Divorce Me? Pay Ten Billion Dollars First

#Chapter1

If Harris Byrd had remembered to lock his photo album, Kasie Carlisle might still be married.

But he hadn't. And now she was standing barefoot in her kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon, staring at a photo of her husband naked in a hotel bed with another woman draped across his chest.

The image had appeared in the Byrd family's shared "Family Moments" album, uploaded by Harris himself. The location tag read The Greenwich Hotel. The time stamp was yesterday afternoon, when Kasie had been at a charity gala alone because Harris had claimed he was trapped in meetings.

She zoomed in. Below the woman's smiling lips was a small, familiar beauty mark.

Janiyah Vincent. Her college "friend." The bridesmaid at her wedding.

For a long moment, Kasie simply stared. Then something inside her went very cold and very still. The woman who had believed in this marriage-who had folded herself into smaller and smaller shapes to fit inside Harris Byrd's world-exhaled her last breath. In her place rose someone else. Someone who had been quietly preparing for this day for months.

She took a screenshot, sent it to her encrypted email, then deleted the original from the shared album. Let them wonder where it went. Let them panic.

Her phone vibrated. Margo Byrd.

Kasie stared at the name. She hadn't even decided what to do next, and already her mother-in-law was calling. That meant Harris had noticed the photo was gone. That meant he'd called his mother in a panic. That meant Margo was calling to do damage control before Kasie could make a move.

She answered on the third ring, her voice perfectly even. "Hello, Margo."

"Kasie." Her mother-in-law's voice was clipped and imperious. "Come to the study. We need to talk."

"Of course, Margo."

She ascended the grand staircase of the house that had never felt like a home. In the study, Margo's face was already waiting on the large monitor, her expression harder than Kasie had ever seen it.

"Let's not waste time," Margo began. "I assume you saw the photo."

Kasie said nothing. Her silence was confirmation enough.

"I've known about Harris and Janiyah for months," Margo continued, her tone matter-of-fact, as if she were discussing a quarterly earnings report. "I've also known that this marriage was a mistake from the beginning. You were never right for this family. We both know it."

Kasie's jaw tightened, but she kept her face perfectly still. Margo had known for months. Of course she had.

"I had our lawyers prepare a divorce agreement some time ago, anticipating this day would come. You sign, you walk away with one million dollars." Margo paused, delivering the final blow with surgical precision. "For a girl from your background, that's more than you could earn in a lifetime."

So this was the plan all along. Not a reaction to being caught-a long-planned eviction. Kasie felt something cold crystallize in her chest. Then, for the first time, she smiled. It was a cold, sharp, terrifying smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Margo. Your son committed adultery. Under New York state law, I can drag his name through every tabloid and courtroom in Manhattan. I have evidence. I have dates. I have locations."

Margo's smug certainty flickered.

"You want a quiet divorce? Fine." Kasie leaned closer to the camera, her eyes locking onto her mother-in-law's. "My price is ten billion dollars. And half of all properties acquired during our marriage."

Margo's face went white, then mottled with rage. "Are you insane?"

"No. I'm getting what I'm owed. Four years of swallowing your insults and playing the perfect accessory. That has a price." She let the words hang, then added, almost casually, "And I have more photos. The kind the tabloids would pay a fortune for. The kind that would make the Byrd family a laughingstock for the next decade."

The silence stretched. Kasie could hear Margo's mind racing behind her cold eyes, calculating the cost of scandal versus the cost of silence.

"...Fine. Ten billion." Margo's voice was barely above a whisper. "But you have one month to leave quietly. And you will play the part of the loving wife until we make the announcement. Harris cannot know about this conversation."

Kasie raised an eyebrow. "He doesn't know you're calling me?"

"Harris knows the photo is missing. He doesn't know I'm handling it. And he will not know about this agreement. As far as he's concerned, you are still his oblivious little wife. Do you understand?"

Kasie almost laughed. Margo was protecting her son from the consequences of his own stupidity. She was so used to managing him that she was willing to pay ten billion dollars just to keep him from finding out he'd been caught.

"Fine by me," Kasie said. "I want it in writing. Signed by you. Tonight."

Margo's lips pressed into a bloodless line. "I'll have my lawyers draft it immediately."

"No. You'll draft it now. I'll wait."

Twenty minutes later, the agreement appeared on the screen. A single page. Ten billion dollars. Half of all marital properties. One month of silence. One month of playing the perfect wife. Margo's digital signature was already at the bottom.

