Dumped My Fake-Poor Ex, Married My Wealthy Boss

The Manhattan rain lashed against Kaia's cheap polyester suit.

Kaia pushed through the brass revolving doors of the Apex Club, her wet shoes squeaking against the marble floor.

She slapped the cold water off her sleeves, her fingers numb.

The receptionist behind the mahogany desk maintained a practiced, polite smile. Her gaze, however, performed a calculating sweep of Kaia's soaked, off-the-rack outfit, instantly categorizing her net worth.

"I apologize, madam, but our guest registry does not appear to list your name for this evening," the receptionist said. Her tone was professional, yet laced with an icy distance that made it clear Kaia was entirely unwelcome.

Kaia's lungs tightened. She forced air through her teeth and pulled the Vantage Group access pass from her pocket.

"I have urgent legal documents for a client in the VIP section," Kaia said. Her voice shook slightly from the cold.

The receptionist inspected the pass, her manicured fingernails tapping the desk. She let out a heavy sigh and pointed toward the velvet-lined staircase.

"Third floor. Do not linger."

Kaia clutched the thick manila envelope against her chest.

She walked up the stairs, her cheap heels sinking into the thick wool carpet. The amber lighting of the corridor made her skin crawl.

She did not belong here. The air smelled of expensive cigars and old money.

A waiter carrying a tray of champagne rushed past her. The edge of the tray clipped her shoulder.

A few drops of champagne splashed onto her damp cuff.

Kaia stopped under a brass wall sconce at the corner of the hallway. She pulled a crumpled tissue from her pocket and scrubbed at the stain.

A burst of laughter echoed down the hall.

The sound sliced through the soft jazz playing from the hidden speakers.

Kaia's hand froze mid-rub. The tissue tore against her sleeve.

Her stomach dropped. The blood drained from her face, leaving her cheeks ice-cold.

That laugh. She had heard that exact laugh every morning for the past six years.

It belonged to Kasen. Her boyfriend. The struggling artist who couldn't afford a subway swipe yesterday.

Kaia's breathing turned shallow. She moved toward the sound, her feet dragging against the heavy carpet.

She stopped outside VIP Box Four. The heavy oak door was cracked open.

Through the narrow gap, a Chesterfield sofa blocked half the room.

Lex Vance, a man Kaia recognized from tabloid magazines, sat on the edge of the sofa. He flipped a gold lighter open and shut.

"How much longer are you going to play house in that leaky Brooklyn dump, Kas?" Lex asked.

Kaia's ribcage contracted. She pressed her hand against the wall to keep her balance.

Kasen leaned back into the frame. He wore a cashmere sweater that cost more than Kaia's annual rent.

He swirled a glass of Macallan whiskey. The amber liquid caught the light.

He let out an arrogant scoff.

"It's a sociological experiment, Lex," Kasen said. His voice was smooth, completely devoid of the exhaustion he faked around her.

Kaia's heart stopped beating. The manila envelope in her hands crumpled as her knuckles turned white.

"A test for gold diggers?" another voice chimed in. "Your fiancée in the Hamptons is already bitching about you going off the grid."

Kasen took a slow sip of his three-thousand-dollar whiskey.

"My fiancée is for the trust fund," Kasen said, waving his hand dismissively. "Kaia is just a naive little pet. She pays the rent. She cooks. She thinks she's saving me."

The word pet hit Kaia like a physical blow to the throat.

Her fingers went entirely numb.

Her phone slipped from her grip.

It hit the thick carpet with a muted thud.

Kaia stared at the black screen on the floor. Her vision blurred. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper.

She did not make a sound.

Inside the room, Lex laughed loudly. "What if she finds out? Think she'll off herself?"

Kasen smirked. It was a cruel expression Kaia had never seen before.

"A poor girl like her? She can't survive without me. I give her a little affection, and she weeps with gratitude. She's not going anywhere."

The profound grief in Kaia's chest evaporated.

A wave of acidic nausea washed over her.

She straightened her spine. The trembling in her knees stopped.

A club manager in a suit stepped out of the shadows, his eyes narrowing at her.

"Are you lost, miss?" he asked, his voice low and threatening.

Kaia raised her hand and aggressively wiped the moisture from her eyes.

"No," she said. Her voice was dead.

She didn't look at the oak door again.She picked up the phone, turned her back on the room and walked toward the elevator. Her strides were long and steady.

She pushed through the revolving doors. The rain slapped her face, washing away the last trace of her stupidity.

She shoved the client's envelope into the secure drop-box by the entrance. Job done.

Kaia stepped off the curb and raised her hand. A cab screeched to a halt in the puddles.

She climbed into the back seat.

"Brooklyn," she told the driver. Her voice held zero emotion.

The yellow cab idled outside the red-brick apartment building in Brooklyn.

Kaia handed the driver a crumpled twenty-dollar bill and stepped out into the pouring rain.

She walked up the wooden stairs. Every step groaned under her weight, a familiar sound that now made her skin crawl.

She pulled her keys from her pocket and unlocked the chipped front door.

The dim overhead light flickered on. It illuminated the cheap, second-hand sofa and the wobbly coffee table she had bought to save money for Kasen's "art supplies."

Kaia stared at the framed photo on the wall. It was the two of them at Coney Island, smiling like idiots.

Bile rose in her throat.

She walked straight into the bedroom and dragged a battered black suitcase from under the bed.

She threw the suitcase open on the mattress.

She didn't touch the TV. She didn't touch the microwave.

She only grabbed her cheap work suits and a few basic t-shirts.

She walked into the bathroom, grabbed the cheap sterling silver necklace Kasen had given her for their anniversary, and dropped it straight into the trash can.

