“The fourth time I lost our baby, my husband threw me out of his Bentley on a deserted road. My crime? The heel of my shoe had scuffed the pristine leather interior. I woke up in a hospital bed, bleeding and alone, only to see him through the glass door, holding his high school sweetheart in his arms. Moments later, his mother posted their picture online with the caption: "Finally back where they belong. A true love story." Their friends commented, calling me a "social-climbing nobody" he was finally getting rid of. They thought they had broken me, that I would come crawling back like I always did. But they forgot about the betrayal clause in our prenup, the one that would give me control of my family's entire fortune. And it expired in one week.”