I Ranked In The Top Three On The Country's Rich List

One hour after I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, my husband, Ethan Wood, a superstar, publicly cheated with his agent, Lilian Forster.

Some media outlets bombarded me with calls and asked if I would pay a hefty sum to buy out the scandalous footage.

Watching their intimate figures in the video, I coldly replied, "I won't."

I decided to do what I had wanted to do in the remaining days. I divorced, invested, and rebuilt my gallery.

I wanted to be my own empress.

No one expected that the cheap paintings I casually snapped up would become wildly popular among collectors and that the stocks I bought on a whim would surge overnight.

In just a few weeks, my wealth snowballed. I nearly landed among the top three on the rich list in Preayork.

As Ethan and Lilian mocked that I had no time to enjoy my wealth, the doctor revealed to me that the supposed brain tumor was, in fact, a misdiagnosis...

...

"Mrs. Wood, I'm sorry, but your brain scan results show a malignant tumor. Based on its spread and location, you have about six months left."

I sat in the private suite of a Preayork Hospital, and my fingers traced the metal clasp of my crocodile leather handbag instinctively.

The handbag was a gift from Ethan on my birthday last year. But it pressed painfully into my palm at that moment.

I was Cecelia Wood, and my husband was a superstar, Ethan Wood.

In the past five years, I'd lived under the envious gaze of everyone.

We lived in a penthouse overlooking the Anderson River, which flowed across Preayork. I had various haute couture dresses in my wardrobe and always attended events with well-known figures. My husband was the dream of countless women.

But only I knew that my seemingly perfect life was already like a tapestry eaten by moths, filled with filth.

"Doctor, how much longer can non-invasive treatment options extend my life?" I forced myself to stay calm, but my voice trembled uncontrollably.

I hadn't seen the Northern Lights.

I hadn't reopened the small gallery my mother left behind. How could I die just like that?

"At most three months." The doctor's words cut through my nerves like a dull knife.

I clutched the diagnosis and left the doctor's office.

The hallway was filled with the cold, acrid smell of disinfectant.

Just as I reached the hospital gate, my phone suddenly vibrated. It displayed an unfamiliar number from the Preayork Post.

I frowned and answered the call.

Why would a gossip outlet, usually fixated on Ethan's schedule, suddenly call me?

"Is that Mrs. Cecelia Wood? I'm Domenic Spencer from the Preayork Post."

The voice on the other end sounded hurried and excited.

"We just received firsthand breaking news from Miss Lilian Foster, Ethan Wood's agent. She provided a lot of evidence that she had been having an affair with Ethan for a long time. I also have videos of Ethan and Lilian, who were intimate at the Beverly Hills villa, along with bank transfer records from Ethan to Lilian. Can you comment on this?"

"What?" I thought I had misheard. My steps halted abruptly, and the diagnosis slipped from my grasp unexpectedly.

Lilian Foster?

Did the woman, who was always in a sharp suit and called me "Mrs. Wood" and promised to take good care of Ethan's work, have an affair with Ethan?

She had offered the evidence of her affair with Ethan to the media?

"Mrs. Wood, are you still there? Lilian said she could no longer endure being a secret lover and wanted a proper identity. So she decided to reveal everything." Domenic continued, "The video has been sent to your email. Mrs. Wood, are you willing to pay fifty million dollars to buy it out?"

With trembling fingers, I clicked open my email.

The Preayork Post's forwarded email prominently displayed photos of Ethan and Lilian, with a glaring headline.

"Superstar Ethan Wood's affair with his agent was exposed. She claims he has promised to divorce and marry her."

I played the video. Ethan held Lilian in his arms, and he smiled so tenderly. I had never seen him so tender before.

The attached bank statements chilled me to the core. Over the past year, Ethan had transferred eighty-two million dollars to Lilian. But he had told me last month that his recent investments had been poor and that we needed to cut back on expenses at home.

