My Divorce Came With a Billionaire

Episode 4

Ninette's POV

The next three weeks passed in a blur of humiliation and paperwork. I stayed at the Riverside Hotel, racking up charges on my credit card I couldn't afford, because going back to the apartment felt impossible. My clothes were still there, my whole life packed into that tiny space, but I couldn't make myself face it.

Damien filed for divorce first and had his lawyer serve me the papers at my office, right in the middle of a team meeting. His assistant walked in with a manila envelope, asked if I was Ninette Cole, and handed it to me in front of twelve colleagues.

"You've been served," she said with professional detachment.

The room went silent and all eyes were on me. Janet from accounting actually gasped. I opened the envelope with shaking hands and read the first page right there at the conference table.

Damein was citing irreconcilable differences. He was also demanding I pay him spousal support because I had "damaged his earning potential through my emotional instability."

I walked out of that meeting and went straight to the bathroom, locked myself in a stall and tried to breathe through the panic attack clawing at my chest. Through the bathroom door, I could hear my coworkers whispering, their voices carrying clearly in the hallway outside.

"Did you see her face?"

"I heard he caught her cheating."

"No, I heard she's completely unstable. He posted about it."

I pulled out my phone with trembling hands and found Damien's social media. His latest post had gone viral with three hundred thousand views and climbing.

It was a photo of us from our wedding day, Damien looking handsome in his tux, me smiling like I'd just won the lottery. The caption gutted me.

"Sometimes you give your whole heart to someone who doesn't deserve it. I married a woman I thought would be my partner for life, but she became someone I didn't recognize. The judgment. The jealousy. The constant accusations. I tried to make it work, but you can't save someone who refuses to be saved. This is the hardest decision I've ever made, but I'm choosing my peace. I'm choosing me. To anyone else going through a divorce, remember: you deserve to be happy."

The comments were worse. Thousands of people calling me terrible names, telling Damein he deserved better, sharing their own stories about crazy exes. A few people tried to defend me, asking for my side of the story, but they were drowned out by the mob.

Tessa had shared the post with a heartfelt comment about how brave Damien was. She had gained fifty thousand followers in the past week. Apparently, being the other woman was great for engagement.

I couldn't go back to the conference room. I gathered my things, told my boss I was sick, and left. He barely looked up from his computer. I don't think he cared either way.

The hotel room felt smaller every day. I'd been subsisting on room service and minibar peanuts, too anxious to go down to the restaurant. My savings were evaporating. I had maybe two more weeks before my credit cards maxed out.

Then what?

I found a divorce lawyer through an online search. Her name was Patricia, and she looked competent and professional in her website photo.

Her office was in a nice building downtown, all glass and steel. The receptionist gave me a tight smile when I checked in, like she could smell the desperation on me.

Patricia was in her forties, with sharp eyes and an even sharper suit. She shook my hand firmly and gestured for me to sit.

"Tell me everything," she said, opening a leather portfolio.

I did. The whole sordid story spilled out; Damein and Tessa, the serving of papers, and the social media campaign painting me as the villain. Patricia took notes, her expression never changing.

When I finished, she set down her pen and looked at me with something like pity.

"Mrs. Cole, I'm going to be honest with you. This is going to be ugly."

"It's already ugly."

"It's going to get worse. Your husband has built a narrative online. He has followers who believe every word. You're going to be harassed. People are going to recognize you on the street and say terrible things. The media might even pick it up if he keeps gaining traction."

My stomach dropped. "What can I do?"

"We fight. We get you a fair settlement. We make sure he doesn't get to destroy you financially on top of everything else." She paused. "But I have to ask. Is there any truth to his claims? Any substance abuse? Infidelity on your part? Anything he could use against you?"

I thought about the stranger, about that one night of perfect escape. "No," I said, because technically it was true. We were separated when it happened, even if the papers hadn't been filed yet.

"Good. Then we have a chance."

Patricia laid out her fees. I nearly threw up. But what choice did I have? I signed the retainer agreement and walked out of her office feeling like I had just sold my soul.

