The Jilted Wife's Spectacular Billionaire Comeback

"Thank you very much for coming. Please be careful on your way."

Estella smiled until her cheek muscles ached.

The heavy oak door to the top floor of the apartment clicked shut, finally shutting out the blaring jazz music and the suffocating smell of expensive cigars. She let out a long sigh, her shoulders relaxing completely. Ten years.

For all ten anniversary parties, she personally folded the last crease on the napkin.

She turned, her high heels clicking on the marble floor. Conrad stood by the bar, his back to her. He had begun to tug at his tie, loosening it with a stiff, impatient motion. There was no relaxation in his posture, no warmth from this successful evening. Only the cold impatience that clung to him like a second skin.

Jana floated out of the restaurant, holding two half-empty champagne glasses.

Her sister smiled, revealing a gleaming, sharp white tooth. "Another perfect party, sister. Conrad is so lucky to have you."

Estella nodded, but a chill ran through her. Yana's gaze wasn't on her. It was fixed on Conrad's back, lingering on the way his shirt clung to his shoulders. It was a possessive look. A look that shouldn't be on a sister's face.

"I'm exhausted," Conrad said without turning around. He poured himself a glass of Scotch whisky, the ice clinking against the glass. "I'm going to take a shower."

"I can help you tidy up," Yana offered, moving closer to Estella. Her perfume-Estella's signature scent, the one Conrad had given her for Christmas last year-was heavy in the air between them.

"No, go home," Estella said, her voice more steady than she felt. "You've done enough."

Yana grinned. It was just a slight twitch of her lips, but it was there. "If you insist. Goodnight, Conrad."

Conrad waved lazily, without turning around. Yana grabbed her coat, leaving Estella alone in the vast, silent living room. The silence was oppressive. She looked at the overflowing ashtray and the condensation on the antique mahogany table. She had given this man ten years of her life, and he hadn't even said a happy anniversary.

She needs to solve it. She's always trying to solve it.

Estella went into the kitchen, her sanctuary. She opened the Sub-Zero refrigerator and took out ginger and organic bone broth. Conrad always drank too much on these occasions, and if she didn't make him her special soup, he would always wake up with a splitting headache. It was a ritual. Her fingers moved automatically, peeling, slicing, and simmering. The aroma of ginger filled the air, a comforting warmth that usually made her feel useful.

She poured the clear, golden liquid into a porcelain bowl and carefully placed it on a silver plate. She climbed the stairs, her heart beating slightly faster. Perhaps tonight, after they finished their soup, they could really talk. Perhaps he would realize how much she cared.

The master bedroom door was slightly ajar. A ray of warm sunlight streamed into the hallway. Estella, carrying a tray in one hand, opened the door with a gentle smile.

"Conrad, I made your favorite-"

The words stuck in her throat.

The tray tilted. The bowl slipped. Hot soup spilled over the rim, scalding her wrist, but she didn't feel it. She couldn't feel anything below her neck.

Conrad wasn't alone. He wasn't taking a shower. He stood by the dressing table, a white towel loosely wrapped around his waist. And pressed close to him, her back arched against his chest, was Yana.

She didn't leave; instead, she went away on her own back and then returned.

Her sister's skirt zipper was open, hanging over her shoulder. Conrad's lips were on Yana's neck, his hands gripping her waist with a possessiveness he had never shown to Estella.

"Tell me when you're going to tell her," Yana groaned, leaning her head back on his shoulder. Her eyes were open, fixed on the doorway, on Estella. There was no fear in her eyes. Only victory.

Conrad jerked his head up. The crash of the tray hitting the floor echoed like a gunshot. Porcelain shattered, and scalding soup and shards splashed onto the hardwood floor.

The noise broke the spell. Conrad stepped back from Yana, but he made no attempt to hide himself. He offered no apology. He simply looked at Estella, his gaze flat and empty, as if she were a stranger who had wandered into the room.

"What are you doing?" Estella's voice was hoarse and grating. It didn't sound like her. It sounded like a dying animal.

"I think you see clearly what I'm doing," Conrad said. His voice was calm. Too calm. He reached for a bathrobe, casually put it on, and said indifferently. "It saves me the trouble of explaining tomorrow."

Yana straightened her skirt, slowly and deliberately zipping it up. She didn't hide. She walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, crossing her legs. "Don't be so shocked, Estella. You knew this day would come."

Estella's hands trembled. She stared at Conrad, waiting for the outcome, waiting for him to say it was a joke. "Today is our anniversary."

"That's right," Conrad said, walking toward her. He stopped just inches away from her, looking down at her with a look of utter disgust that made her nauseous. "Ten years, Estella. Ten years of playing house with the wrong sisters."

These words struck her like a physical blow, sucking the air out of her lungs. "The wrong sister?"

"I only married you because Yana was going to Oxford," Conrad said, his tone detached and professional, as if discussing a business merger. "The Lowe family needs to forge a strong alliance with the Nieves family. You're just a substitute. I've always loved her. The stable one. You were supposed to hold this position for Yana until she was ready."

Estella's knees buckled. She grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling. She looked at Yana, who was idly examining her fingernails. "You know? You two... have always been like this?"

