The Billionaire Heir She Threw Away

002

By the second month after being cast out, Ace Kane dragged a single suitcase behind him and, for the first time in his life, stood “alone” in front of the central railway station of Crown City.

No escorts.

No black sedans.

No private driver waiting by the curb.

Just a low, heavy sky and an endless tide of strangers flowing past him with their own burdens, their own destinations, their own lives that had nothing to do with him.

In that moment, he genuinely couldn’t tell—

whether he had been thrown down from a gilded altar…

or finally escaped from a golden cage.

Later, for a long, long time, he would still recall that day with uncomfortable clarity.

He had barely thirty or forty thousand dollars on him—that was all he’d managed to bring out. It was money he’d withdrawn legally from one of his own company’s accounts under the excuse of “field project inspection” before the Kane Family cut him off. The last bit of funding that still belonged to him in any official sense.

That small pile of cash had to do everything:

pay the rent,

pay for food,

and somehow support the future of two people.

The second person… was Emily Sunford.

…

They met for the first time on a hot summer night.

That evening, Ace was working overtime at a company where he’d started at the very bottom of the corporate ladder. No special title, no reserved office—just a nametag and a desk in an open-plan floor like everyone else.

While the others clocked out and headed straight to a welcome dinner, he stayed behind to finish the last set of financial reports. By the time he finally hit send on the file, his stomach was growling so loudly it felt like it echoed in his backbone. He went downstairs, ready to grab something cheap and quick through a food app, and stepped out through the company’s glass doors.

The moment he walked out, he saw her.

Across the street, in front of a small milk tea shop, a girl in a plain white shirt and dark jeans was holding onto the wall, slowly lowering herself down as if her legs could no longer support her.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, yet her face was frighteningly pale.

The store manager standing nearby frowned impatiently. “Emily, the evening shift isn’t over. Don’t pretend to be sick now; we’ve got a crowd.”

Ace hesitated for a second, then crossed the street anyway.

“She’s not pretending,” he said quietly.

The manager gave him a once-over. “And who are you supposed to be? Some guy from the office building next door?”

Ace ignored him. He reached out and steadied Emily, his fingers lightly circling her wrist. “Low blood sugar?” he asked. “Or your stomach acting up?”

Emily let out a weak, self-deprecating laugh. “Honestly… a little bit of both, I think.”

Ace turned and went straight to the convenience store next door. He bought a carton of hot milk and some chocolate, spending money he’d just been planning to use on his own dinner. He never even touched the steaming takeout he’d ordered for himself. Instead, he crouched on the sidewalk outside the shop and watched as the color slowly returned to her cheeks.

“You really don’t have to take care of me,” she murmured, nibbling on the chocolate bar, her voice embarrassed but still bright. “I pass out like this all the time.”

“If it happens all the time,” Ace said calmly, “then someone needs to take care of you even more.”

Back then, he still carried a faint trace of the privilege he’d grown up with, that quiet confidence from being raised in a powerful compound. But he tried his best to hide it, to smooth down all the sharp edges, to look like just another anonymous young man in the city.

That was the first time he truly felt—

outside the tall walls of the Kane Family estate, there were people who couldn’t even afford to pass out. Fainting, to them, wasn’t a medical condition; it was a line on their performance review.

Later that night, after Emily worked through the rest of her shift, Ace walked beside her for a long stretch of road.

She talked while they walked.

She said her parents worked out of town; she came to the city alone to try and build a life.

She said she wasn’t highly educated, had jumped between several jobs, and had been scolded as “useless, no connections, no backing.”

She said her dream was simple: one day she wanted to wear a beautiful wedding dress and marry someone who wouldn’t let go of her hand when things got hard.

“So what do you want from that person?” Ace asked.

She tilted her head, really thinking it over. Then she held up her fingers, counting them one by one.

“He needs to be reliable. Can’t have a bad temper. And… ideally, he’d be willing to fight a little for me.”

She squinted up at him with a playful smile. “What about you?”

Ace stared at her for a moment. There was a pause, a flicker in his eyes, before he answered quietly:

“I just want to choose someone because I truly want them—not because my family needs me to.”

Emily had no way of knowing how heavy the word “family” was for him.

All she felt was that this slightly awkward man had something unusual in his gaze—

a steady, unshakable kind of resolve she’d never seen in men their age.

Eventually, things progressed naturally between them.

Ace started as a low-level employee and worked his way up, grinding through overtime, studying proposals when others went out drinking.