As she zipped the suitcase shut, the phone on the bed lit up.

The screen flashed with Kasen's name, accompanied by a heart emoji.

Kaia stared at the screen. Her eyes were as cold as dead ash.

She took a slow, deep breath, expanding her tight lungs. She swiped the screen and tapped the speakerphone button.

"Hey, baby," Kasen's voice drifted out of the speaker. It was thick with fake exhaustion and gentle concern. "Are you still working? You must be so tired."

Kaia dug her fingernails into her palms.

"Where are you?" she asked. She forced her voice to sound small.

"I'm in a basement gallery in Soho," Kasen lied effortlessly. "Helping a buddy set up an exhibit. It's freezing down here."

Through the speaker, Kaia clearly heard the clinking of ice against crystal glass. She heard Lex's muffled, arrogant laughter in the background.

The last microscopic shred of hope in Kaia's chest died.

She stood up straight. She looked at the peeling paint on the ceiling.

"Kasen," she said, her voice flat and devoid of any warmth. "Let's break up."

There was no dramatic pause on the other end, only an audible, patronizing sigh. The background noise didn't even stop.

"Are you throwing a tantrum over the rent again?" Kasen's voice was laced with weary annoyance. "Come on, Kaia, don't be a child. Call me when you've cooled off."

Kaia didn't yell. She didn't cry. She hit the red button.

She immediately blocked his number.

She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and pulled it off the bed. She looked around the tiny, pathetic cage she had built for a man who despised her.

She walked to the entryway. She unclipped the brass key from her keychain.

She slammed the key down onto the wooden shoe cabinet. The metal clattered loudly in the empty apartment.

Kaia opened the door and walked out. She didn't look back.

She stepped out into the freezing Brooklyn night. The rain instantly soaked her hair, pasting it to her cheeks.

She dragged her suitcase down the cracked sidewalk toward the subway station.

The cold wind sliced through her thin coat. She shivered violently, her mind racing.

She had exactly forty-two dollars in her checking account.

She had no home. She had no safety net.

The only thing keeping her from sleeping on the streets was her job at Vantage Group.

The roar of the approaching subway train drowned out her heavy exhale. She stepped into the brightly lit, empty car.

The next morning, Kaia stepped out of the Wall Street subway station.

Dark circles bruised the skin under her eyes. She blended into the sea of rushing, gray-suited professionals.

She walked into the towering glass headquarters of Vantage Group and swiped her badge at the silver security turnstiles.

The moment she sat at her cubicle, a massive, heavy client file slammed onto her desk.

Her coworker, Leo Foster, leaned in close.

"Good luck tonight," Leo whispered, his eyes darting around nervously. "Eric Donovan is the client. The guy is a known predator. "

Kaia opened the file. Eric Donovan's greasy, smiling corporate headshot stared back at her.

Her stomach twisted into a tight knot.

She stood up and marched to her director's office. She begged to be swapped off the account.

The director didn't even look up from his monitor. "Close the deal, Kaia, or kiss your year-end bonus goodbye. We don't pay you to be comfortable."

Kaia walked back to her desk. She opened her banking app.

The red numbers glared at her. She needed that bonus to survive.

She pulled open her bottom drawer and took out an old, cracked backup phone she kept for emergencies. The screen suddenly lit up, and the device buzzed violently against the wood.

An unknown number flashed on the screen.

I'm giving you three days to cool off. Then you're coming home. - K

Kaia stared at the arrogant text. Her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached.

She blocked the number and shoved the phone into her drawer.

She spent the next six hours memorizing every financial loophole in Eric Donovan's company.

At five o'clock, Kaia went to the employee restroom.

She changed into a severe, high-necked black blouse and a thick pencil skirt. She buttoned it all the way to her collarbone.

She stared at her pale, exhausted face in the mirror. She splashed freezing water on her cheeks until they stung.

She applied a sharp, aggressive slash of red lipstick. She locked her emotions behind a blank mask.

Kaia took the elevator down and walked two blocks to the upscale French restaurant.

The hostess led her up a velvet-lined staircase and pushed open the heavy mahogany door of a private dining room.

Eric Donovan sat at the head of the table. He was smoking a thick cigar.

His eyes immediately dropped to her chest, then slowly dragged down to her legs. The look made Kaia's skin crawl with physical revulsion.

She forced a tight, professional smile and extended her hand. "Mr. Donovan. I'm Kaia Gibbs from Vantage Group."

Eric grabbed her hand. His thumb intentionally stroked the bare skin of her knuckles.

Kaia yanked her hand back instantly.

She pulled out the chair furthest away from him and sat down.

She opened her tablet. "If we look at the Q3 margins-"

"Relax, Kaia," Eric interrupted. He snapped his fingers at the waiter. "Pour the Bordeaux."

Eric leaned forward, resting his heavy arms on the table. "If you make me happy tonight, I'll sign the Vantage contract tomorrow morning."

Kaia kept her smile frozen in place. "The contract terms are highly favorable to your bottom line, Mr. Donovan. Let's focus on the numbers."

Eric's fake smile vanished. A dark, predatory glint appeared in his eyes.

He intentionally knocked a stack of printed spreadsheets off the table. The papers scattered across the carpet.

"Pick those up for me," Eric commanded. His voice was thick with implication.

Kaia did not move. She sat perfectly still in her chair, staring at him with dead eyes.

The temperature in the private room plummeted. The silence was suffocating.

Eric's face turned red. He opened his mouth to shout.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway.

The heavy mahogany door was violently shoved open from the outside.

A blast of cold air swept into the suffocating room.