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The day our divorce was finalized, James Carter tossed the divorce papers straight in my face. "Leah, don't expect a single cent from my seven million in premarital assets. I've kept you housed and cared for six years. You ought to be grateful." Standing right behind him was the woman he'd always loved, four months pregnant, wearing a soft, poised smile. The first live comment scrolled across my screen: [You're trapped in an angsty romance novel. You're the laughable side character written off by Chapter 3—the gold-digging ex-wife who married into wealth and got dumped the second her replacement showed up.] [Your grandmother will pass away in three days. Her will leaves you an arranged marriage: Jack Evans, forty, a widowed truck driver with an annual income of thirty thousand dollars.] [But he's got an abandoned freight route. In three months, the entire corridor running along that route will be designated a federal development zone.] [Land compensation payout: four hundred million dollars.] I slid the bank card into the pocket of my jacket, my movements quick and unhurried. Then I stood outside the county clerk's marriage division office and couldn't hold back a quiet, bitter laugh.