Chapter 1Yesterday, my husband and I were in our tiny apartment with cheap wine. Celebrating.
Because we'd finally paid off his million-dollar debt. Five years of hell—over.
Then today, his FIANCÉE walks through our door.
Lawyer at her side. Divorce papers in hand.
"Miss Winters, thank you for these five years. You've been amazing." She said, smiling like I'm the nanny she's firing.
"But Jake's REAL wife and Anson's REAL mom is back now. So let's not make this messy. Time to go."
My brain shuts down. I can't speak. Can't move.
It turned out that five years of my life? Just a "human stress test" Jake had to pass before daddy handed him the keys to the kingdom.
It turned out that my husband? NOT my husband. My son? NOT my son!
All just a test. A game.
And me? I was nobody. A random pick. A prop during this shit show.
BULLSHIT! They thought I'd take this? Swallow it down and leave quietly?
WRONG!
Jake Sutherland loved playing poor? Fine.
Then I'll make sure he be poor. For REAL this time.
Yesterday, Jake and I were in our shoebox apartment, raising cheap wine to celebrate. We'd finally paid off his million-dollar debt.
Today, his FIANCÉE Rosalie Laurent is at my door with a lawyer, sliding divorce papers across the table.
"Sloane." Her voice is warm, practiced. "Thank you for these five years. You've been amazing."
She smiles like she's dismissing a nanny. "But Jake's REAL wife is back now. Anson's REAL mom. So let's keep this clean, okay? Time for you to go."
My mind goes blank. I try to speak. Nothing comes out.
Rosalie sees it. She picks up the remote and turns on the TV.
Jake fills the screen. Sharp suit. Perfect smile. The headline reads:
"Jake Sutherland: Sole Heir Returns."
The anchor's voice is full of praise. "After completing his grassroots training, Jake Sutherland has proven himself to the board. Sources say he went from nothing to building a multi-million-dollar company—all in just five years..."
Every word is a knife.
He took everything—every shift I worked, every dollar I saved, every piece of myself I gave up—and turned it into his success story?
Rosalie keeps talking. Smiling. "It was a test, Sloane. A pressure test. To see if Jake could handle real life before taking over the family business."
She pauses.
"And you?" Her eyes sweep across our cramped living room.
When she looks back at me again, there's pity.
"You were just part of the test. Randomly selected. Nothing personal."
She tilts her head. "You played the wife really well, though."
"But the show's over now."
My phone buzzes after they leave. The screen lights up: JAKE.
I pick up without thinking.
His voice cuts through, cold and flat.
"Sloane. The whole broke-couple thing? It's done. You made it to the end. But you didn't pass the test."
"Test?"
"Yeah. Test." He laughs—short, sharp. "I had to prove to the board I could build something from nothing. That I could find someone loyal enough to stick around through the worst of it. Rosalie bankrolled the whole thing. She's my real fiancée. You? You were just the stand-in. A random pick to play the wife."
My chest tightens. "So the debt... it was all fake?"
"It was startup capital with a different name. Had to make it sound bad enough to see how you'd react under pressure."
My nails dig into my palm. "You're a piece of shit, Jake."
"Maybe." He doesn't even flinch. "But this piece of shit just inherited a billion-dollar company. There's a check on the coffee table. Take it. Sign the papers. Walk away. Don't embarrass yourself now."
He pauses. Then he goes for the kill.
"Oh—and Anson? She's not yours. Never was. Rosalie and I did IVF years ago. The embryos we made together? They got swapped out before implantation."
"You were just watching him for us. Now his actual mom's back. So pack your stuff and get out. The house belongs to the Sutherlands."
His words hit me like ice water. My whole body goes cold.
Like someone just shoved me into a freezer.
"Rosalie and the lawyers are already there. They'll walk you through it. And Sloane?" His voice drops. "Don't make a scene. Keep it together."
The line goes dead.
I'm still gripping the phone. It feels like it's burning a hole through my hand.
Watching her for us.
That's all I ever was. A stand-in. A prop in their story.
And now that the curtain's down, they're taking it all back—and throwing me out with the trash.
Chapter 2
After Jake hangs up, Rosalie doesn't storm around or throw her weight. Instead, she gives me this look—like I'm a puppy that got left in the rain.
"God, these five years must've been hell. But I'll give you credit—you really committed. You actually made me believe it."
Then she breezes past me, straight into Anson's room. Like she's done it a hundred times before.
"Anson, baby. Mommy's here."
My son—the kid I've been raising for FIVE YEARS—drops his robot and bolts into her arms.
"Rosalie Mommy!"
Rosalie's already digging through her Chanel bag, pulling out some fancy imported candy.