I remembered Ethan coming home late last week. He smelled of a distinctive fragrance I had never used. He told me that he got it from the props from the shooting place.

I remembered the slight disdain in Lilian's eyes when she saw me wearing a pearl necklace. She was visiting our home to deliver documents back then.

The necklace was my mother's heirloom. Lilian likely thought that I was a mere homemaker and was unworthy of Ethan.

The wind swept up the diagnosis from the ground, and its edges curled as it fluttered.

I bent down to pick it up. When my fingers brushed against the words "malignant tumor," I suddenly laughed.

How absurd it was! It was an hour after I was diagnosed with a brain tumor that Ethan publicly cheated with Lilian.

"I won't," I said to Domenic through gritted teeth.

He was stunned on the other end of the line. Then he said, "If that's your stance, I'll have to upload the video to Instagram for public discussion..."

"Go ahead. Ethan and I have nothing to do with each other."

Not a second after hanging up, my phone rang again.

This time, it was Ethan calling.

I took a deep breath and answered it. I sounded calm enough to surprise even myself. "Ethan, let's talk."

On the other end, Ethan was clearly flustered. He said anxiously, "Cecelia, listen to me. It's not what you think. Lilian has gone mad. She's deliberately framing me..."

"Framing you?" I interrupted him and looked at the flickering billboards on a distant skyscraper. "In the Beverly Hills villa, you were so intimate. You have transferred her eighty-two million dollars. And you held her in your arms so tenderly in the video. Did she frame you with that? Ethan, how long will you keep lying to me?"

He was silent, and I only heard the static of the line.

I knew he had nothing to say.

"I'll meet you at the downtown law firm in an hour."

When the car was parked under the building where the law firm was, I smoothed my hair in front of the rearview mirror.

I stared at myself in the mirror, who looked pale and exhausted.

Was that still me?

I had been a legend in the investing circle, the investment empress. Countless politicians and entrepreneurs had sought me, but I was now tormented by illness and a failed marriage.

"Should I give up, Cecelia? No, I won't," I said to myself.

I took a powder puff and lipstick from my handbag and carefully refreshed my makeup in front of the mirror.

Even if I were to die in six months, I would live with grace and dignity.

As I pushed open the glass door of the law firm, the receptionist immediately recognized me. Her gaze was filled with sympathy and curiosity, but she still politely led me to the private meeting room.

I hadn't been seated for long before Ethan rushed in. His hair was disheveled, and his suit was stained with coffee. He was a stark contrast to the meticulous superstar he usually was.

"Cecelia, listen to me. Lilian has really gone mad." He grabbed my wrist forcefully, and I felt pain. "She's been secretly infatuated with me. She's gone crazy and fabricated evidence to frame me. She must have been out of her mind. Those transfers were bonuses the company gave her. The video was doctored. Please don't believe it."

I forcefully shook off his hand and rubbed the red marks left on my wrist. "Ethan, do you really think I would still trust you?"

I took out my phone and clicked open Instagram. Then I showed him the official account of the Preayork Post.

"How are these doctored? The tattoo in the video, the mole on your left shoulder, and your tone when you speak-how are these doctored? The purchase contract for the Beverly Hills villa has your signature. Do I need to get a handwriting analysis?"

Ethan's face turned ashen. He stepped back to lean against the wall. He dared not meet my gaze. "I... I was just caught in a lapse of judgment. Lilian tempted me and told me that she'd help me get an Oscar nomination. So I..."

"Were you in a lapse of judgment?" I sneered. I felt a sharp pain in my heart, not from sadness, but from disgust. "You explain away a year-long affair with her with that? You used my resources, my money, to buy her a villa and jewelry? Ethan, you disgust me."

At that moment, the door opened, and my lawyer, Ryan Oliver, walked in.

He was a top divorce attorney in Preayork. He had won divorce cases for several rich women and secured their assets that belonged to them.

