Discovered His Will, Faked My Death

After seven years of marriage, I discovered my billionaire husband Grayson' s will.

He was leaving his entire fortune not to me, but to his young protégée, Kira. My life was a lie; I was just a placeholder, a womb for the heir his mistress couldn't carry.

When I demanded a divorce, he laughed.

"You're pregnant, Elyse. And you think you're just going to walk away with my child?"

He tore up the papers, threatening to use his immense power to take our baby. Then Kira, his mistress, showed up at my door, confirming my worst fear: Grayson wanted my child to raise as his and hers.

She even sent me a photo of him asleep in her bed, wearing the pajamas I bought him, with a chilling message.

"He hopes our baby has a dimple too. For me."

I was chosen because I resembled her. My son was meant to be her child.

That night, I vanished. The news later reported a pregnant woman, identified by my wedding ring, had died in a clinic fire. But I was already on a plane, my hand on my belly, escaping to a new life.

Chapter 1

Elyse POV:

My heart stopped when I saw it. The trust document, tucked away in the back of Grayson' s secure digital file, the one he swore was just for business. I knew the password. He never changed it. It was our anniversary date, a detail I used to find sweet. Now, it just felt like a cruel joke.

I clicked it open, a cold dread washing over me. It was his will. His last will and testament. And it left everything, every single one of his billion-dollar assets, to Kira McGuire.

Kira. The young artist he sponsored. The one he always called his protégé. My stomach twisted. Seven years. Seven years of my life, of my marriage to Grayson Graves, and it was all a lie.

He had promised me a life of love. A partnership. But the ironclad prenup we signed, the one he' d insisted on, screamed a different truth. No traditional wedding. No family. Just a quick ceremony and a document that ensured I walked away with nothing. I had dismissed it then, drunk on what I thought was love. "Traditions are for lesser men, Elyse," he'd said, his eyes intense, making me feel special. "Our love is beyond such trivialities."

I had believed him. For seven long years, I had believed him.

But now, staring at the screen, it was clear. I was nothing. A placeholder. A womb.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. Grayson stood there, his face a mask of fury.

"What do you think you're doing?" he spat, his voice like ice. "Get away from my computer."

"The password," I said, my voice shaking but steady. "It was our anniversary. You never changed it."

He didn't answer. He just strode across the room, grabbed the laptop, and slammed it shut. His fingers flew across the keyboard, changing the password, erasing any trace of my trespass.

"This is none of your business," he said, his voice flat. "It's a contingency. For Kira's foundation, should anything happen to me."

"Contingency?" I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "It's your entire fortune. And it's not a foundation, Grayson. It's a trust. For Kira McGuire, personally." My voice was rising now, gaining strength despite the tremor in my hands. "I want a divorce."

He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before it was replaced by cold amusement. "A divorce? Over a misunderstanding, Elyse? Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not ridiculous," I countered, my voice firm. "I'm done. I want out."

He scoffed, a short, dismissive sound. "You're pregnant, Elyse. And you think you're just going to walk away with my child?" His eyes narrowed. "Don't tempt me. You know what I'm capable of."

"Get out!" I shouted, pointing towards the door, my entire body trembling. "Get out of my sight!"

He just stared at me, his gaze chilling. "Don't touch my things again, Elyse. Or you'll regret it." He turned and left, the door clicking shut with a finality that echoed in my empty heart.

I sank to the floor, my hands clutching my swollen belly. The baby inside me kicked, a gentle flutter that used to bring me comfort. Now, it just brought terror.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying across the screen. I needed to act. Now. I booked the earliest possible appointment at the clinic. The one Grayson had mentioned, casually, months ago, for 'future planning.'

My mind raced. Could I do it? Could I give up this child? The thought sent a jolt of pain through me, a physical ache that overshadowed everything else. But what other choice did I have?

At the clinic, the doctor's face was grave. "Elyse, you're eight months pregnant. This procedure is... highly risky. For you. And for the baby." She pointed to the ultrasound screen, a tiny foot kicking into view. "He's perfectly healthy. Are you absolutely certain about this?"

I looked at the vibrant image on the screen, a perfect little life. My baby. My son. The doctor' s words echoed. He's perfectly healthy.

My decision felt like a dagger twisting in my gut. But I had to protect him. From this life. From Grayson.

