The Divorced Billionaire's Heiress

The third wedding anniversary was supposed to be warm.

At least, that was how Clark Summer presented it to the public.

Photos of them flooded Nyla’s phone screen since early morning. Clark stood in the center of a five-star hotel ballroom, dressed in an expensive suit, a calm smile on his face. Beside him, a black velvet box lay open—revealing a dazzling diamond necklace that caught the light.

Love Nyla.

The name was clearly displayed in the caption, accompanied by words filled with affection that made thousands of people jealous.

“Husband goals.”

“A dream marriage.”

“Nyla must be the luckiest woman in the world.”

Nyla stared at her phone without blinking, her fingers cold despite the hot cup of coffee she still held. The house was silent. Too silent for a wedding anniversary.

No flowers. No embrace. No Clark.

She swallowed hard, trying to calm the tightness in her chest that had lingered since she woke up. Clark said he was busy. A sudden event. Dinner would be postponed to another time.

As usual.

Her phone vibrated again.

But this time, it wasn’t from social media.

An unknown number. One message. One photo.

Nyla stared at the screen for several seconds longer than she should have—as if her body refused to believe what her eyes were seeing.

In the photo, a young woman leaned coquettishly against Clark’s chest. A tight dress hugged her figure with confidence. Her smile was bright, triumphant.

And around her neck—

The same diamond necklace.

Love Nyla.

The coffee cup slipped from Nyla’s hand and crashed onto the floor, shattering with a sharp sound that echoed through the large house. The brown liquid spread across the tiles, like a stain that could no longer be cleaned away.

She could only stare at the photo, her breathing unsteady.

“Ah… so this is how it is,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Memories of three years of marriage flashed through her mind like slow, slicing blades.

Three years of being the wife who always gave in. Three years of lowering her head while her mother-in-law insulted her background. Three years of waiting for her husband to come home late at night with excuses of meetings and business trips.

And now—the necklace that was meant to symbolize her love was wrapped around another woman’s neck.

Her phone vibrated again. This time, an incoming call.

Clark’s name appeared on the screen.

Nyla stared at it for a long moment before finally answering.

“Darling,” Clark’s voice sounded calm, as if their world was perfectly fine. “Have you seen my post? I’m sorry I can’t come home today. We’ll celebrate later.”

“Later?” Nyla let out a small smile, bitter on her tongue. “Clark… who is that woman?”

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.

“What woman?”

“The one you’re holding. The one wearing my necklace.”

A breath was drawn—not in shock, but in irritation.

“Where did you get that photo?” Clark asked, his tone turning cold.

“So you’re not denying it,” Nyla said softly, her chest feeling crushed. “Who is she?”

Clark was silent for a moment, then sighed deeply, as if Nyla were the inconvenience.

“She’s just my secretary,” he finally said. “There’s nothing you need to make a big deal out of.”

“Your secretary wearing my wedding necklace and being in your arms?” Nyla’s voice trembled. “Clark, do you think I’m stupid?”

“You’re being too emotional,” Clark cut in. “I still love you. This is just… a physical need. You know I’m a normal man.”

Those words hit Nyla harder than a slap.

“A physical need?” she repeated weakly. “Then what am I?”

“My wife,” Clark answered quickly. “Your position is irreplaceable. Don’t be dramatic.”

Tears finally fell, one by one, soaking Nyla’s cheeks.

“And what about that necklace?” she asked, almost in a whisper.

“I bought it with my own money,” Clark replied without hesitation. “Don’t be stingy over material things.”

Something inside Nyla cracked completely.

Not only because of the affair—but because of how easily Clark belittled her pain. How certain he was that Nyla would stay, no matter how broken he made her.

“Do you know why I never left, Clark?” Nyla asked.

“Because you love me,” Clark said confidently. “And because your father still needs medical expenses. You have no choice.”

That sentence became the final blow.

Nyla smiled—a cold smile, nothing like the loving smile she had always given him before.

“You’re wrong,” she said softly but firmly. “I do have a choice.”

She ended the call before Clark could reply.