Ryan put a document on the table and slid it in front of Ethan. "Mr. Wood, this is the divorce agreement. Under the state law, Ms. Cecelia Wade is entitled to half of the wealth during your marriage, including houses, stocks, and the shares of your workshop. Additionally, we have collected evidence of your infidelity during the marriage. If you don't sign the divorce agreement, we will file a lawsuit. In that case, you will have to pay Cecelia a lot for emotional trauma."

Ethan picked up the divorce agreement. His hand trembled uncontrollably. When he flipped to the asset division page, he suddenly looked up in disbelief. "Half of my wealth? Cecelia, are you crazy? I worked hard to earn it. How do you deserve half of it?"

"Because I'm your wife." I leaned back in the chair and was surprisingly calm as I watched Ethan become hysterical. "During the past five years, I gave up my career in the investment industry and managed everything at home for you. I handled your PR crises. When it was exposed that you injured someone while drunk driving, I sold my mother's heirlooms to cover it up. Ethan, don't you think what I've done over the years is worth half the wealth?"

Ethan wanted to say something, but he ultimately just lowered his head.

He knew what I said was the truth and that he had no grounds to refute me.

"I'll give you three days to think it over." Ryan said firmly while putting away the divorce agreement. "If you don't sign in three days, we'll proceed with the lawsuit. In that case, the evidence that you cheated will be publicized, and your career and your reputation will be seriously damaged."

Ethan remained silent for a long while. Then he looked up with pleading in his eyes. "Cecelia, can we talk again? I know I was wrong. I'll sever ties with Lilian and make it up to you. Can we not divorce?"

I gazed at him and suddenly remembered the happy time when we got married.

He hadn't yet become famous back then. So he took the subway to auditions every day. But he saved up to buy me my favorite cake. His eyes shone, and his heart was filled with affection for me at that time.

But now, his eyes were only filled with fame and desire. He was no longer the one I had loved.

"Ethan, it's too late." I stood up, smoothing my dress. "Our relationship ended the moment you betrayed me."

I walked out of the law firm. It started to drizzle.

I didn't use an umbrella. The rain wet my face, and the cool touch cleared my mind significantly.

"Miss Cecelia Wade." Lilian's insincere voice was heard, and I turned to look at her.

She deliberately put on a pitiful expression and said hypocritically, "I know you're very angry now, but I had no choice. I love Ethan too much. I just want to be with him. Cecelia, if you could let Ethan go, I would be grateful."

"Will you be grateful to me?" I couldn't help but laugh. I instinctively carried disdain in my tone as I said, "Lilian, do you really think Ethan is going to marry you? He just sees you as a stepping stone. Once you are useless to him, you'll end up worse than I did."

Lilian's aggrieved expression froze instantly. Panic flashed in her eyes, only to be quickly masked by a stubborn defiance. "Not that. Ethan says he loves me, and he will marry me."

I didn't bother arguing further with her.

He was just like me in the past, believing whatever Ethan said. But she never knew that he just lied.

I didn't spare another glance at Lilian and walked towards the car parked by the roadside in my heels.

The rain mingled with tears, cold and unrelenting, sliding down my cheeks.

The driver opened the car door for me. I sat in the back seat and gave an address I hadn't mentioned in ages. "No. 42, West Street, please."

The car left the bustling city center and gradually drove into the old district.

The buildings lining the streets bore the faded charm of the last century. The leaves glistened in the rain.

As I stopped at the familiar street corner, I gazed at the dusty glass door. My heart clenched tightly.

The faded copper letters spelling "Cecelia Gallery" were only a blurred outline now.

It was the only thing my mother, Ellen Wade, left me.

She had been a moderately famous painter. This gallery embodied her life's work and dreams.

When I married Ethan five years ago, I closed the gallery, as I wanted to be the perfect wife. So I tucked the keys deep in a drawer and believed that there would be love and warmth in my future.

