, taking one last look at the cage she had lived in for three years. There wasn't a trace of sentiment in her eyes.

She boarded the helicopter, leaving without a backward glance.

As the helicopter ascended, Adah watched the villa shrink below. "Take me to the nearest courthouse," she told Kian. "I'm filing the papers myself."

The helicopter landed on the rooftop helipad of a skyscraper in Midtown Manhattan. Adah and Kian took a private elevator directly to the underground garage.

A fleet of luxury cars stood waiting. Kian opened the door to a deep blue Bentley Mulsanne for her.

Adah settled into the back seat as Kian took the driver's seat. The car pulled smoothly out of the garage and merged into the river of New York's nighttime traffic.

She leaned back against the soft leather, closing her eyes.

Meanwhile, Atticus met a "traumatized" Cayla at the hospital. She sat in a wheelchair, her foot in a cast, her face streaked with tears.

Atticus was consumed by guilt.

"I won't let you suffer another ounce of hurt," he said, his voice hoarse. He cupped her face in both hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Cayla, listen to me-I'll take care of everything. The divorce papers will be filed tomorrow. After that, you don't have to think about a thing. Just focus on healing, and leave the rest to me."

Cayla's tears finally broke through the dam, falling in heavy drops onto his knuckles. Yet even as she wept, she shook her head frantically. "No... I don't need your pity. Adah is your wife. I don't want to be the bad person here, Atticus. I really don't..."

Her words refused him, but her fingers clutched his sleeve with a death grip, knuckles white, as if letting go would make him vanish. That fragile, contradictory sight twisted Atticus's heart into knots. He bent down and pulled her into his arms, his chin resting on the crown of her head, and whispered his promise: "You were never the bad one. I was. From today on, I want only you."

In the hollow of his shoulder, where he couldn't see, the corner of her mouth twitched upward for barely a second-then she quickly melted back into trembling sobs, her arms tightening around him even more.

After settling Cayla in, Atticus received a text from his lawyer: "Mr. Sterling, as per the agreement you signed, you are required to finalize the divorce procedure with Ms. Beaumont tomorrow at 9 a. m. at the County Courthouse."

He let out a cold snort and replied, "Understood." He was curious to see how she would survive without him.

The next morning, in front of the New York County Courthouse. A flashy red Ferrari pulled up, and Atticus stepped out. He wore a perfectly tailored Armani suit and sunglasses, his powerful presence drawing glances from passersby.

He stood on the courthouse steps , hands in his pockets, impatiently checking the time.

At precisely nine o'clock, a deep blue Bentley Mulsanne glided silently to the curb.

Atticus recognized the top-tier luxury car but assumed it belonged to some big shot and paid it no mind.

The door opened. A man in a black suit, tall and exceptionally handsome, stepped out first. It was Kian. He then turned respectfully to open the back door.

A foot shod in a Jimmy Choo crystal-encrusted high heel emerged, followed by Adah.

She had shed the plain cotton dress for a crisp, white Chanel suit. Her long hair was swept up, revealing the elegant curve of her neck. Her makeup was subtle but flawless, her eyes cool, her aura commanding.

Atticus's pupils constricted violently. He could barely recognize the radiant woman before him as the wife who had been as meek as dust just yesterday.

Adah didn't look at him. She walked straight past, leaving a trail of a cool, clean scent in the air.

Atticus stood frozen behind her, staring at her and the handsome man by her side. Jealousy and rage ignited uncontrollably within him. He was certain Kian was the new man she'd lined up.

"You move fast," he couldn't stop himself from sneering. "Barely divorced and already eager to show off your new sponsor?"

Adah stopped and glanced back at him, her expression like she was looking at a petulant stranger. "Mr. Sterling, our relationship ended yesterday. My private life is none of your business."

After speaking, she took Kian's arm and walked into the courthouse without looking back.

The title "Mr. Sterling" stung Atticus. He stood rooted to the spot, his face ashen.

His assistant, Anthony Olsen, hurried over. "Sir, the proceedings are about to begin." He noticed his boss's fixed gaze and followed it.

Anthony caught a glimpse of Kian's profile and found it familiar. A memory sparked in his mind.

"Sir," Anthony said cautiously, "that man... he looks a lot like the sole apprentice of 'Althea,' the legendary surgeon who saved you a few years ago."

Atticus flinched at the name but was too consumed by jealousy to process it. All he could think was that Adah would stoop to anything for money.

The divorce was finalized in under ten minutes before a judge. Adah and Atticus were no longer legally bound.

As soon as it was over, Adah, escorted by Kian, turned and left with grace.

Atticus remained in place, clenching his fists as he watched her elegant back.

He let out a self-assured, cold laugh at her retreating figure. She'll come crying back to me in less than three days.

Then, Atticus went to the hospital to see Cayla.