His Empire Crumbles, Her Love Soars

Janna Lemay

Billionaires | Completed

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My son Leo's panicked cry ripped through our Queens apartment. He was seizing, turning blue, his little body rigid. I dropped everything, scooped him up, and raced to the hospital, only to be told the closest ambulance was twenty minutes away. My only hope was my sputtering ten-year-old sedan, a humiliating relic from before my real estate mogul husband, Franklin West, declared bankruptcy. But traffic was a nightmare, and a detour spat me out into Times Square, where hundred-dollar bills were fluttering from the sky. And there he was, Franklin West, on a rooftop stage, arms outstretched like a king, beside a young, beautiful, and very pregnant Janel Morales, his cruel real estate agent. My "bankrupt" husband was literally making it rain money, orchestrating an obscene publicity stunt. I called him, desperate. "Franklin, it's Leo! He's sick, he can't breathe. I'm stuck. I need you." He dismissed me, claiming he was hiding from creditors in a Jersey motel, then hung up, turning to kiss his mistress tenderly. He didn't love us. He was standing on a rooftop with his pregnant mistress, throwing away more money than I had seen in a year, while our son struggled for every breath. The rage and betrayal felt like acid in my stomach. How could he lie so brazenly, so monstrously, while our son was dying? How could he choose a public spectacle and a new family over his own child? A dam inside me broke. The love, the trust, the years I had dedicated to this man-it was all gone. He had made his choice. Now I had to save our son. Alone.

Betrayal Revenge Pregnancy Divorce Drama

Chapter 10

01-06 21:34

Chapter 1

My only hope was my sputtering ten-year-old sedan, a humiliating relic from before my real estate mogul husband, Franklin West, declared bankruptcy. But traffic was a nightmare, and a detour spat me out into Times Square, where hundred-dollar bills were fluttering from the sky.

And there he was, Franklin West, on a rooftop stage, arms outstretched like a king, beside a young, beautiful, and very pregnant Janel Morales, his cruel real estate agent. My "bankrupt" husband was literally making it rain money, orchestrating an obscene publicity stunt.

I called him, desperate. "Franklin, it's Leo! He's sick, he can't breathe. I'm stuck. I need you." He dismissed me, claiming he was hiding from creditors in a Jersey motel, then hung up, turning to kiss his mistress tenderly.

He didn't love us. He was standing on a rooftop with his pregnant mistress, throwing away more money than I had seen in a year, while our son struggled for every breath. The rage and betrayal felt like acid in my stomach.

How could he lie so brazenly, so monstrously, while our son was dying? How could he choose a public spectacle and a new family over his own child?

A dam inside me broke. The love, the trust, the years I had dedicated to this man-it was all gone. He had made his choice. Now I had to save our son. Alone.

Chapter 1

The shrill, panicked cry from my son Leo ripped through the thin walls of our Queens apartment.

I dropped the dish I was washing. It shattered in the sink, but I didn't care.

I ran to his room. He was on the floor, his little body rigid, his face turning a terrifying shade of blue. His eyes, usually lost in their own autistic world, were wide with a terror he couldn't name.

"Leo! Leo, baby, look at Mommy!"

He didn't respond. He just seized, a silent, violent tremor shaking his five-year-old frame.

I scooped him into my arms, my heart hammering against my ribs. This wasn't like his usual episodes. This was new. This was horrifying.

My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone and dialed 911. The operator was calm, but her words were a death sentence. "The closest ambulance is twenty minutes out, ma'am. There's a major accident on the BQE."

Twenty minutes. Leo didn't have twenty minutes.

I hung up, grabbed my keys and my worn-out purse, and ran out the door with Leo in my arms. My car, a ten-year-old sedan with a sputtering engine, was my only hope. It was a humiliating relic from our old life, the one before my husband, the real estate mogul Franklin West, declared he was bankrupt.

The engine protested, coughed, then finally turned over. I threw the car into drive and sped toward the nearest public hospital, praying we would make it.

Traffic was a nightmare. Horns blared. People swore. And in the back seat, my son was struggling for every breath.

To avoid the worst of the jam, I took a detour that spat me out right into the heart of Manhattan. Times Square.

It was a terrible mistake. The streets were packed, not just with cars, but with a massive crowd of people, all looking up, their faces lit by the giant digital billboards.

It was raining. But it wasn't water.

Hundred-dollar bills were fluttering down from the sky.

People were screaming, laughing, grabbing at the money. It was chaos. A spectacle.

My eyes followed the cascade of cash upwards, to one of the largest screens. And there he was. My husband.

Franklin West.

He stood on a temporary stage erected on a rooftop, his arms outstretched like a king. He was smiling that charismatic smile that had won over a thousand investors and one foolish wife. Beside him stood a woman, young, beautiful, and very pregnant. Janel Morales. His sharp, cruel real estate agent.

She clung to his arm, her expression smug, as Franklin orchestrated this obscene publicity stunt.

My "bankrupt" husband, who claimed he was hiding from creditors, was literally making it rain money in Times Square.

I grabbed my phone, my fingers slick with sweat. I had to try. For Leo.

He answered on the second ring. His voice was impatient.

"What is it, Kelsie? I'm in the middle of something."

"Franklin, it's Leo! He's sick, he can't breathe. I'm trying to get to the hospital, but I'm stuck. I need you."

My voice was breaking, a desperate plea.

There was a pause. I could hear the crowd roaring in the background of his call.

"Kelsie, you know I can't be seen," he said, his voice a low, conspiratorial whisper. "The creditors are everywhere. I'm lying low in a motel in Jersey. I can't risk it."

A lie. A bald-faced, monstrous lie. I was looking right at him.

"But Leo..."

"He's a tough kid. He'll be fine," Franklin said dismissively. "Just get him to the doctor. I'll... I'll wire you some money when I can shake these guys. I love you both."

He didn't love us. He was standing on a rooftop with his pregnant mistress, throwing away more money than I had seen in a year.

"I love you," he repeated, a hollow, meaningless phrase.

Then he hung up.

On the giant screen, I watched him turn to Janel. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close and kissing her tenderly on the forehead. The crowd below cheered.

He turned his back on the city, on the spectacle he had created, and led his new family into a sleek, black helicopter that had just landed on the roof.

The helicopter's blades began to whir, kicking up wind and more money.

In my broken-down car, stuck in the chaos he created, I watched it lift off and disappear into the gray sky.

My son let out a small, pained whimper from the back.

The rage and betrayal felt like acid in my stomach. But it would have to wait.

"I'm coming, baby," I whispered, my voice raw.

I slammed my hand on the horn, my knuckles white. A dam inside me had broken. The love, the trust, the years I had dedicated to this man-it was all gone, washed away in a rain of fraudulent cash.

He had made his choice.

Now I had to save our son. Alone.