I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to be steady. "Yes," I said, the word a whisper. "I'm certain."

The confirmation text arrived moments later: "Clinic appointment confirmed." My phone buzzed in my hand, a cold metal block. My body felt heavy, each movement a struggle.

I made another call. To Dalton Blevins, a lawyer I had met through some charity events. His voice was calm, reassuring.

"Elyse, I know this is difficult," Dalton said, his tone gentle. "But you have rights. We can fight this. We can fight for a fair share of the marital assets."

I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. "No," I said, my voice raw. "There are no marital assets. Not for me."

I remembered the prenup. The tight, ironclad document that left me with nothing. Grayson had been so meticulous. All his assets were carefully shielded, acquired before our marriage or funneled into separate trusts. My own earnings, meager compared to his, had barely covered my personal expenses. He'd always said, "What's mine is ours, darling. But for legal protection, let's keep things separate on paper." I had bought into it, hook, line, and sinker.

The realization hit me like a physical blow. Grayson's "love" was a carefully constructed cage. Every grand gesture, every casual phrase about our shared future, had been a lie. He didn' t want a wife; he wanted a vessel. A mother for a child Kira couldn't have. And his "affection" for me? It was just a performance, a means to an end.

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Don't bother, Dalton. There's nothing to fight for. Not for me, anyway." My body was shaking, but a strange resolve settled over me. "All I want is a clean break. Just get me out of this marriage."

Dalton hesitated. "Elyse, are you sure? There might be ways to challenge some clauses. Especially with a child involved-"

"No," I cut him off, my voice sharp. "Just... prepare the papers. I want this over." My hands trembled as I signed the documents later that day, my anger a cold, steady flame inside me. Seven years. Seven years of being fooled, used, and discarded.

I remembered the diamond necklace he' d bought Kira for her last exhibition. A piece so unique, so intricate, I' d designed it for him years ago, thinking it was for me. He'd said, "It's a gift for someone truly special, a reflection of their untamed spirit." I had blushed, imagining it adorning my own neck. Instead, it was on Kira's.

And the time I nearly bled out after a gastric ulcer flared up? He was "too busy" with a crucial business deal. Later, I found out he'd been at an exclusive art gala with Kira, laughing, holding her hand. My stomach churned.

He'd even asked me to design the plans for a new foundation building. "A legacy project, Elyse," he'd said, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "For the arts. For the next generation." I had poured my heart and soul into it, working through my recovery, pushing past the pain. Only now, seeing the trust document, did I realize the foundation was for Kira, designed to house her works, her vision. He had used my talent, my pain, to build a monument for his mistress.

"I have my own money, Dalton," I said, a bitter smile twisting my lips. "I'm an architect, remember? I have my own independent income. It won't be much compared to his billions, but it's mine. And it's enough."

My chest ached, a physical manifestation of the betrayal. I was so naive, so blind. He had played me for a fool, making me believe that being his wife, living in his shadow, was enough. But it was never enough for him. Or for Kira.

I clutched my belly, a sharp pain shooting through my abdomen. No, no, no. Not now. Not here. I doubled over, a silent sob escaping my lips. "I'm so sorry," I whispered to my unborn child, tears streaming down my face. "I'm so, so sorry."

Elyse POV:

Dalton' s office was a blur of papers and hushed tones. He had found a small, discreet apartment for me. It wasn't fancy, just a two-bedroom unit in a quiet part of town. I didn' t care about the amenities. All I needed was a place to be alone, a place where I could breathe. "Just get me in tonight," I'd told him, my voice raspy. "I don't care about anything else."

It was already evening when I returned to the mansion, the huge house feeling colder and emptier than ever. Each step was an effort, my body heavy with the advanced pregnancy. I went straight to the kitchen, a familiar routine. Grayson would be home late, as always. He liked my cooking, or at least, he used to. I started preparing his favorite salmon, seasoning it just the way he preferred, brushing it with orange glaze. The aroma filled the kitchen, a bittersweet scent. It was automatic, this desire to please him, a habit deeply ingrained after seven years. I sighed, realizing how much of myself I had lost, how much I had tailored my life to his preferences.

Hours passed. The salmon sat under a warming lamp, then in the oven, then back under the lamp. I reheated it twice, three times. Each time, a fresh wave of despair washed over me. He wasn't coming. Or he was, just much, much later.