Kasie took a screenshot. Then another. Then she forwarded both to her encrypted email.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Margo."

"Remember our terms," Margo hissed. "Harris knows nothing. You keep it that way."

"I wouldn't dream of upsetting him."

Kasie ended the call. A violent tremor ran through her body-adrenaline, fury, and something that felt almost like triumph. She walked to the window and looked out at the rose garden she'd tended for four years. No nostalgia. No regret. Only the cold pulse of a plan finally set in motion.

Margo thought she was protecting Harris. But what she'd really done was hand Kasie a loaded weapon. Ten billion dollars and a signed confession that the Byrd family had tried to buy her silence.

She picked up her phone and typed a message to Harris.

Dinner is ready. Come home soon.

Let him think nothing had changed. Let him think his secret was still safe. The performance had begun, and he didn't even know he was on stage.

Then she dialed Leighton Price.

"Leighton, it's me. The day we planned for has arrived. Get ready for a war."

A delighted shriek. "I knew it! Tell me everything. How much are we taking him for?"

"Ten billion. And Margo Byrd just signed a document that will make the best ammunition we could ask for."

A low, appreciative whistle. "Damn, girl. That's how you do it. I'll have the full papers ready within the hour."

Kasie hung up and looked at her reflection in the dark windowpane. The numb, tired woman from this morning was gone. In her place was someone with eyes of steel and a heart full of ice. Someone who was done playing the perfect wife.

The war had begun. Harris just didn't know it yet.

Harris came home earlier than usual, a strained smile plastered on his face. He walked into the dining room and wrapped his arms around Kasie in a stiff, perfunctory hug. The scent of a cloying, unfamiliar perfume-not hers, not his-clung to his suit jacket.

"Honey, this looks amazing," he said, his voice a little too loud, a little too cheerful. "You worked so hard."

"I hope you like it," Kasie replied, her own smile a perfect, fragile mask. It was Janiyah's signature scent, Chanel No. 5. Of course, it was.

The dinner was a masterclass in deception. Harris was painfully attentive, refilling her wine glass, piling food onto her plate, asking about her day with a focus he hadn't shown in years. Kasie knew Margo must have called him, prepped him. Keep her calm. Keep her happy. We're managing the situation.

He was trying to soothe her, to placate the little woman he thought he could buy off.

"There's a charity gala tonight for the Children's Health Fund," he said, carefully cutting his steak. "I'd really like it if you'd come with me. We need to show a united front."

"Of course," Kasie said. It was part of the deal. One month of performances.

After dinner, they descended to the subterranean garage. Harris walked a few paces ahead, his phone buzzing in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, unconscious smile.

"Just a quick work call," he said to Kasie, already turning away. "I'll be right back." He walked toward the far end of the garage, seeking privacy.

Kasie didn't move. She stood by their black Bentley, her shadow long in the dim light. From her vantage point, she could see his reflection perfectly in the polished surface of a concrete support pillar. She watched as he put the phone to his ear, his entire posture softening, his expression turning tender.

She just watched.

A few minutes later, the purr of a high-performance engine echoed through the garage. A cherry-red Porsche 911 pulled up beside Harris. Janiyah Vincent, blonde hair gleaming even in the low light, stepped out.

She threw herself into Harris's arms, and they kissed, a long, hungry kiss under the flickering fluorescent lights.

"Do you really have to take her tonight?" Janiyah's voice was a petulant whine, carrying across the empty space.

"Baby, it's just for show," Harris murmured, his hands tangled in her hair. "You know you're the one I love."

A wave of nausea washed over Kasie. It was a physical, gut-wrenching revulsion. She forced herself to breathe, to burn the image into her memory. She raised her phone, shielded by the Bentley, and silently recorded a video.

Harris ended the kiss. "Be good," he told Janiyah. "You go on ahead. I'll be there soon."

Janiyah pouted, got back in her car, and sped away. Harris straightened his tie, smoothed his hair, and walked back toward Kasie, the mask of the devoted husband sliding perfectly back into place.

As he approached, Kasie lowered her phone.

"Work call finished?" she asked, her voice impossibly level.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Just a minor issue at the firm."

She looked at him, at the lie sitting so comfortably on his handsome face.

"Harris," she said, the words feeling strange and foreign on her tongue. "I want a divorce."

