My Billionaire Husband Never Wanted Me

Prologue

Clara

I was in a room I shouldn’t have been in when I heard the sentence that ended my marriage.

Maybe it was the worst of it.

I was not snooping.

I wasn’t going through Alexander’s phone.

I wasn't standing outside a bedroom door, listening for secrets.

I had a sweet.

My na?ve wife, with a dish of chocolate cake in her hands, walked into a dining room full of people who'd spent six years thinking my marriage was fine.

Then I heard my husband's voice.

“I married her because it was the right thing to do.”

My feet came to a halt.

The plate was too heavy in my hands all at once.

I was in the hall, behind the slightly open door to the study.

Inside, Alexander was with his father.

And a voice.

My sister-in-law.

They were talking about me.

I should have walked away.

I remained.

Alexander Vale had taught me a little something about half a dozen years of marriage.

He didn't talk about how he felt.

Not me.

Not with no one.

So when I heard his dad say, “You really love Clara?”

My heart started racing.

I waited.

One second.

Two.

Then Alexander answered.

“She was pregnant.”

My fingers tightened on the plate.

His father sighed.

“I didn’t ask that.

"I know.

A long hush ensued.

Then Alexander whispered words that would echo in my head for years.

I wasn’t going to leave my son. Clara was the sensible choice. “I did what I needed to do.”

I was heartbroken.

But somehow I still hoped there was more.

There has to be something else.

There was always more.

Because I was Clara Whitmore.

His wife.

No.

His child’s mother.

The woman who had defended him for six years every time others murmured that Alexander had married me because of the pregnancy.

I informed them they were mistaken.

I had told myself they were incorrect.

I had constructed an entire life on that lie.

And then Alexander concluded the sentence.

I never promised her love. That's it."

The plate slipped a little in my grasp.

I caught it before it reached the floor.

Not at all.

And that’s it.

Two words.

Two small words.

They wrecked six years of my life.

I had trouble breathing.

I peered through the crack of the door.

Alexander was standing with his back to me, one hand on the desk.

Flawless.

Like always.

My spouse didn’t appear like a man who’d just broken his wife’s heart.

He looked like a billionaire talking about quarterly profits.

And then I saw her.

Vivian Hart.

She was standing near the window.

Beautiful.

Elegant.

Comfortable.

She had grown up with Alexander.

She knew his family.

She knew his world.

According to every gossip magazine in all of Manhattan, Vivian had been the woman Alexander was meant to marry once.

I’d never been envious of Vivian.

“Not really.

Because Alexander had never given me any reason to think he wanted another woman.

Now I was not so sure.

Vivian looked at me.

She went to her face.

She knew I had heard.

Alexander wheeled about.

His eyes met my eyes.

And then everything stopped.

“Clara.

My name sounded odd in his mouth.

I entered the room.

The cake was on the table, unprotected.

“Say it once more.”

He stiffened his jaw.

“Clara, this isn't"

“Say that again.”

He didn’t.

I laughed.

It was a small, awful sound.

“You married me because I was pregnant?

“That's not what I meant, no.”

“So what did you mean then?”

Silence.

Of course.

Be always silent.

I stared at the man I’d loved for six years.

The man I had folded the clothes for.

The man I learned to brew coffee for.

The dad whose son had waited for him every night at the window.

The man who never said, “I love you” unless I said it first.

I gulped.

Did you ever really desire me?

His face flickered on and off.

Only one time.

Then out it was.

That was more hurtful than the words.

'Cause I've seen it.

Sorrow.

Not love.

My mistake.

I nodded slowly.

“Alright.”

“Clara”

Nope.

I put my hand up.

For once, I didn’t want an explanation.

If he had one, he would have given it to me by now.

I turned about and walked off.

Nobody was after me.

Not Alex.

But Vivian wasn't.

Not his folks.

I went upstairs and shut the bedroom door.

I opened the wardrobe, my hands shaking.

6 years.

Clothes for six years.

Six years of memories.

Six years of faking.

I glanced at my bridal dress hanging in the back.

I nearly laughed.

What a lovely falsehood.

Then I heard a little tapping.

“Mum?”

Noah.

My seven-year-old, in his pyjamas, stood in the door.

“Are you alright?”

I smiled.

I’m good, baby.”

He looked at my face.

Kids know, always.

“Are you crying?””

I wiped my face.

“Not a word.”

He frowned.

You're a lousy liar.

But I laughed.

This time a genuine laugh.

“Go get your favourite pyjamas.

His eyes grew wide.

“Are we going somewhere?”

“Yes.

“Where at?

“Somewhere daddy can't break my heart.

The words escaped before I could stop them.

Noah didn't understand.

He simply nodded.

Twenty minutes later, I took off my wedding ring.

I placed it on Alexander's nightstand.

Then I wrote three words on a sheet of paper. I choose me.

I packed Noah's clothes.

My passport.

My laptop.

And almost nothing else.

I didn't take Alexander's credit cards.

I didn't take jewellery.

I didn't take the expensive clothes he had bought me.

I didn't want his money.

I wanted my life.

At 4:17 in the morning, Noah and I walked out of the Vale estate.

I didn't look back.

Not once.

But as the gates closed behind us, something inside me whispered that Alexander wouldn't let me go easily.

I just didn't know yet how far he would go to get me back.

Alexander woke at 7:03.

He reached across the bed.

Empty.

He frowned.

“Clara?”

Nothing.

He walked downstairs.

No, Clara.

No, Noah.

Then he saw the envelope on his desk.

His name was written across the front.

Alexander opened it.

His face went pale.

Divorce papers.

And beneath them, my wedding ring.

For the first time in six years, Alexander Vale looked genuinely terrified.

Because his wife was gone.

And this time, she wasn't waiting for him to come home.