I Dumped My Fake-Poor Billionaire Husband

Chapter 4

My spine went rigid. He looked at me like I was beneath him, convinced I should be grateful just to have landed someone like him.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

"If I could go back, Ethan Sinclair, I'd erase ever meeting you. Stand me up tomorrow, and I swear—I'll file for divorce myself."

The shift in my tone must've hit him. I wasn't bluffing, and he could tell. His face darkened.

"Have you completely lost your mind, Audrey Reynolds?" he snapped. "Do you even realize how many women would kill for my attention? And here you are, throwing around the word 'divorce' like it means nothing?"

He laughed like I was being ridiculous. I just felt sorry for him—he'd never understood love at all.

Real love doesn't come with a price tag.

"I loved you, Ethan. But I loved a lie—some broke, down-on-his-luck version of you. Not this you. Not the man who hides behind money and manipulation."

He scoffed, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Spare me the performance," he said. "You should be honored I chose you out of everyone. Do you have any idea how much effort it took to pull off that act for three whole years? You should be grateful."

The arrogance in his voice made my skin crawl. For a second, I wanted to launch my shoe straight at his smug face. But he wasn't worth it.

I just pointed to the door. "Leave. Or I call the cops."

His jaw clenched, humiliated. Without another word, he stormed out.

I hadn't told my mom about Ethan. After my dad passed, she raised me on her own. Life hadn't been easy, and I didn't want to worry her—especially with a messy divorce looming. I figured I'd wait.

What I didn't expect was for Isabella Montgomery to show up at my door the next morning.

I was locking up for work when I saw her standing there, arms folded, head high like she owned the world.

"So, you're Audrey Reynolds?" she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Figures. You smell like a thrift store."

Decked out in designer brands from head to toe, she eyed my under-two-hundred-dollar outfit like it personally offended her.

"Name your price," she said coolly. "How much to let Ethan go?"

Clearly, Ethan had spun her some story that I was clinging to him for money. I didn't owe her a damn explanation.

I moved to leave, but she grabbed my arm.

"I don't care what scam you pulled to trick him into marriage," she hissed. "He's mine. Let him go, or I promise, you'll regret it."

I stared at her, incredulous. Whatever Ethan and I had—messed up as it was—legally, we were still married. She had no right.

"This is between me and my husband," I said coldly. "Stay out of it."

She sneered. "Did your mother never teach you not to steal from others? Or is she dead already?"

That was it.

My hand flew before I even thought. The slap echoed in the air.

She staggered back, hand on her cheek, eyes wide.

"You can insult me all you want," I said. "But leave my mother out of your filthy mouth."

Her fury flickered—then morphed into crocodile tears in a heartbeat.

"I-I didn't mean to upset you…"

And just like that, I saw it—she and Ethan were perfect for each other. Manipulative. Calculating. Fake.

Before I could turn away, a sharp voice cut through the tension.

"Audrey, what the hell are you doing?!"

I looked up to see Ethan storming over, livid.

So I slapped him too.

He froze, stunned. Probably the first time in his golden-boy life someone had ever dared to lay a hand on him.

"Audrey!"

I smiled coldly. "You asked what I was doing. That."