Two days later, Damein posted another update.

"Update on my divorce: My ex is demanding money she didn't earn. This is what happens when you marry someone who sees you as a meal ticket instead of a partner. Ladies and gentlemen, protect yourselves. Get a prenup. Don't let anyone take advantage of your success."

The comments were vicious. People called me a gold digger, a leech, a thousand other names. Someone found my work email and sent me death threats. Another person found my LinkedIn and left comments on all my posts calling me a w***e.

I deleted all my social media. Shut down everything. But the damage was done. My boss called me into his office three days later.

"Ninette, I'm going to be direct. Your personal situation is affecting the company's reputation. Several clients have expressed discomfort with your involvement in their accounts. I think it would be best if you started looking for opportunities elsewhere."

He was firing me. Couldn't say it outright because that would be wrongful termination, but the message was clear. Get out.

"I understand," I said quietly.

I cleaned out my desk that afternoon while my coworkers pretended not to watch. Seven years at that company, gone. Just like that.

The hotel manager stopped me in the lobby the next morning.

"Ms. Cole, we need to discuss your bill."

I knew what was coming. "I'm working on it."

"You've been here three weeks. The charges are substantial. We'll need payment by the end of the week or we'll have to ask you to check out."

"I understand."

I went back to my room and looked at my bank account. After paying Patricia's retainer, I had eight hundred dollars left. The hotel bill was already over three thousand. My credit cards were nearly maxed.

I was running out of time.

That night, I finally went back to the apartment. I waited until I knew Damein would be out, using the tracker on his social media to make sure he was at some influencer event across town. I let myself in with the key I'd never returned.

Everything looked the same. The couch we picked out together, the coffee table I found at a thrift store and refinished, even the photos on the walls of happier times looked the same.

I started packing. Clothes, mostly, the my laptop and a few books. I was shoving things into a suitcase when I heard the front door open.

Damein walked in with Tessa on his arm. They both froze when they saw me.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded.

"Getting my things."

"This is my apartment. You don't have a right to be here anymore."

"Half of everything here is mine."

"Was yours. You gave up that right when you abandoned the marriage."

Tessa smirked from behind him. She was wearing a dress I recognized, a designer piece Damein had bought me for our anniversary last year. She'd probably been raiding my closet for weeks.

"I didn't abandon anything," I said, my voice shaking. "You destroyed it."

"God, you're so dramatic." He rolled his eyes. "Just take your stuff and go. And leave the key."

I wanted to scream at him, wanted to ask how he could do this, how he could betray me so completely and then act like I was the problem. But what was the point? He would never admit fault. In his mind, he was the victim, and I was the crazy ex.

I grabbed my suitcase and walked past them without another word. I left my key on the table by the door, walked out of that apartment and didn't look back.

I made it to the elevator before the tears started.

Back at the hotel, I stared at my phone for an hour before finally opening the email I had been avoiding. It was from a hospital in Oregon, sent three weeks ago. The subject line read: "Important Information Regarding Your Birth."

I had been too overwhelmed to read it before. Now, with nothing left to lose, I clicked it open.

The email was formal, written by someone in the hospital's records department. They had been conducting an audit of their birth records from the late 1990s and discovered a discrepancy. Two babies born on the same day, September 15th, had been switched. One had gone home with the Cole family. The other with the Valerio family.

The DNA tests confirmed it; I was not the biological daughter of the people who raised me. I was someone else entirely.

There was an attachment. I downloaded it with shaking hands. It included medical records, DNA results and a small note about someone named Seraphina Valerio.

I read it three times before the words sank in.

Seraphina was one of the wealthiest women in the country. She owned a business empire worth trillions. And apparently, I was her biological daughter, the daughter she'd been stolen from twenty-eight years ago.

I sat there in that hotel room, holding proof that my entire identity was a lie, and laughed. It came out choked and bitter, but it was laughter nonetheless.

Of course. Of course my real family didn't want me either.

Nobody wanted me. Not my husband. Not my best friend. Not my biological mother. Not even my employer.

I was completely, utterly alone.