Dumped My Fake-Poor Ex, Married My Wealthy Boss

The Manhattan rain lashed against Kaia's cheap polyester suit.

Kaia pushed through the brass revolving doors of the Apex Club, her wet shoes squeaking against the marble floor.

She slapped the cold water off her sleeves, her fingers numb.

The receptionist behind the mahogany desk maintained a practiced, polite smile. Her gaze, however, performed a calculating sweep of Kaia's soaked, off-the-rack outfit, instantly categorizing her net worth.

"I apologize, madam, but our guest registry does not appear to list your name for this evening," the receptionist said. Her tone was professional, yet laced with an icy distance that made it clear Kaia was entirely unwelcome.

Kaia's lungs tightened. She forced air through her teeth and pulled the Vantage Group access pass from her pocket.

"I have urgent legal documents for a client in the VIP section," Kaia said. Her voice shook slightly from the cold.

The receptionist inspected the pass, her manicured fingernails tapping the desk. She let out a heavy sigh and pointed toward the velvet-lined staircase.

"Third floor. Do not linger."

Kaia clutched the thick manila envelope against her chest.

She walked up the stairs, her cheap heels sinking into the thick wool carpet. The amber lighting of the corridor made her skin crawl.

She did not belong here. The air smelled of expensive cigars and old money.

A waiter carrying a tray of champagne rushed past her. The edge of the tray clipped her shoulder.

A few drops of champagne splashed onto her damp cuff.

Kaia stopped under a brass wall sconce at the corner of the hallway. She pulled a crumpled tissue from her pocket and scrubbed at the stain.

A burst of laughter echoed down the hall.

The sound sliced through the soft jazz playing from the hidden speakers.

Kaia's hand froze mid-rub. The tissue tore against her sleeve.

Her stomach dropped. The blood drained from her face, leaving her cheeks ice-cold.

That laugh. She had heard that exact laugh every morning for the past six years.

It belonged to Kasen. Her boyfriend. The struggling artist who couldn't afford a subway swipe yesterday.

Kaia's breathing turned shallow. She moved toward the sound, her feet dragging against the heavy carpet.

She stopped outside VIP Box Four. The heavy oak door was cracked open.

Through the narrow gap, a Chesterfield sofa blocked half the room.

Lex Vance, a man Kaia recognized from tabloid magazines, sat on the edge of the sofa. He flipped a gold lighter open and shut.

"How much longer are you going to play house in that leaky Brooklyn dump, Kas?" Lex asked.

Kaia's ribcage contracted. She pressed her hand against the wall to keep her balance.

Kasen leaned back into the frame. He wore a cashmere sweater that cost more than Kaia's annual rent.

He swirled a glass of Macallan whiskey. The amber liquid caught the light.

He let out an arrogant scoff.

"It's a sociological experiment, Lex," Kasen said. His voice was smooth, completely devoid of the exhaustion he faked around her.

Kaia's heart stopped beating. The manila envelope in her hands crumpled as her knuckles turned white.

"A test for gold diggers?" another voice chimed in. "Your fiancée in the Hamptons is already bitching about you going off the grid."

Kasen took a slow sip of his three-thousand-dollar whiskey.

"My fiancée is for the trust fund," Kasen said, waving his hand dismissively. "Kaia is just a naive little pet. She pays the rent. She cooks. She thinks she's saving me."

The word pet hit Kaia like a physical blow to the throat.

Her fingers went entirely numb.

Her phone slipped from her grip.

It hit the thick carpet with a muted thud.

Kaia stared at the black screen on the floor. Her vision blurred. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper.

She did not make a sound.

Inside the room, Lex laughed loudly. "What if she finds out? Think she'll off herself?"

Kasen smirked. It was a cruel expression Kaia had never seen before.

"A poor girl like her? She can't survive without me. I give her a little affection, and she weeps with gratitude. She's not going anywhere."

The profound grief in Kaia's chest evaporated.

A wave of acidic nausea washed over her.

She straightened her spine. The trembling in her knees stopped.

A club manager in a suit stepped out of the shadows, his eyes narrowing at her.

"Are you lost, miss?" he asked, his voice low and threatening.

Kaia raised her hand and aggressively wiped the moisture from her eyes.

"No," she said. Her voice was dead.

She didn't look at the oak door again.She picked up the phone, turned her back on the room and walked toward the elevator. Her strides were long and steady.

She pushed through the revolving doors. The rain slapped her face, washing away the last trace of her stupidity.

She shoved the client's envelope into the secure drop-box by the entrance. Job done.

Kaia stepped off the curb and raised her hand. A cab screeched to a halt in the puddles.

She climbed into the back seat.

"Brooklyn," she told the driver. Her voice held zero emotion.