Leaving My Cheating Husband to Inherit a Fortune

Six months after my younger sister passed away, I became her stand-in and married her fiancé, Sebastian.

Seven years into the marriage, just as I finally managed to conceive our second child, I made up my mind to divorce him.

"Ms. Young, are you sure you don't want to reconsider?" the divorce lawyer asked cautiously.

Back then, I agreed to take my sister's place because of her dying wish. "Sister... please give Sebastian a child for me. I'm afraid he'll forget me."

I carried that promise for years—even as I hid a truth too shameful to admit. There was a secret buried deep in my heart—I had fallen for Sebastian long before my sister ever did.

For seven years, I willingly lived as her substitute. Even when the orphanage director who raised us cut ties with me, calling me shameless, I never regretted it. I even bore Sebastian a child, but he died of leukemia when the hospital supposedly made a fatal mistake and missed the transplant window.

At least, that was what I had always believed... until I caught Sebastian cheating.

On our seventh wedding anniversary—the same day I tested positive for my second pregnancy—and the day I caught him with his secretary.

I heard him say, unmistakably. "How's Jacob's bone marrow working for you? That idiot Lorelei still thinks the mix-up at the hospital was an accident. Tsk. Pathetic."

"Does she really think I'd let a substitute for a dead woman give birth to my child? What a bad omen."

It turned out that while I was pouring everything I had into creating a family, he had secretly given our dying child's life-saving bone marrow to his mistress—and tampered with my medication to destroy my health and stop me from getting pregnant.

Years of love... Seven years of marriage. And in one moment, it all turned to ash.

I told the lawyer quietly, "Go ahead. I've made up my mind."

I always knew Sebastian didn't love me. I was the greedy one—borrowing seven years of marriage under the excuse of fulfilling my sister's wish, foolishly hoping time and devotion could change him.

I could endure being unloved. But what I couldn't forgive was hearing him call my sister a "bad-luck dead woman." What I couldn't accept was knowing he personally caused our child's death.

After leaving the law firm, I called my biological father—the richest man in the city—who had come to acknowledge me a month ago, but whom I had rejected.

"Dad," I said calmly, "I've made up my mind. Once the divorce is finalized in seven days, I'll come home and inherit the family estate."

——

"Did that man bully you?"

My father's usually calm voice carried a rare edge of anger.

I bit my lip. The sudden, unconditional protectiveness in his tone made my chest tighten. I couldn't hold back the lump in my throat. "Dad... I'm just tired."

On the phone, his deep voice softened. "Come home. Dad will always have your back. Whatever decision you make, I'll support you."

When the call ended, I sat in silence, my emotions tangled.

Just a month ago, my biological father—the richest man in the city had finally found me. Back then, I refused to return to my birth family. After all, I was already married, and I thought I already had my own home.

To me, Sebastian, whom I had known for nearly ten years, felt far more familiar than the parents I had only just met.

And... my sister was gone.

The thought of going back to that magnificent home on my own would be unfair to my younger sister.

Besides, my biological parents never approved of Sebastian. They constantly belittled him, urging me to leave him. At the time, clueless about the truth, I resisted them. Their sudden reappearance and strictness felt suffocating.

So I didn't tell Sebastian I had found my family. I simply supported him quietly—investing behind the scenes, helping him close a fragrance partnership with my family's business.

But looking back now, I realize I was only fooling myself.

Soon, none of it would matter.

I tore the pregnancy report into pieces and dropped it into the trash just as the front door opened. Sebastian returned from work.

His suit was neatly pressed, the faint scent of cologne clinging to him. Everything about him looked the same as always.

"Wife, don't cook tonight. I'll take care of dinner."

Sebastian didn't even notice my swollen eyes. He simply took off his jacket and headed toward the kitchen.

He was in his thirties, yet maintained a broad-shouldered, lean figure—no less attractive than younger men.

A few months ago, he suddenly developed an interest in cooking. A man who hadn't stepped into a kitchen in seven years began preparing meals.

He said he wanted to ease my burden.

And I believed him.

So no matter what he made, I always finished every bite. But now I knew the truth—he learned to cook for Sabrina, the delicate heiress who willingly worked at his side as his secretary.

His mistress.

"Wife, have some shrimp. I went all the way to the market for these. I remember shrimp is your favorite."

At the dinner table, he smiled as he placed a piece of shrimp into my bowl.

I was quiet, but he didn't notice anything off. In his eyes, my emotions had always been insignificant, barely noticeable.

Seven years of unconditional devotion had convinced him I would never be angry... and would certainly never leave.

I stared at the shrimp without touching it.

Shrimp had always been my sister's favorite. Not mine.

Seven years ago, six months after my sister died of cancer, I married Sebastian.

Everyone who heard the news called me shameless—accusing me of stealing my sister's love, climbing up by taking her place.

They didn't know the truth.

That my terminally ill sister had once knelt on her hospital bed, clutching my hand in tears. "Sister... Sebastian can't live without me. Please... marry him for me. Take care of him."

"And if you can... give him a child. Only then... can I leave without regrets."

At that moment, my heart felt like it was being torn apart.

She never knew that I had loved Sebastian long before she did. But she said it first. So I buried my feelings deep and never spoke a word.

"Sister... he's the only one besides you who's ever treated me well. I don't want him to forget me."

Her desperate plea had taken the air from my lungs.

Maybe it was my hidden love. Maybe it was the soft spot I had for a sister who was fading away.

Either way, I agreed to her unreasonable request.

The day after her funeral, the heartbroken Sebastian got drunk. When I went to pick him up, he mistook me for her—dragging me to bed for a long, painful night.

Tearing, discomfort... my first time was spent in agony.

The next morning, he woke up and cursed me—calling me shameless, disgusting for getting into his bed when my sister's body was barely cold.

Swallowing my grief, I told him I was willing to be her substitute.

At first, he treated me terribly. In his eyes, I was a vile woman who seduced her dead sister's boyfriend. He only touched me when he was drunk.

But because I persisted, he slowly softened. Within six months, we registered our marriage.

Years passed, and we even had a child.

I thought, at the very least, I had a small place in his heart.

But he still remembered only my sister's preferences—not mine.

When I didn't eat, he frowned but didn't think much of it. He simply moved the shrimp into my bowl and began packing shrimp porridge into containers.

"Wife, my employees are still working overtime. I'll bring them some food. I'll sleep at the office tonight—don't wait for me."

If it were before, I wouldn't think there was anything wrong, I would only think he was considerate of his subordinates. But now, I immediately thought of Sabrina. I remembered visiting his office once, only to find her there with stomach pains—and Sebastian fussing over her.

And around that time... he had suddenly begun learning how to cook.

Realization spread through my chest like a blade twisting slowly.

I took a deep breath, pulled out the divorce papers, and set them on the table.

"Sign this before you go."