"Every minute, every second," Yana said, her smile widening. "Honestly, sister, you should be ashamed. Do you really think your little soups and party plans are enough to keep a man like him? You're so boring, Estella. You're just a glorified maid."

Conrad reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times, then turned it towards her. It was a document. A legal document. "I don't want to play games anymore. The divorce papers will be filed tomorrow. My lawyer will contact you in the morning."

Estella stared at the screen. The words blurred, then cleared. The marriage was dissolved. It was all over. Her entire life, her entire identity, had been erased with a single touch on the screen.

"Get out of my room," Conrad said, his voice turning cold. "You can sleep in the guest room tonight. I expect you to leave before the weekend."

He turned his back to her and walked to the bedside, sitting down next to Yana. Yana leaned against him, placing her hand on his thigh. They looked at Estella as if she were a stain they couldn't wait to wipe away.

Estella turned and walked out. She didn't remember how she got up the stairs to the guest room area. She didn't remember closing the door. She just stood in the dark, empty room, staring at the walls, the images of her husband and sister etched into her mind.

The room was freezing cold. Or perhaps it was just her feeling of cold. Estella stood in the middle of the room, hugging herself, shivering violently. The silence of the penthouse was deafening. At the end of the corridor, she could hear the faint hum of a television. They were watching TV. As if nothing had happened. As if she didn't exist.

She looked down at her wrist. A glaring red mark had begun to blister, the physical imprint of tonight's betrayal. Strangely, she felt nothing.

She needs to hear a voice. A real voice. Someone to tell her it was all a nightmare.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled her phone from her handbag. She dialed the number she knew by heart since childhood. The phone rang. Ringed. Ringed and rang.

Finally, a soft sound. "Estella? Do you know what time it is?"

Brenda Lowe's voice was heavy with sleepiness, yet also held a sharp edge. A surge of anger made Estella's stomach clench.

"Mom," Estella gasped. Tears she had been holding back finally broke free, and she choked out, "Mom, I need you. Conrad... he... he's with Jana."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. There was no gasp of shock Estella had anticipated. No terrified denial. Only a heavy, suffocating silence stretched across the telephone line.

"Mom? Can you hear me? He's kissing her. In our bedroom. On our wedding anniversary."

"I heard you," Brenda said. Her voice had changed. Clear. Sober. And utterly devoid of sympathy.

"Estella, you're an adult now. Stop crying and cheer up."

Estella froze, tears suddenly choking in her throat. "What?"

"This hysterical behavior is so unseemly," Brenda sighed, her voice crackling through the receiver. "I've known about Conrad and Jana for a long time."

The floor beneath Estella's feet seemed to collapse. She sat heavily on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking in the silent room. "You...you knew all along?"

"Of course I know," Brenda interrupted impatiently. "Jana and Conrad were meant to be together. You've always been just a transition. A substitute until Jana finishes her studies and is successful."

"A substitute," Estella repeated, the word tasting like ashes in her mouth. "You made me marry him. You made me waste ten years of my life-"

"You didn't waste anything," Brenda interrupted, her voice sharp. "You fulfilled your duty to this family. The Lowes needed a marriage alliance with the Nieves, and you provided it. You should be proud of that."

"Pride?" Estella's voice rose, shock turning into a burning, nauseating rage within her. "He cheated on me with my sister, and you expect me to be proud?"

"I'm telling you to be realistic, Estella," Brenda said coldly. "What else do you expect, Estella? You're not funny at all. You don't have Jana's drive, nor her beauty. All you do is clean the house and cook. That's not a wife, that's a servant."

Estella jolted, as if she had been slapped. She could almost feel the sting on her cheek. "How could you say such a thing to me?"

"Someone has to say it," Brenda retorted. "Doug's business needs Conrad's financial support. Jana needs this marriage to solidify her social standing. The family needs all of this, Estella. Don't be selfish."

"Selfish?" Estella whispered. She thought of all the holidays she had missed, all the meals she had cooked, and all the money she had given Doug without hesitation. She had poured her heart and soul into this family, and yet they called her selfish.

"I want you to sign the documents quietly," Brenda commanded. "Don't have any other thoughts. Take whatever he gives you, and leave with dignity."

"Dignity?" Estella let out a hollow, fragile laugh. "You want me to leave with nothing in ten years?"

"You have no skills, Estella," Brenda said, her voice tinged with disdain. "You've never worked a day in your life. You should be grateful for anything he can give you. Okay, I have to hang up. Stop calling and crying. It's undignified."

The call ended.

Estella stared at the black screen of her phone. The reflection in her eyes was of a stranger. Pale. Sunken eyes. A fool.

She called her mother for help, but her mother pushed her head underwater.

The tears stopped, not because the sorrow had vanished, but because they were instantly frozen by a bone-chilling cold, a cold so intense it burned. Sorrow was a luxury, she realized, an emotion only worthy of when one has lost something of value. And her family, she now understood, had never truly belonged to her from the beginning. A strange calm enveloped her. The trembling ceased. The tears dried, leaving a salty, taut feeling on her skin. The sorrow was gone. In its place was a block of ice, solid and heavy, settling in the center of her chest.