The front door finally creaked open well past midnight. I heard his heavy footsteps, then the faint scent of foreign perfume. Not mine. Kira's. It clung to him, sweet and cloying. My stomach churned. I felt a cold dread settle in my chest, confirming every suspicion. My eyes darted to his neck. A faint red mark, almost imperceptible against his tanned skin. My breath hitched.

He stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes glazed, reeking of alcohol. He barely registered my presence. He saw the plate of salmon. His lip curled. "What is this? Trying to play the dutiful wife again, Elyse? Fishing for sympathy?"

He pushed past me, his shoulder brushing mine, and headed for the stairs. He didn't even wait for an answer. My gaze fell to his left hand. His ring finger was bare. Completely. No tan line. No indentation. As if he had never worn a wedding ring at all. My heart shattered into a million pieces.

"Grayson," I whispered, my voice hoarse, barely audible. He paused, one foot on the first step, then turned, his expression unreadable.

"The divorce papers," I continued, my voice gaining strength. "They're on your desk. Sign them. Please."

He chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Divorce? What, did you find another document? Another 'misunderstanding'? " He scoffed. "And here I thought I was still alive." He laughed again, a harsh, grating sound that made my skin crawl.

Then he lit a cigarette, the acrid smoke filling the air, despite my obvious pregnancy. He didn't care. He never did.

"Let's not forget, Elyse," he said, taking a drag, his eyes narrowed. "You were simply a girl from a charity event. A project. You should be grateful I even looked at you." He blew a plume of smoke, watching it dissipate. "The will, as you so delicately put it, is just a formality. Kira has a weak heart. She's fragile. It's to ensure she's cared for, should anything happen to me. A contingency, as I said."

He sounded so sincere. So concerned. My mind replayed the scene at the clinic, the doctor's kind face, the healthy image of my baby on the screen. My hand instinctively went to my belly. He worried about Kira's fragile heart, but what about mine? What about the child growing inside me?

A decade. Ten years ago, he was just a desperate young man, clinging to life. I had found him, bleeding, after a hit-and-run. I pulled him from the wreckage, ignored my family's pleas to leave him to the authorities, and stayed by his side through weeks of recovery. I had even taken a knife for him during a gang confrontation, a memory that still sent shivers down my spine.

In the hospital, his voice had been thick with emotion, his eyes full of promises. "Elyse," he'd choked out, gripping my hand, "I swear, if I survive this, I will make you the happiest woman on earth. I will inherit my family's legacy, and I will give you everything. My life. My love. My fortune." He had even sworn, "If I ever betray you, may God strike me down."

He did inherit the legacy. He built an empire. But the happiness? That went to Kira. My wedding was a low-key affair, a courthouse ceremony. My dress was rented. My vows were exchanged with the cold, unyielding reality of a prenup.

I laughed, a dry, bitter sound that hurt my throat. My eyes burned, but no tears came. "And those vows, Grayson?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Do you remember them? Or did you forget those too, along with everything else?"

His face went rigid, his eyes turning cold and dangerous. "Don't bring up the past, Elyse. It's done. Over." He took another drag from his cigarette, then crushed it in a nearby ashtray. "What do you want, then? How much money will it take for you to disappear?"

My heart plummeted, the last vestiges of hope crumbling to ash. He thought everything could be bought. Everything had a price. And my love? My sacrifice? It was just another commodity to him.

"Nothing," I said, my voice barely audible, forcing the word out. "I want nothing from you. Just sign the papers. Let me go. Peacefully."

I turned, my back to him, and started to walk away. His voice, hoarse with sudden rage, cut through the silence. "You'll regret this, Elyse! You'll regret walking away from me!"

I didn't look back. There were no more tears left for him. Only for the girl I used to be, the one who believed in a love that never existed.

Elyse POV:

The front door slammed shut so hard, the whole house shook. I heard the roar of his car engine, then silence. He was gone. Again.

I walked back into the living room, my eyes falling on his desk. The divorce papers were gone. Replaced by a crumpled mess in the wastebasket. He had torn them to shreds. Why? Why couldn't he just let me go? What was left for him here?

My phone buzzed, vibrating against the polished wood of the table. A message. From Kira. Again.