Emily left the milk tea shop, took a job as a receptionist, then clawed her way up to a clerical position. She came home exhausted, still needing to do laundry and cook in their cheap rental.

During that time, they squeezed into crowded buses, stayed up late together, and stood on the tiny balcony of their low-rent apartment, looking down at the neon blur of the city.

“One day, I won’t have to watch other people’s moods to earn money.”

“One day, you won’t be working until you’re about to pass out.”

“I’ll give you the kind of wedding you deserve,” Ace promised back then. “A real one.”

Emily rested her head on his shoulder and laughed softly. “Then you’d better work hard, Mr. Kane.”

Back then, there was still light in her eyes.

…

Everything began to change in the year they started preparing for the wedding.

Ace kept his identity buried. No one at work knew his background. He didn’t mention the Kane Family, didn’t talk about old money, private estates, or assets overseas. He wanted to give her a home as just a “normal man.”

But the Kane Family inevitably found out.

Someone dug up his address and sent a neatly prepared folder—and an invitation.

The folder contained everything about Emily: her entire history, her parents’ situation, her employment records, even how many times she’d changed jobs and which resignation had been due to a shouting match with a supervisor.

The invitation was to a private event hosted in the city by The Jobs Consortium.

The Jobs Consortium was one of the most important overseas partners working with the Kanes. The invitation was addressed not to Ace the junior employee—but to Ace Kane, born heir.

On the night of the event, Ace put on a handmade suit he hadn’t touched in a long time, removed his cheap digital watch, and fastened a mechanical one he hadn’t worn since leaving the estate.

He thought that if he went in with his attitude softened, if he explained himself properly, perhaps Frank Kane would compromise. Just a little.

Instead, that night became the opening chapter of another storm.

At the dinner table, one of The Jobs Consortium’s young heirs drank too much and grew careless with his tongue. After a few glasses of wine, he pulled out one of Emily’s photos—God knew who had sent it to him—and made a crude joke about her in front of everyone.

For a second, Ace watched the wine in his glass sway. His carefully constructed restraint—everything he’d been forcing down—was set on fire in an instant.

“Calm down, Ace—this is business,” someone hissed beside him. “This is not the place.”

But he wasn’t listening anymore.

A glass shattered on the floor. A chair scraped back violently.

Ace’s fist smashed into the young man’s face, and wine and blood sprayed across the white tablecloth.

The partnership contract, of course, died on the spot.

After that, Frank Kane’s anger had nowhere left to go but up.

“You struck the son of The Jobs Consortium at their own table—for a woman? Who do you think you are?”

What followed was that night in the storm.

The expulsion.

The frozen accounts.

The verdict that ripped him out of his bloodline like a page torn from a book.

From that moment on, every Kane-related contact was severed. Cards were canceled. Assets frozen. He was erased from practical existence, if not yet from the family record.

He’d become, in the most precise sense, “just another ordinary man.”

Except ordinary people weren’t under surveillance, and they didn’t walk around with invisible debts and a hundred hostile eyes on their backs.

…

On the day of the wedding, outside the civil affairs bureau—

There were no bridesmaids, no family entourage, no decorated convoy waiting outside.

The wedding dress had been rented.

No one from the Kane Family attended.

The only person related to that world was Fae Kane, standing far away in disguise. She wore a cap and a mask, hidden at the edge of the crowd, watching until the small red booklet was finally handed over.

“Brother.”

She sent him a message.

[Congratulations on getting married. I’m sorry I can’t be there. You know why.]

Ace looked at the line of text, smiled faintly, and typed back:

[Just hearing that from you is enough.]

[Tell Grandfather… I won’t regret this.]

Somewhere back at the estate, Fae wiped away tears in a hidden corner where the staff couldn’t see her.

From that day on, Ace believed he had found a new “home.”

He believed that if he just worked hard enough, he could make up—through effort and sweat—for the bloodline that had been ripped away.

…

Reality, naturally, had other plans.

By their third year of marriage, Emily’s attitude shifted from “I know you’re working so hard” to something harsher and harder to swallow.

At first, when he came home late from running deliveries and side gigs, exhausted and drenched in sweat, she would hand him a towel and murmur, “You’ve worked so hard today.”

Later, her expression changed. “Could you at least shower before you sit on the couch? You smell like sweat.”

Later still, that old gray towel went straight into the trash can.

“My coworkers keep saying my husband is a junior office nobody by day and a food delivery guy by night. Do you have any idea how humiliating that sounds?”

Each cutting remark, Ace absorbed as a verdict on himself:

I’m still not working hard enough.

