The Billionaire's Discarded Wife

On our wedding day, desperation forced my hand. To save my mother's life, I raised my bride price from $88,000 to $280,000 while standing at the altar.

Luke Weiss didn't blink. He calmly authorized the transfer.

But later, as he carried me out of the wedding car—a gesture that should have been romantic—his breath ghosted against my ear, cold as ice.

"Gold digger."

That label defined the next three years. He flaunted his affairs, letting the world mock me as the woman who came with a price tag.

He even did it today, on our third anniversary.

While my gastroenteritis flared, leaving me curled in a hospital bed, humiliated because I couldn't pay the bill, Luke was in Harbor City. Staging a grand, high-profile fireworks show for his new lover.

I stared down at the payment slip in my hand.

$152.

I didn't have it.

My fingers trembled as I dialed his number. "Luke, let's get a divorce."

"Making a scene again?" His voice was a bored drawl. "How much do you want this time?"

——

"..."

"Fifty thousand?"

"One hundred thousand?"

"Or is the price one hundred and fifty today?"

A low, indifferent chuckle vibrated through the speaker. Before I could respond, a woman's crisp laughter cut in from the background.

"Luke, you donated half a million to a roadside beggar yesterday without blinking. Why so stingy with Mrs. Weiss?"

"Because..." He paused, his tone dripping with casual cruelty. "Some people are only worth that much."

The words stabbed straight into my chest.

Since the moment I changed the bride price, the love that once shone in Luke's eyes had vanished, replaced by a glacier.

I knew I was in the wrong. I had tried to atone.

When I cooked his meals, he would sneer, "What's the bill for this? Quote me a price before I eat so I know if I can afford it."

Even in bed, in the dark, he would whisper against my skin, "How much for tonight, Daniela? Name your number."

I had tried to explain countless times.

That day, the change in price wasn't greed—it was an emergency. My mother had suffered a sudden cerebral hemorrhage. The hospital issued an ultimatum: pay immediately, or no surgery.

I had no choice. I had to break our agreement to save her.

But Luke never believed me.

He would look down at me with absolute disgust. "You'd curse your own mother's health just to squeeze more money out of me? You're more vicious than I thought."

Now, listening to the fireworks booming over the phone—celebrating another woman—my resolve hardened.

"I don't want your money," I said, my voice flat. "I want a divorce. When are you coming back to sign the papers?"

Luke still didn't believe me.

"You, give up the Weiss fortune? Unlikely." His voice turned dangerously low. "If you want out, return the bride price. Every cent. Then I'll believe you."

He hung up.

The silence was deafening.

Return the bride price.

Everyone thought marrying Luke Weiss was my rags-to-riches fairy tale. They imagined I lived draped in wealth and status.

No one knew the truth.

From the moment we said "I do," Luke hadn't given me a single dime.

I lost my job because my company didn't dare employ the wife of a billionaire—why would Mrs. Weiss need to work? When I applied elsewhere, I was rejected for the same reason.

For three years, I survived on my meager savings, draining every penny to cover my mother's medical expenses and our daily survival.

Now, I didn't even have a hundred dollars to my name.

Where was I supposed to find $280,000 to buy my freedom?

I stood frozen in the hospital corridor, the unpaid bill crinkling in my cold hand. Beside me, a young girl watching a livestream on her phone sighed enviously at the fireworks I couldn't see.