Deported His Mistress, Kept His Baby

Chapter 4: "Did You Really Think I'd Let You Go?"

"Be a good girl, and the title of Mrs. Sinclair will always be yours."

Vincent idly twisted his wedding ring with those slender fingers, his gaze cold as ice.

My fists clenched involuntarily. "In your eyes, am I just some gold-digging woman?"

His laugh sent a chill down my spine. "What else? From dating to marriage, your father's company tripled in value. Isn't that proof enough?"

His words hit like a thunderclap, leaving my ears ringing.

Vincent was already loosening his tie as he strode toward the master bedroom.

Mia was leaning against the doorframe in her silk robe, her hair still wet.

"Big sister," she cooed, "Mr. Sinclair says you're an excellent cook. I'm craving sweet and sour ribs tonight. Could you be a dear and go grocery shopping for me?"

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, I threw my wedding ring into the trash.

Nine years of love, all reduced to an elaborate transaction.

As the taxi sped toward my parents' house, memories flooded in.

Back in university, Vincent always wore faded shirts, claiming he was orphaned and shuffled between relatives.

Heartbroken, I'd secretly slipped allowance money into his backpack, staying up late to knit him scarves.

On our engagement day, he took me to the rooftop of Sinclair Group's headquarters.

That was when I found out this "poor boy" was actually the heir.

After our marriage, my father's business flourished—I thought it was just good luck.

My phone vibrated violently.

The caller ID read "Husband," burning my eyes.

I turned it off immediately, watching the city blur past my window.

Nine years of devotion, repaid with nothing but humiliation.

My parents were waiting for me, their suitcases packed.

Father patted me on the shoulder. "We changed the flight. Departure in two hours."

As the airport announcement echoed through the terminal, my phone lit up again.

Vincent's number flashed frantically on the screen, mirroring the toxic rhythm he'd always controlled in our twisted relationship.

This time, I smashed the power button decisively and walked toward the gate, not once looking back.