More Than Worthless

I married into the Sterling family, only to find myself alone on my wedding night, my husband, Mark Sterling, nowhere to be found. When he finally returned, he looked at me with disdain, sneering that I was "all ambition and no class," and admitted he was forced to marry me. My empire, built from nothing, suddenly felt worthless in his eyes.

Days later, I overheard his cruel laughter and words: "Ava? She' s utterly bland. Tasteless, really." My company, the "goldmine" he coveted, was just a means to an end. The last illusion shattered, and I signed the divorce papers I had discreetly prepared, leaving them on his desk as I fled the city.

Five years passed. I returned, a successful CEO of a global tech empire, and found him at a high-profile auction. Mark, arrogant as ever, tried to humiliate me by outbidding me on a car, convinced I was still the penniless woman he had discarded. He dragged me into the dirt, mocked me, and had me beaten for merely existing. The crowd, a chorus of old money and false smiles, reveled in my public humiliation, showering me with insults and even physical abuse.

Why did they believe all his lies? Why was my success met with such venom? Why did they choose to dehumanize a woman they knew nothing about, based solely on his word? I had built an empire, yet in his eyes and the eyes of this city, I was still just "worthless trash" without him.

But they didn't know the truth. They didn't know the power I now wielded, nor the influential man who stood silently by my side. As I lay there, bleeding and bruised, I knew this was just the beginning of my reckoning.

After I married into the Sterling family, the changes in the city were immediate and obvious. One by one, the major tech startups began to display the Sterling name, their logos shining from new glass buildings, their successes suddenly tied to a family known for old money, not new ideas. These were my companies, the fruits of my labor, now absorbed into his world.

But on our wedding night, that world felt very far away. My husband, Mark Sterling, was not with me. He was in his cousin' s penthouse across town. When I called him, his voice was cool and distant.

"I have to work," he said, the excuse so thin it was transparent.

The next morning, when he finally came home, I stood waiting for him in the grand foyer of the mansion that was supposed to be our home. I asked him why.

He looked me up and down, his handsome face twisting into a sneer. "A self-made woman like you, all ambition and no class. Don't taint my world. I wouldn't have married you if my parents hadn't forced me."

His words struck me, but I didn't let the hurt show. I had built an empire from nothing, and I was not a woman who crumbled easily.

Later that week, I overheard him talking to a friend on the phone, his voice carrying through the library door he' d left ajar. He was laughing, a rich, careless sound. "They say Ava' s tech company is a goldmine. Marrying her means I' m set for life."

The friend on the other end must have said something, because Mark chuckled again. "The company' s decent, but Ava? She' s utterly bland. Tasteless, really."

That was it. The last illusion shattered. I went to my room, took out a single sheet of paper, and signed my name to the divorce filing I' d had my lawyer prepare just in case. I left it on the polished mahogany of his desk, a silent testament to his greed and my freedom.

That night, I fled the city. They didn't know the truth. My company wasn' t just a goldmine. It was a tech empire, with roots stretching far beyond this city, into the capital and across the globe.

Five years passed.

I saw Mark Sterling again at a high-profile charity auction. The room was filled with the city' s elite, dripping with jewels and false smiles. I was there for a vintage sports car, a beautiful machine I' d admired since I was a girl.

As the auctioneer presented it, I raised my hand to bid. But before a number could leave my lips, a familiar voice cut through the room from behind me.

"Double the opening bid."

The room fell silent. It was Mark. He stood with his arm wrapped possessively around his cousin, Sarah Sterling, a woman whose smile was as sharp as her nails. They were laughing, their amusement echoing in the sudden quiet.

I frowned. A flicker of old stubbornness ignited inside me. I was not going to concede this to them.

"Triple the original price!" I called out, my voice clear and steady.

Mark turned, his laughter caught in his throat. His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with disdain when he saw it was me.

A woman in a nearby seat whispered loudly to her companion, "Isn't that the woman Mark Sterling dumped? How dare she show her face in this city again, let alone try to outbid his darling Sarah for a car?"

Mark hesitated, his gaze flicking between me and the car. Sarah tugged at his arm, her voice a childish whine.

"Marky, I have to have this car! If anyone else gets it, I' ll never speak to you again!"

He looked down at her with doting eyes, a soft laugh escaping his throat. It was a look he had never once given me.

"Don' t worry," he murmured, loud enough for those around them to hear. "She can' t outbid me."

He was so certain. When I left the city, they had made sure I took nothing but the clothes on my back. They assumed a single woman, abandoned and stripped of her assets, couldn't possibly survive, let alone thrive. Mark was convinced I was broke. He leaned back lazily in his chair, a picture of arrogance, and casually raised the bid.

"Quadruple the original price!"

I looked at his face, so familiar yet so alien. Five years, and he hadn't changed at all. If anything, the unearned wealth had made him even more arrogant, more certain of his own superiority. I had once believed he married me because he saw something in me, something he cared for. Now I saw with painful clarity that he had never wanted me, only what I could give him.

I clutched the antique locket that hung from a chain at my waist. I was silent for a long moment, the whispers of the crowd buzzing around me.