Then she unwraps one and feeds it to Anson like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Told you I'd come get you once Daddy's work thing was over, didn't I? So... Disneyland this weekend?"
"YES! You're the BEST!"
They're giggling. Hugging. Whispering like I'm not standing ten feet away.
Like I'm invisible.
Like THEY'RE the ones who've been a family this whole time.
Rosalie glances around the apartment, still holding Anson on her hip. Her eyes land on the couch I bought secondhand after scouring Craigslist for weeks.
Her nose wrinkles.
"Jesus, Jake really made you live like this?" She waves at the furniture like it's contaminated. "This stuff... it doesn't belong here."
She turns to the lawyer. "Mr. Lee, call someone. I want all of this cleared out by tomorrow. Jake's place can't look like a garage sale."
"Of course, Miss Laurent."
Every word out of her mouth is a slap.
I pinched pennies for five years. Skipped meals. Worked doubles. I thought we were building something TOGETHER.
To her, it's all just trash cluttering up her fiancé's life.
Mr. Lee walks over, holding out a pen. His face is stone.
"Miss Winters. Sign here. Five hundred thousand is extremely generous for a five-year arrangement. Mr. Sutherland and Miss Laurent are being more than fair."
"Fair?"
I repeat it. The word tastes like acid.
"Correct." He pushes his glasses up. "And Miss Laurent wanted me to pass along a reminder—don't make this messy. I think you understand what that would mean."
The threat hangs in the air.
Rosalie drifts closer, Anson still clinging to her. She's smiling that perfect, practiced smile.
"Sloane, we're not trying to intimidate you. You're a smart woman. You know how this works."
She looks down at Anson, her voice dripping with sugar.
"Say bye to... Miss Sloane, sweetheart. She's leaving now."
Anson peeks out at me. His face is blank.
"Dad told me. You didn't pass his test."
Those eyes—the ones that used to look at me like I hung the moon—are empty now.
"Anson... what?"
"Dad said real women don't obsess over money. But you were always freaking out about the electric bill. Driving all over town for coupons. Yelling at me for breaking one dumb toy."
"I wasn't yelling, I was just—"
"Dad said that's what small people do. You think small. And your love is small too. It's... suffocating."
I reach for his hand.
He yanks it back like I'm diseased.
"Don't touch my robot. You can't even afford it."
He looks up at Rosalie. "Can we go? I don't wanna be here anymore. Dad said her BROKE ENERGY might rub off on me."
Broke energy.
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
I stare at them both.
And then I suddenly laugh.
Chapter 3
My laugh stops them cold.
They were waiting for tears. For me to fall apart. To beg.
"What's funny?" Rosalie's voice sharpens.
"Nothing." I shake my head. "You guys just make a really good team."
I walk to the bedroom and yank three plastic bins out from under the bed.
"Oh, so you're actually gonna pack up and go? Finally being smart about this."
Rosalie leans in the doorway, arms folded. She's enjoying this.
I don't respond.
I start pulling things out. Everything I've saved from the last five years.
Pay stubs. Bank statements from every job I juggled. Credit card bills—mine, and Jake's "broke" card that I paid off every month. Every transaction printed and highlighted.
Rosalie watches. At first she's smirking. Then confused. Then—just for a second—nervous.
"Sloane, what are you doing? You think a pile of receipts is gonna scare us? We've got lawyers who eat people like you for breakfast."
I keep going.
Then I pull out a manila folder. Flip through it. Find what I need.
The receipt for Anson's limited-edition robot.
My name on the invoice. My bank account on the payment line.
I set it on top of the stack.
I close the bins. Like I'm closing the chapter on this five years of bullshit.
Three of them. Heavy.
Inside them, there are no clothes. No shoes. No makeup. Just five years of proof that I gave everything—and got nothing.
I look up.
"I'm taking these."
Mr. Lee barely glances over. "Miss Winters, those are household records. Shared assets. You can't just take them. And frankly, they won't matter in court."
Rosalie's still watching me like I'm unhinged. That smug smile hasn't moved.
"God, you really are all about the money, huh? That's all you'll ever be."
"Yeah." I meet her eyes. "I am."
Because money doesn't lie to you. It doesn't tell you you're not enough at two in the morning.
I grab the bins and head for the door. Slip my shoes on.
I don't look at Anson.
I take my ID. My passport. My debit card. And these three bins that feel heavier than anything I've ever carried.
My hand's on the doorknob when Rosalie's voice drifts over.
Casual. Almost sweet.
"See, baby? That's exactly what I meant. Women like her don't deserve to be moms. All they care about is money."
I pull the door shut behind me.
Their laughter follows me out.