He thought that if he just made more money—

if he upgraded the apartment sooner,

if he bought a car earlier,

if he gave her a bigger fridge, better furniture, nicer clothes—

they could still live that life they’d once dreamed of. A big house, a real wedding photo hanging on the wall, something that felt like a future.

So he didn’t dare stop.

He worked full-time by day, delivered food at night, and took any side job he could find on weekends and holidays. His stomach gave out under the strain; old injuries flared; he stayed up so late his vision blurred. Still, he gritted his teeth and kept going.

What he didn’t understand was that the more he buried himself in work, the less he saw her.

And the empty spaces he left behind at home were quickly filled.

There was always someone willing to “reason” with her when he wasn’t there.

Someone who believed life was too short not to enjoy it.

Someone who promised her a “higher quality” existence.

For example—the vice president’s son, Colin Hawke.

At first, this “young master” simply dropped off afternoon tea for her department, chatting with Emily casually. Then he started offering her rides home. Then came dinners at nicer places, meals that she wasn’t used to but quickly learned to crave. Later, when she complained about crammed buses and the greasy smell of their tiny kitchen, he somehow always appeared at exactly the right moment.

“With your looks and personality, why are you wasting your youth on a guy barely making a couple thousand a month?” he’d say lightly.

“You deserve something better, Emily.”

The words sounded noble. The intention behind them did not.

But once a person starts wavering, there’s very little that can stop the slide.

Emily started to recognize brand logos at a glance.

She filled her social media with saved photos of luxury bags and jewelry.

She began complaining about the peeling paint on the rental’s walls, about the old rice cooker they’d been using for years.

She had once gritted her teeth through crowded buses simply because, “As long as I’m with someone I love, anything is fine.”

Now she began to wonder if she had chosen wrong.

“Ace, can you actually give me a decent life?”

She asked him that at least ten times in the space of a year.

Every time, his answer was the same.

“Just give me a little more time.”

…

Time slipped by.

Soon, it was the week before his twenty-fourth birthday.

That evening, after finishing his shift at the office, he put on his delivery jacket again and rode his beat-up electric scooter through the city, delivering takeaway orders until the night air turned sharp and cold. He was about to head home when his phone lit up with a call from an unfamiliar number.

“Mr. Kane?” a man asked. “We have an international parcel requiring your personal signature.”

Ace paused on the sidewalk, helmet still in one hand. “Who’s the sender?”

“It’s listed as… Luxander Treasury Manor.”

For a moment, Ace stood in the glow of the streetlights, feeling oddly detached from his own body.

Luxander Treasury Manor.

That name belonged to the very core of the Kane financial system—the part of it no outsider ever touched. When he was a child, he had only heard it mentioned occasionally at family meetings.

Once, an elder had said: When a direct-line Kane comes of age, Luxander will activate their asset account.

He had assumed that, when the rain-soaked verdict came down, all that had been cut off forever.

He never imagined he would hear that name again when he was at his most broke and exhausted.

…

The package was small, matte black, with no logo. Just a single line of handwriting on top:

“To Ace Kane, personal.”

The handwriting was familiar. It belonged to Mason Hart, the secretary who managed overseas assets for the Kane Family.

Back at the rental apartment, Ace habitually softened his footsteps before he even opened the door.

The bedroom light was on.

Emily was propped against the headboard, staring at her phone. From the outside, she looked calm and domestic; in reality, her thoughts had been drifting away from this cramped space for a long time.

Ace didn’t disturb her.

He sat down in the living room on the single armchair whose fabric had gone fuzzy from age and use, and carefully opened the package.

Inside was a small black velvet box.

He clicked it open.

There was a phone inside, one that looked cheap and generic—no brand marking, no expensive sheen, just a basic design that wouldn’t turn any heads.

Beside it lay a silver-white Luxander Card made of palladium, his initials inlaid on the front and a simple number sequence engraved on the back: 8888–0168.

A thin folded letter lay underneath.

“Mr. Ace Kane,

According to the Kane family statutes, direct-line descendants are considered fully of age upon reaching twenty-four years. At that time, their asset accounts at Luxander shall be activated automatically.

Before this point, no direct-line member undergoing external ‘tempering’ may receive any financial support from the family.

The enclosed phone and Luxander Card constitute the ‘vessel’ of your coming-of-age asset.

On your twenty-fourth birthday at midnight, the system will activate after confirming your iris scan.

From that moment onward, please decide for yourself how to proceed.

—On behalf, Mason Hart”

At the bottom, in smaller, almost hidden handwriting, Mason Hart had added:

“Your name has not been removed from the family registry, young master.”