His smile froze, then curdled into a frown. "What are you talking about? Because I took a phone call?"

He stepped closer, his voice dropping into the familiar, condescending tone of a man explaining reason to a hysterical child. "You're being overly sensitive again, Kasie. You've been imagining things lately."

Gaslighting. His favorite tool.

She didn't argue. She didn't raise her voice. She simply repeated, "I don't want this life anymore. I want a divorce."

His patience snapped. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging into her skin. "I'm not divorcing you," he snarled, his face inches from hers. "I told you. Never."

He pulled her toward the car, his grip like a manacle. The pain was sharp, but Kasie didn't flinch.

The drive to the gala was silent and cold.

When they returned home hours later, the pretense shattered, Kasie walked directly into their massive walk-in closet. She began pulling things from the shelves. The Cartier bracelet. The Birkin bags. The diamond earrings he'd given her for their last anniversary.

She laid each item out on the bed, a glittering graveyard of his guilt.

One by one, she photographed them. Then she opened a secure messaging app and sent the photos to a discreet contact, a high-end consignment dealer she'd found months ago.

Her message was simple.

All of it. Rush sale. I don't care about the price. I just want the cash.

The Oakhaven Club gala had been scheduled for weeks. Kasie had stared at the invitation for a long time before adding it to the calendar. Another command performance. Another evening of playing the beautiful accessory.

She chose the navy-blue gown Margo had once called "appropriate" and the diamond earrings Harris had given her after his first suspicious late night. She put them on like armor. Every piece of jewelry was a receipt for a lie.

By the time Harris came home to change, she was waiting by the door, serene and polished. He had no idea she'd spent the previous night photographing her jewelry for a consignment dealer. He had no idea his mother had signed away ten billion dollars to keep his secrets buried. He kissed her cheek, told her she looked beautiful, and she smiled and said thank you. The lie tasted like champagne before she'd taken a sip.

The Oakhaven Club hummed with hushed wealth and crystal glasses. Kasie kept her hand on Harris's arm, her expression a flawless mask of wifely devotion. She was an accessory tonight, and she played her part with four years of practice.

Harris's friends drifted over-slick, back-slapping men in bespoke suits. Their greetings were polite but dismissive, eyes glinting with private amusement. She could feel their judgment. They saw her as Harris had trained them to see her: the pretty, unremarkable girl who had married up. They didn't know she was worth ten billion dollars more than every man in this room.

"You wait here, honey," Harris said, parking her at a secluded table. "I need to talk to important partners."

She watched him melt into the crowd. The charming, powerful heir. She sipped her champagne, a silent statue in the corner.

After a while, she passed a semi-private alcove on her way to the restroom. Familiar laughter. Her own name.

"Harris, your wife is looking pretty tame tonight. You finally got her trained?"

Another voice chimed in. "She's just a decorative piece. What is she without the Byrd name? She couldn't afford rent without you."

Kasie froze. She waited for Harris to defend her.

Instead, he laughed. A smug, self-satisfied sound. "Women. They throw their little tantrums. She'll get over it. She's not going anywhere. She can't."

The blood rushed to Kasie's head. This was the moment. Leighton's voice echoed in her mind: You need a public scene. Something undeniable. With witnesses. Angry men make mistakes. Angry men leave evidence.

She lifted a Cosmopolitan from a passing waiter's tray. The liquid was a shocking, vibrant red.

She walked into the alcove. The laughter died.

Kasie smiled sweetly and raised her glass to Todd. "You're right. Without the Byrd family, I am nothing."

Then she turned to her husband, eyes cold. "So this is a toast. To my husband's generosity."

She flicked her wrist.

The cocktail arced through the air and splashed across Harris's white tuxedo. Red liquid dripped down his chin, staining his shirt like blood.

Dead silence. Drip, drip, drip.

Harris's shock morphed into pure rage. He shot to his feet, grabbed her arm with brutal force. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? You and your friends did this."

He dragged her through the main room. Heads turned. Whispers erupted. The perfect couple was imploding for all of New York society to witness.

He threw her into the car and slammed the door.

Kasie leaned against the cool glass, watching the city lights blur. Her arm throbbed where he'd gripped her. Bruises were already forming.

A cold satisfaction settled in her chest. Every witness was evidence. Every bruise was ammunition. He had shown his true face in public-exactly as she'd planned.

The plan was working perfectly.