"Who the hell are you?" I asked with a frown.

"Excuse me?" The woman scoffed as she looked at me with wide, irritated eyes, clutching the collar of Jeremiah’s shirt.

“Can I help you?” she asked coldly.

I blinked, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Maybe I had the wrong room. Maybe this was some kind of mistake..Only it wasn't. I was certain this was Jeremiah's hotel room.

“Where’s Jeremiah?” I demanded, my voice tight.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wasn’t sure whether to answer or slam the door in my face.

“Who are you?” she finally asked.

I scoffed. “His wife.”

The color drained from her face.

I shoved the door open wider, stepping inside before she could stop me. The room smelled like cologne and faint traces of perfume that wasn’t mine. The bed was messy, the sheets tangled, and that was all the proof I needed.

It hit me all at once.

Jeremiah hadn’t just left me.

He had replaced me.

“How long?” I asked, my voice deadly calm staring at the messy bed.

The woman...no, Kimberly, as I later learned, wrapped her arms around herself. “Why would I tell you anything."

I turned to her my eyes as deadly as I could make it.

“How Long.”

She swallowed. “Ten months.”

I sucked in a breath. My heart couldn't take it. My hands trembled slightly.

Ten. Months.

That was nearly a year. A full year.

All while I was home, waiting for him. Loving him. Believing in him. Supporting him.

And he was here, fucking her!!

I should have felt devastated or Miserable. Maybe I did. But anger—white-hot, all-consuming rage—burned through my veins, drowning out the heartbreak.

How dare he!?

How dare he throw away twenty years like it was nothing?

That's right, twenty fucking years!!

I had known Jeremiah since I was eight years old, when his mother started working as our maid.

I could still remember the first time I saw him. Just skinny ten-year-old boy standing in our kitchen. His mother had been our maid, scrubbing dishes while he clung to her side. He was dirt poor, wearing shoes that barely held together, clothes that were too big for his skinny frame.

And who had helped him?

Me!

I was the one who begged my father to let him continue school when his mother couldn’t afford it. I was the one who fought for him to have the same opportunities as I did.

And when it was time for college, he had wanted to go. But he had no money, and my father had refused to fund a maid’s son.

So I had done the unthinkable. I went into my father’s study, Knife in hand, I stood in front of his desk, and told him if he didn’t help Jeremiah, I would kill myself. And I meant it.

My father had been furious. My mother had cried. My brother called me insane.

But in the end, they all caved. And Jeremiah was sent to College.

Not just any college—my father sent Jeremiah to the best college in the state.

And then, when Jeremiah had come to me again with a wild dream about a tech company, who had convinced my father to invest in him?

Me!

Not just with words. I had begged and cried for days on end.

And once again, my father was forced to agree.

The only thing my father refused me was his blessing to marry Jeremiah. He had drawn the line there, standing firm.

"He’s only using you, Nora," he had said. "You’re blinded by love, but one day, he’ll leave you the second he doesn’t need you anymore."

My mother had been so angry. My brother disgusted.

But I didn't cared.

I loved Jeremiah. I chose him above my family, above my legacy, above the life they had planned for me.

And because of that, my father practically disowned me and revoked my inheritance. I had hated my father then. Hated him for punishing me because I loved someone lower in class.

But now?

Now I realized my father had been right.

Jeremiah had been using me all along. And now that he was a billionaire even richer than my father. I was no longer any use to him.

I turned and slowly left the room. My eyes burned and my lips quivered. I wanted to cry but I was forcing myself to remain strong. That bastard wasn't worth crying for.

But I couldn't help myself as I got to the lobby of the hotel, I broke down. Crying uncontrollably. How could he do this to me? After all these years.

Then—

"You don't look so good love."

That voice! His voice!

I slowly looked up.

Jeremiah stood there, the very bastard who had shattered my heart into a million pieces. He was dressed in a white shirt, his sleeves rolled up like he didn’t have a single care in the world.

And then he freaking smirked.

"Sorry about my appearance. Kimberly is quite wild in bed."

The words hit me like a slap.

And just like that my heartbreak once again turned to pure, intense rage.

My hand shot up before I could stop it as I slapped him across the face. As hard as I could.

Jeremiah barely flinched. He just blinked, his smirk never fading. That only made my blood boil more.

"You disgusting piece of shit," I spat, "You used me. You lied to me. And now you’re throwing it in my face like it’s a goddamn joke?"

His jaw tightened, but his eyes stayed cold. "You’re being dramatic, Nora. I was going to make sure you were taken care of."

"Taken care of?" I let out a bitter laugh. "Taken care of? Like I’m some freaking charity case? I MADE YOU, JEREMIAH! Without me, you’d still be scrubbing floors and begging for scraps!"

His nostrils flared. "I worked my ass off—"

"WITH MY FATHER’S MONEY!" I cut him off, shoving him back. He barely moved, but I didn’t care. "My father paid for your school. My father gave you your first investment. My father gave you everything you have now! And I fought for you! I risked everything for you!"

My voice cracked, but I didn’t let the tears spill. Not again. Not in front of him.

Jeremiah sighed like he was bored. "You did what you wanted, Nora. No one forced you to. And now, we’re over. Simple as that. Stop trying to make it a big deal. Your not a victim here."

Not a Victim? A tear slid down my face.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "You ungrateful bastard."

He ran a hand through his hair, looking annoyed. "I don’t owe you anything, Nora."

That last statement made me lose my entire composure.

I grabbed a small vase from a table and threw it at him. He ducked just in time, and the glass shattered against the floor.

"You will regret this, Jeremiah," I hissed, my voice shaking with anger. "I swear on everything I have left, you will fucking regret this."

He smirked again. That same cocky, infuriating smirk. "We’ll see about that."