Ace stared at the letter for a long time.

His fist tightened, then slowly relaxed.

He didn’t know what to feel.

He had knelt in the rain and listened to the words “expelled from the family,” forcing himself to pretend the Kanes no longer existed.

He had lain in the rental bed with a fever, shivering with no medicine, imagining the sterile private hospital room he would’ve had if he’d still been under their roof.

Now, this symbol of “that other world” had reappeared in front of him.

He sat in silence.

Finally, he lifted his head and glanced toward the bedroom door.

It was half-open.

From inside came intermittent notification sounds.

Emily laughed at something on her phone. The sound wasn’t the bright, unguarded laugh he remembered; it had changed, becoming more practiced, less pure.

Ace placed the palladium card carefully back into the box and closed the lid, drawing in a long breath.

“Just a little longer,” he told himself.

He wanted to wait for his birthday.

Wait for the account to activate.

Then take her to look at real apartments, real cars, to buy all the things she had dropped in online shopping carts and then removed in silence because she couldn’t bear to spend the money.

He wanted her to see that—

he wasn’t destined to be a broke delivery rider,

wasn’t condemned to die in a cramped rental,

wasn’t the “loser” she was starting to fear he would always be.

“Just one more day,” he thought.

“One more day and we’ll turn everything around.”

He truly believed fate was finally about to make amends.

…

At the same time, in the bedroom—

The glow of the screen lit up Emily’s face.

Colin: I’ve already talked to the staff at the registry office. Your paperwork will go through quickly tomorrow.

Colin: Don’t worry. I’ve already picked out the place. Nice neighborhood, decent security, parking spot included. I’ll get you a little TT to drive for now; in a couple of years, we’ll upgrade.

Colin: Emily, you’re not going to regret choosing me, are you?

Emily stared at the messages for a long moment.

She thought about the packed buses. The greasy kitchen in their flat. The coworkers who deliberately raised their voices at the office coffee machine as they said, “Your husband dropped off our food order last night.”

Finally, she bit her lip and typed three words:

I won’t regret it.

…

The rest of that night was unusually quiet.

Ace strapped on his delivery bag again, climbed onto his second-hand e-bike, and went back out into the city. He did another couple of hours of late-night runs, trying to earn just a little more before his birthday.

By the time he got home, it was close to eleven.

He was halfway through kicking off his shoes when he saw it under the dim light by the door:

the black velvet box lying near the couch, tossed aside like something that didn’t belong.

He froze.

“Don’t move that,” he said instinctively, bending down to pick it up. “Not yet.”

He had no idea why his voice came out guilty, almost apologetic. “Let me explain tomorrow. After… after tomorrow.”

The bedroom light was off now.

Darkness shrouded the room beyond the half-closed door, broken only by the occasional flicker of her phone lighting up and going dark again.

Emily didn’t answer. Her imitation of sleep was almost flawless.

Ace showered quietly. When he came out, he placed the velvet box back on the nightstand beside the bed, adjusting it carefully so it sat straight.

He stood there for a moment, looking at the familiar outline of her body beneath the blanket, and a strange, fragile hope rose in his chest.

“Tomorrow,” he thought.

“Tomorrow everything will be different.”

He didn’t yet understand that not everything waits politely for “tomorrow” before it breaks.

…

It was close to midnight.

The city lights still glimmered outside, but the street below their building had fallen almost silent.

Ace slept fitfully, drifting in and out of dreams, when his phone suddenly buzzed.

“Dear Mr. Ace Kane,

Your Luxander asset account will be automatically activated at midnight.

Preset amount: 10,000,000 USD.

Happy coming of age.”

The moment the notification appeared, he was suddenly wide awake.

He turned onto his side and stared at the silhouette beside him.

All the humiliation, the struggle, the nights of forced endurance—everything he’d swallowed over the last few years—seemed to be converging on this single point in time.

He closed his hand into a fist in the darkness.

“Give me one more chance,” he begged silently.

“I’ll make sure you get the life you always wanted.”

He truly believed that.

Until the next morning.

Sunlight slipped through the tiny tear in their cheap curtains, landing right across the face that had slowly run out of patience with him.

Emily stood by the bed, smoothing the creases from her clothes, makeup flawless, sliding her phone into a brand-new handbag.

Then she turned and looked at him.

Her eyes were calm now, almost indifferent, stripped of the warmth they’d once held.

“Ace,” she said, her voice quiet but firm, “let’s get a divorce.”