Too Late To Beg: The Unwanted Wife Is An Heiress

I gave up my twenty-billion-dollar inheritance to become a nobody, just so my husband Ignatz could shine without being overshadowed.

But after five years of silence and sacrifice, he held my hands across his desk and begged me to go to prison.

"I need you to say you were driving the car," he pleaded.

His mistress, Everleigh, had committed a hit-and-run. To save her career, he wanted his pregnant wife to take the fall.

When I told him I was carrying his child, he didn't celebrate. He just looked annoyed and asked me to protect "us"—by which he meant her.

The stress and the secret abuse from his mother caused me to miscarry alone in a freezing apartment.

While I was bleeding out, losing the only thing that mattered, Ignatz was on a live broadcast, proposing to Everleigh with a diamond the size of a quail egg.

He didn't know that Everleigh had a hysterectomy years ago and could never give him the family he claimed to want.

He didn't know he had just killed his only real child to protect a liar.

I didn't cry. I simply placed the ultrasound photo and my diary on the cake table at his engagement party.

Then I accepted a job in Florence and vanished.

Five years later, when he finally found me and slashed his own wrist to prove his regret, I looked at him with dead eyes.

"You're at the wrong house, Ignatz," I said, closing the door. "There is nothing here for you to fix."

Chapter 1

Genevieve POV

Ignatz held my hands across the expanse of his mahogany desk. His grip was tight enough to bruise, but his eyes were wide, pleading, and desperate.

"I need you to say you were driving the car, Genevieve."

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating, sucking the oxygen right out of the room. I stared at him, my mind struggling to process the request. It felt like a physical blow.

My hand moved instinctively to my lower abdomen, where a life had been quietly growing for three months. A life he barely acknowledged, and now, perhaps, never would.

"You want me to take the blame for a hit-and-run?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

"It was a minor accident," Ignatz said quickly, leaning closer. His cologne, a scent of sandalwood and ambition that I used to associate with safety, now smelled cloying. It smelled like betrayal.

"No one was seriously hurt," he pressed on. "But if the press finds out it was Everleigh, her career is over. She is just starting to shine, Gen. You know how fragile her reputation is."

I pulled my hands away, the sudden loss of contact making me shiver. The coldness of the sterile office seeped into my bones.

"What about my reputation?" I asked, my voice gaining a fraction of strength. "What about me?"

"You are not in the public eye," he countered. His tone softened, slipping into that manipulative sweetness I had once mistaken for love. "You are just an architect, Genevieve. A private citizen. It would be a fine, maybe some community service. I will pay for everything. I will make it up to you."

Just an architect.

The words cut deeper than any knife.

Five years ago, I was Genevieve Foley. I was the heiress to a twenty-billion-dollar empire. I had the world at my feet, doors opening before I even reached for the handle.

But I gave it all up.

I walked away from my father, my inheritance, and my name, all to be with Ignatz. I became Genevieve Ball. I lived in the shadows, shrinking myself so he could shine without the pressure of my family's wealth overshadowing him.

And now, to him, I was just a disposable shield for another woman.

Ignatz stood up and walked around the desk. He looked impeccable in his tailored navy suit, his career soaring, his face gracing magazine covers. Time had been kind to him. It had polished him into a diamond.

But looking at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling glass window, I saw a stranger. A woman worn down by years of silence and sacrifice. My eyes were tired. My skin was pale.

"Please, Gen," he said, standing behind me. He placed his hands on my shoulders, the weight of them familiar yet foreign. "Do this for us. For our future. Once this blows over, we can finally focus on us. Everleigh will be so grateful. We all will be."

Our future.

He had been promising me that future for five years. It was a carrot on a stick, always dangling just out of reach, forcing me to run faster, work harder, tolerate more.

I felt a wave of nausea rise in my throat. It was the morning sickness, or maybe it was just him.

"I'm pregnant, Ignatz," I said, my voice flat.

The silence that followed was deafening. I waited for a gasp, a hug, a realization.

"Do you really want the mother of your child to have a criminal record?"

His fingers tightened on my shoulders for a second-a spasm of annoyance-then relaxed. He let out a sigh that sounded dangerously like impatience.

"It won't come to that," he said dismissively. "My lawyers will handle it. You won't see the inside of a cell. Just... help me protect her. Please."

Before I could answer, his phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted from desperation to immediate, tender concern.

It was her.

"I have to take this," he said, already turning away from me.

I stood there, invisible in the room I had helped design. I watched him answer the phone, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur.

"It's okay, Eve. I'm handling it. Don't cry. I will fix it."

He didn't look at me. He didn't see me.

I turned and walked out of the office. His assistant, a woman who modeled her style after Everleigh right down to the shade of blonde highlights, barely glanced up from her computer.

"Mr. Turner is busy," she said dismissively into her headset, ignoring my presence entirely. To her, I was just the personal assistant, the shadow, the nobody.

My phone rang as I reached the elevator. It was Meredith, Ignatz's mother.

"Genevieve," she said without preamble. Her voice was ice.

"Ignatz told me about the situation. You need to be careful when you leave the building. There are reporters outside looking for the driver. Don't say anything. Just keep your head down. We cannot have any scandal attaching to Ignatz right now."

She didn't ask how I was. She didn't ask if I was okay with taking the fall for a crime I didn't commit. She just wanted to make sure her golden son remained pristine.

"I understand, Meredith," I said.

"Good. And Genevieve? Don't mention the... relationship. You know how the media twists things. Ignatz is finally getting the recognition he deserves. We don't need your family drama or your status complicating things."

My family drama. The drama of me giving up everything for her son.

I hung up without saying goodbye. The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped into the lobby. I felt dizzy. The stress was taking a physical toll on my body.

I wanted to call Ignatz. I wanted to tell him I needed a ride home, that I didn't feel well, that I was scared. But I knew he wouldn't answer. He was too busy comforting Everleigh.

I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of my small, rented apartment. It was a far cry from the mansions I grew up in, but it was the only place I could afford on the salary I earned as "Genevieve Ball."

The apartment was cold when I arrived. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the peeling paint on the wall.

Through the thin walls, I could hear my neighbors talking in the hallway.

"Did you see the news?" one of them said. "Ignatz Turner and Everleigh were spotted at the gala last night. They look so perfect together."

"Yeah," the other replied. "I heard he's going to propose soon."

I clenched my hands into fists. My nails dug into my palms, the pain sharp and grounding.

Propose.

He was asking me to go to jail for her while the world waited for him to marry her.

My laptop sat on the small desk in the corner. The screen blinked, notifying me of a new email. It was sent to my old, encrypted address, the one only a handful of people knew.

I opened it.

It was from a prestigious architectural firm in Florence, Italy.

Dear Ms. Foley,

We have admired your portfolio from your university days for years. We understand you have been on a hiatus, but a position has opened up for a lead architect on a historic restoration project. We would be honored if you would consider it.

I stared at the words. Ms. Foley.

Not Ms. Ball. They remembered who I was before I erased myself.

I looked around the dim apartment. I thought about the police station Ignatz wanted me to walk into tomorrow. I thought about the baby growing inside me, a baby whose father viewed us as nothing more than collateral damage.

Ignatz loved Everleigh. He loved his career. He loved his mother.

There was no room left for me.

I didn't cry. The tears had dried up years ago, somewhere between the second and third year of waiting for a future that never came.

I placed my hands on the keyboard. My fingers didn't tremble.

I typed a single word.

Accepted.