Mark' s smile didn' t reach his eyes as he stared at me, enjoying my hesitation. "Ava, are you done with this charade? Is this all because you regret leaving me and want my attention?"

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, insulting murmur. "If you regret it, just get on your knees and beg Sarah for forgiveness. Maybe she' ll let you be her maid. But don' t expect me to touch you. A common, money-grubbing woman like you isn' t even fit to clean my shoes."

Sarah, nestled smugly in his arms, smirked at me. Her eyes said it all: You can' t have the man or the car. She scanned me from head to toe, her smile widening.

"Don' t act so high and mighty. Look at you, so shabby. You probably don' t have a dime to your name, do you?"

She wasn't entirely wrong. I had rushed out that morning and hadn't brought any cash. But my locket, the one I now held tightly in my hand, was linked to my offshore accounts.

Someone nearby, a man I vaguely recognized from my past life in this city, whispered, "Ms. Reed, you grew up in this city. Why don' t you just humble yourself and ask Mr. Sterling for forgiveness?"

Forgiveness? What had I ever done that required his forgiveness?

When I finally spoke, there was no hesitation left in my voice, only ice.

"I bid ten times the original price."

"Ava Reed!"

Mark' s voice was sharp, laced with genuine anger now. He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the polished floor.

"There' s a limit to how childish you can be! If you keep this up and can't pay, I won' t help you!"

Sarah let out a high-pitched, mocking laugh. "Ten times the original price? Ms. Reed, how long would it take to earn that much working as... a call girl?"

I looked at Mark, my expression calm. I wasn't being childish. I just didn' t want to waste any more words on them. I knew he wouldn' t dare to bid higher. I knew it with absolute certainty.

Over the last five years, the tech startup I had originally founded had faded from public memory in this city, replaced by a revolving door of new, flashy ventures bearing the Sterling name. But my old company, the one he thought was his golden goose, hadn't launched a single new product in all that time. The Sterling family, living off the fumes of old money, was all flash and no substance. Between Mark' s lavish spending and his endless gifts for Sarah, the entire Sterling fortune couldn't scrape together the amount I had just named.

The auctioneer, a nervous man who clearly feared I would back out, ignored Mark' s darkening face. He slammed the gavel down with a sharp crack that echoed through the silent room.

"Sold! To the lady in the back!"

He quickly had an assistant package the car' s title and brought it over to me with a strained, hopeful smile.

I didn't take it. I looked at the auctioneer and said plainly, "I left in a hurry today and didn' t bring cash. You can take my..."

But before I could finish my sentence, before I could mention the locket, the auctioneer' s face transformed. The fawning smile vanished, replaced by a mask of fury. Without a word, he gestured sharply. Two burly bouncers appeared at my side, grabbing my arms in a painful grip.

Then the auctioneer stepped forward and slapped me. Hard. Twice. The sting was sharp, and my head snapped to the side.

"I knew something was off about you the moment you walked in, you disgraced woman!" he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "How dare you cause a scene in my establishment? You think you' re worthy?"

He spat heavily on the floor near my feet, then turned away from me, his demeanor shifting back to fawning and obsequious as he approached Mark and Sarah. He held out the car' s title to Sarah, whispering in Mark' s ear.

"Sir, I got the title back, and I' ve taught her a lesson. Shall we stick to the original price?"

The crowd, which had been watching with bated breath, erupted. They were thrilled to see me humiliated, to have their initial judgments confirmed.

"She has no money, why is she pretending? Does she think she' s still the big shot from back then?"

"Exactly, she doesn' t know her place. Who runs this city now?"

"This faker! No wonder Mark Sterling refused to consummate their marriage."

Mark waved his hand dismissively at the auctioneer, then walked up to me. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. His touch was rough, proprietary.

"See, Ava? Without me, you' re nothing." His eyes searched my face, a cruel amusement in their depths. "You came back to this city because you regret it and want to reconcile, right?"

He leaned closer, his breath warm on my cheek. "Considering you' ve remained untouched all these years, I' ll take you as my concubine. Now, go kowtow to your future mistress!"

Sarah purred, playfully hitting his chest with her fist. "Oh, you! We' re not even married yet, and you' re already calling me mistress. How embarrassing~"

Those around them, eager to curry favor with Mark, chimed in.

"Mr. Sterling is so generous! Hurry up and thank him!"

"But Mr. Sterling should check her first. Who knows how many men she' s been with all these years? If she' s been used up, you shouldn' t marry her!"

My cheeks were swollen and burning from the slaps. The public humiliation was a fire raging inside me. I had been gone from this city for so many years, and in all that time, no one had dared to speak to me this way.

I suppressed my rage, forcing my voice to be cold and level. "Such a big auction house, and such narrow-mindedness?"

I looked past Mark to the auctioneer. "I may not have cash, but I have a locket that can withdraw money. Whether I' m faking it or not, just ask the bank next door with this locket."

A staff member, a young man who looked uncertain, took the locket I held out and left, half-believing, half-skeptical.

Meeting Mark' s gaze, I added, my voice cutting through the noise, "Also, after all these years away, I' ve found someone else. You don' t need to worry about my marriage, Mr. Sterling."