It was a photo. Kira, smiling, her head nestled against Grayson's shoulder. His arm was around her, possessive. The caption read: "Grayson is finally mine now. You really tried, honey. But some things are just meant to be."

My stomach clenched. This wasn't new. For months, sometimes even years, she' d been sending me these little 'updates.' Casual photos of them at dinner, a subtle mention of a weekend getaway, a childish doodle he'd drawn for her. She always played the innocent, fragile artist, but her messages were laced with venom. She' d even tried to 'vent' to me about him once, pretending to be my confidante. "He's so demanding, Elyse," she'd whined, "always putting his work first. I wish he'd just relax, be more fun, like he is with me."

The phone buzzed again. Another message, another photo. This one, a close-up. Grayson, asleep, his head on her pillow. And he was wearing... my silk pajamas. The ones I' d bought for him, for our anniversary, just last month.

"He's so sweet when he sleeps," Kira's message read. "And so protective of me. Don't worry about the will, Elyse. It's just a silly little thing Grayson did to make me feel secure. He loves me. He's always loved me." Then, the lines that sent a jolt of ice through me. "He said you have dimples, just like I do. And our baby... he hopes the baby has a dimple too. For me."

My blood ran cold. Dimples. My distinctive dimples. The ones Grayson had always admired. The ones he said made my smile light up a room. It wasn' t about my untamed spirit, or my charming smile. It was about my dimples. Because Kira had them too. He wanted a child with my dimples, for her.

My stomach heaved. I ran to the bathroom, clutching my mouth. I threw up, bile burning my throat. But it wasn't just physical nausea. It was pure, unadulterated disgust. Disgust for him, for her, for myself for being so utterly blind. I looked in the mirror, my own dimples mocking me, twisting my face into a grotesque mask.

He hadn't loved me. He had cultivated me. Chosen me. Because I resembled her. I was a breeding vessel. A surrogate. A placeholder for a woman who couldn' t carry a child, but who could carry his name, his love, his fortune.

A raw, guttural cry tore from my throat. My heart felt like it had been ripped from my chest, leaving a gaping, bloody hole.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, trembling. I typed a single message back to Kira: "Enjoy your second-hand clothes, you pathetic excuse for a human being."

Almost immediately, my phone rang. Grayson. His name flashed on the screen. I remembered how he'd once screamed at me for even daring to whisper a complaint about Kira, accusing me of jealousy, of being petty.

Without a second thought, I tapped "block." And then "delete."

My hands were still shaking, but a strange calm settled over me. I booked a moving truck online. For tomorrow morning. I didn't have much. Just a few boxes of books, some clothes, a collection of old photographs. Nothing that reminded me of him. Nothing that belonged to us.

I walked through the vast, empty rooms of the mansion one last time. This extravagant house, this gilded cage. It was never home. It was a stage for his elaborate charade.

I took a deep, shuddering breath. The air, heavy with his deceit, suddenly felt lighter. I was free.

I picked up a dusty old plant pot I' d found in the conservatory, a forgotten fig tree struggling for light. I carried it out to the car, gently placed it in the passenger seat. This was my new focus. New life.

Back at my new apartment, the stark white walls felt... clean. Empty, yes, but clean. I repotted the fig tree, placing it by the window where the afternoon sun poured in. It looked small, vulnerable, but determined. Just like me.

The phone rang again. A discreet private number. I hesitated, then answered. It was his assistant.

"Mrs. Graves," his voice was clipped and formal. "Mr. Graves would like to speak with you."

Then, Grayson's voice, cold and furious, cut through. "Elyse. What the hell do you think you're doing? Why are you trying to provoke Kira? She's delicate, you know that! Her heart condition makes her highly susceptible to stress."

He mentioned her heart again. Always her heart. Never mine. Never the life growing inside me.

"Go home, Elyse," he continued, his voice softening, a manipulative edge creeping in. "Come back, and we can forget all this. I'll even forgive you for your outburst. Just come home. And give me my child."

My grip tightened on the phone, my knuckles white. He didn' t care about me. He only cared about the child, about the heir he needed for Kira. He always had a plan, a calculation. I was just a pawn in his game.

"Elyse? Are you listening to me?" His voice was impatient now.

I didn't answer. I just pressed the "end call" button. Then I blocked his number again. And deleted the contact.

I wouldn't provoke Kira. I wouldn't disturb them. I would just disappear.