She stood up and walked to the mirror on the dressing table. The woman in the mirror looked broken and shattered, but Estella felt completely different. She felt herself becoming clear-headed.

She will no longer cry. She will no longer beg. She will not leave with nothing.

"Okay," she whispered to the empty room. "If I have no family, then I have nothing to lose."

Estella walked into Conrad's family office at nine o'clock sharp the next morning. She hadn't slept. She had stayed up all night, staring at the ceiling, thinking about her plans. Concealer covered the dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was tied in a tight, serious bun. She wore a simple black dress-no jewelry, no perfume. Armor.

Conrad sat behind his enormous mahogany desk, looking as if he had just showered, his clothes impeccably dressed. Beside him sat a man in a gray suit, expressionless and businesslike. A lawyer.

"Estella," Conrad said, leaning back in his chair. He interlaced his fingers, fingertips touching, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "You look terrible. Didn't sleep well?"

She ignored his sarcasm. She walked to two leather chairs facing the desk and sat down, crossing her legs. "Let's finish this quickly."

The lawyer cleared his throat and pushed a thick manila folder across the desk. "Mrs. Neves, my client wishes to expedite the process and minimize friction. This is the proposed divorce agreement."

Estella opened the folder. The papers were pristine, filled with legal jargon, but the numbers were clearly visible. Zero. She would have nothing.

"According to the prenuptial agreement you signed," the lawyer continued, "you are not entitled to any assets that Mr. Neves accumulated during the marriage because you have not made any financial contributions to the family."

Estella turned a page. Her gaze swept over the terms. No alimony. No property. No shares.

"In addition," the lawyer said, "Mr. Neves is willing to provide you with three months of temporary assistance as a gesture of goodwill, provided that you move out of the apartment within forty-eight hours."

Conrad chuckled, his voice low and sarcastic. "To be honest, Estella, you haven't worked in ten years. What are you planning to do? Find a secretarial job? You don't even know how to use Excel."

The lawyer shifted uncomfortably. "Considering the current situation, these terms are already quite generous."

Estella looked up from her documents. She looked at Conrad, really looked at him. The man for whom she had cooked, dressed him every morning, and managed his obsessive-compulsive disorder for ten years. He was a stranger. A cruel, arrogant stranger.

"I won't sign this," she said calmly.

Conrad's smile vanished. "What did you say?"

"I won't sign this," she repeated, closing the folder. "I don't want your three months of charity. I won't leave with nothing."

"You had no choice," Conrad's voice hardened. "The prenuptial agreement was final. You signed it."

"I know what I signed," Estella said. Her thoughts drifted back to about a year ago when she was organizing her family's digital photo album. She had stumbled upon a photo that sent a shiver down her spine. At the time, she'd dismissed it as a strange angle, a trick of light. Now, she understood. She reached into her small handbag and pulled out her phone. She tapped a few times on the screen, then placed it screen-up on the table.

Conrad leaned down to look. His face instantly turned pale.

It was a photograph. A few years ago, at a party at Lowe's Estate. Jana was there too; she had just turned eighteen and was wearing a dress that was far too mature for her. Conrad stood next to her, their posture quite intimate.

From that time on, they slept together.

"Where did you get this?" Conrad asked hoarsely.

"It's in the cloud," Estella said. "When I was organizing the family photo album last year, I thought it was just a weird angle. Now I understand."

The lawyer's face turned pale. "Mr. Neves, that's-"

"Nothing," Conrad interrupted sharply, but his jaw was clenched and his muscles bulged.

"If this photo leaks out," Estella said calmly and steadily, "along with the timeline of your relationship with my sister...then the board of directors of the Neves Group probably won't approve of the CEO having a relationship with a minor, even if it's just a technical minor. The media will report it extensively."

"Are you blackmailing me?" Conrad roared, slamming his fist on the table. "You crazy woman!"

"I'm negotiating," Estella corrected, without backing down. "You've taken up ten years of my life. You've humiliated me. You've made me a laughingstock. I want a return."

Conrad glared at her, his chest heaving. He looked at his lawyer, who shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly. The lawyer knew. Such a scandal could cause a stock market crash.

"What do you want?" Conrad asked through gritted teeth.

"The house," Estella said.

Conrad blinked. "What?"

"Willow Creek Estate," Estella said. The dilapidated suburban estate Conrad had bought as a "property in need of repair," only to abandon it after a weekend. "Transfer the title deed to me. Include a confidentiality clause in the agreement. I'll keep quiet, and you can keep your CEO position."

Conrad stared at her, then burst into a shrill laugh. "That piece of junk? It's a bottomless pit. The roof's already collapsed. You want that?"

"Yes," Estella said.

"Fine," Conrad said, grabbing a pen. He scribbled something in the blank space of the agreement, then scribbled his name across it forcefully. "Take it. It's worse than the garbage dump you'll be living in later. Now, get out of my sight."

Estella stood up. She picked up a pen, signed her name below his signature, and then picked up the folder. She didn't look at him as she walked out of the office. She didn't look back as she walked out of the penthouse.

She had a house. It was a dilapidated, useless house, but it was hers.