Looking back now, I realized that the neglected time was the true treasure.

I pushed open the door. The wind chime gave a hoarse sound. It sounded like the gallery sighed after years of silence.

The air was thick with the scent of dust. Sunlight streamed through the grimy windows and cast mottled shadows on the floor.

The easels on the walls were covered in thick dust. There were Ellen's unfinished paintings in the corner. Their edges had become yellowed and curled.

I crouched down, and my fingertips brushed against one of Ellen's paintings. "Twilight on Sagwaki Rill." The texture of the paint remained vivid, though the canvas was shrouded in dust.

My memories suddenly surged.

On Ellen's deathbed, she had held my hand and said expectantly, "Cecelia, don't neglect these paintings. Don't waste your talent."

At the time, I was immersed in the illusion of love Ethen made. So I just casually responded, "I won't." But I had never taken it to heart.

When I stood in the decaying gallery, I was overwhelmed by guilt.

I had let down Ellen and had lost myself, who had been very influential in the financial industry.

"So I have to change." I whispered to myself, and my voice echoed clearly in the empty gallery.

Ethan's betrayal was like a knife, cruelly slicing through my false happiness. It also revealed what I truly wanted.

Even if I had only six months, I couldn't let Ellen's life's work and my dreams rot in the dust.

I took out my phone and found a number I hadn't contacted in years.

It was Moran Reed, the leader of the team, who had once renovated my apartment.

When the call connected, Moran on the other end sounded surprised. "Mrs. Wood? What can I do for you?"

"Just call me Cecelia." I walked to the window and pushed open the dust-covered panes to let fresh air flood in. "I need your help to renovate a gallery. The address is No. 42 West Street. Can you come here tomorrow morning and take a look?"

Moran didn't hesitate. "No problem."

After hanging up, I took a deep breath. The air seemed to carry the scent of lavender, which was Ellen's favorite.

Next, I dialed Ashlyn Carter's number.

She was my closest friend in the investment industry and the director of a top art auction house.

"Cecelia? You finally remembered me." Ashlyn's voice was as cheerful as ever. "Have you spotted a masterpiece? Do you want me to snag it for you?"

"I need your help, Ashlyn." I leaned against the dusty wall, and my fingers traced its rough surface. "I want to restore Ellen's gallery to its former glory."

There was a brief silence on the other end. Then I heard Ashlyn's excited voice. "Really? Cecelia, you finally thought it through? I knew you wouldn't be content being just a pretty face. But... what made you change your mind? Didn't Ethan have any objections?"

When I heard Ethan's name, I didn't feel pain as sharply as I had when I first learned the news that he betrayed me. I was only indifferent.

I briefly told what had happened to Ashlyn, including Lilian's revelations to Preayork Post, Ethan's infidelity, and the divorce.

"What? That jerk! And Lilian, what a traitor!" Ashlyn cursed furiously over the phone. "Cecelia, you did the right thing. Ethan isn't worth a second of your time. You will definitely succeed and silence those who looked down on you."

Her anger and support were like a warm current, dispelling the chill in my heart. "Thank you, Ashlyn."

"You don't have to say that to me." Ashlyn paused, and her tone suddenly became serious. "Cecelia, have you thought about continuing your career in the investment industry? Do you know how many entrepreneurs are waiting for the renowned investment empress to come back? Even the CEO of Fairydew Fund mentioned you last time."

Could I continue my career?

That idea had been buried deep within the triviality of my marriage.

I looked at the sky outside and found it was slowly clearing. I remembered the doctor said I only have six months left.

My life was short. Why didn't I seize the chance to be bold for the last time?

"Alright." My voice was tinged with a long-lost excitement. "After the gallery is back on track, let's talk about it."

After ending the conversation with Ashlyn, I felt energetic.

Just then, my phone rang again. It was Ethan's assistant, Richard Norris.

I frowned and answered it. I asked coldly, "What is it?"