Chapter 1 · My Husband Named His Bastard His Heir

Chapter 1

My husband of ten years, Brad Springer, signed the divorce papers in front of me, transferring the entire 1.5 billion fortune we built together to the bastard son he'd been raising on the sly.

He said, "Isabel Walter, you get nothing at all."

There was no hiding the smugness and contempt on his face.

What he didn't know was that I'd been waiting for this day for ten years.

The next day, his body was found at the bottom of a cliff outside the city, smashed beyond recognition.

When the police came to my door, I was calmly pruning my roses.

*****

"Ms. Walter, we're from the city's criminal investigation unit. Your husband, Brad Springer, is dead. We need you to come with us to assist with the investigation," one of the police officers said.

His voice was cold, carrying an air of authority that brooked no argument.

I set down my pruning shears and looked at the Lucifer roses in my garden, their bright red petals glistening with dew, looking like frozen blood.

"Dead?" I asked softly, my tone as calm as if I were asking about the weather. "How did he die?"

The lead officer fixed me with a sharp stare. "Last night at eleven, his car went off the cliff. He died on the spot."

I nodded, took off my dirt-stained gloves, and brushed them off with deliberate care. "Alright, I'll go with you."

They hadn't expected me to be this calm.

It was all the more suspicious that a woman who'd just lost her husband did not cry, nor make a fuss, and not even look shocked.

In the back of the police car, I stared out the window as the city streets blurred past, my mind drifting back to yesterday.

It was in the living room that Brad slammed a divorce agreement and an asset transfer document down in front of me.

"Isabel, sign it," he said. "You've had your share of the good life with me these past ten years.

"Wendy and Chase have been waiting for me all this time. It's time I gave them their rightful place."

Wendy Hutchins was his college sweetheart.

Chase Springer was their son, already nine years old.

Brad and I had been married for ten years, and he'd been keeping a mistress for nine.

And I was the last to know.

No, maybe I wasn't the last to know. I was simply the one who endured it the longest.

I picked up the asset transfer document. It was all spelled out in black and white that Brad was giving away every single thing he owned, including company shares, real estate, and cash, totaling 1.5 billion dollars, all to Chase.

As for the divorce agreement, all I got was nothing.

"Brad, you really are ruthless," I said, staring at the man I'd loved and supported for ten years.

Back then, he was flat broke. I used the inheritance my parents left me to help him start our company. The day the company went public, he hugged me, all excited, and promised he'd make me the happiest woman in the world.

Now, he was the one who threw me straight into hell.

"You're useless. You can't even have a child," Brad said, lighting a cigarette. Through the haze of smoke, his face looked so cold and unfamiliar. "Isabel, don't blame me. Blame your own body for not doing its job.

"You should count yourself lucky that you were my wife for so long."

I shook with rage. I snatched up the glass from the table and hurled it at him.

He dodged it with ease, and the glass shattered against the wall.

"You crazy bitch!" Brad snapped, his face twisted in disgust. "You'd better know your place and sign those papers, or I've got plenty of ways to force you."

I laughed, tears rolling down my cheeks. "Alright, I'll sign."

I signed both documents.

He put the papers away with a look of satisfaction, his eyes looking at me like discarded trash.

"You can stay in this villa for now. Consider it my last act of kindness. Be out within a month," he said.

With that, he walked out without so much as a backward glance, probably rushing off to be with his precious family.

I stared at his retreating figure and, under my breath, whispered each word slowly, so quietly that only I could hear. "Brad, you'll regret this."

*****

My mind snapped back to reality.

The interrogation room's lights were harsh and glaring.

The officer across from me asked, going through the motions, "After Brad left the house last night, where did you go? What did you do? Can anyone confirm your whereabouts?"

"I didn't go anywhere. I stayed home. I watched a movie by myself and then went to bed," I replied honestly.

"You were alone? No witnesses?" the officer pressed.

"That's right."

The officer's pen scratched across the paper, the sound harsh in the quiet room.

"According to our investigation, you and your husband were getting divorced, and he transferred all his assets away from you. That gives you plenty of motive," the officer said.

I looked up at him. "Officer, motive isn't a crime. Do you have any evidence?"

He was left speechless by my retort.

Chapter 1

My husband of ten years, Brad Springer, signed the divorce papers in front of me, transferring the entire 1.5 billion fortune we built together to the bastard son he'd been raising on the sly.

He said, "Isabel Walter, you get nothing at all."

There was no hiding the smugness and contempt on his face.

What he didn't know was that I'd been waiting for this day for ten years.

The next day, his body was found at the bottom of a cliff outside the city, smashed beyond recognition.

When the police came to my door, I was calmly pruning my roses.

*****

"Ms. Walter, we're from the city's criminal investigation unit. Your husband, Brad Springer, is dead. We need you to come with us to assist with the investigation," one of the police officers said.

His voice was cold, carrying an air of authority that brooked no argument.

I set down my pruning shears and looked at the Lucifer roses in my garden, their bright red petals glistening with dew, looking like frozen blood.

"Dead?" I asked softly, my tone as calm as if I were asking about the weather. "How did he die?"

The lead officer fixed me with a sharp stare. "Last night at eleven, his car went off the cliff. He died on the spot."

I nodded, took off my dirt-stained gloves, and brushed them off with deliberate care. "Alright, I'll go with you."

They hadn't expected me to be this calm.

It was all the more suspicious that a woman who'd just lost her husband did not cry, nor make a fuss, and not even look shocked.

In the back of the police car, I stared out the window as the city streets blurred past, my mind drifting back to yesterday.

It was in the living room that Brad slammed a divorce agreement and an asset transfer document down in front of me.

"Isabel, sign it," he said. "You've had your share of the good life with me these past ten years.

"Wendy and Chase have been waiting for me all this time. It's time I gave them their rightful place."

Wendy Hutchins was his college sweetheart.

Chase Springer was their son, already nine years old.

Brad and I had been married for ten years, and he'd been keeping a mistress for nine.

And I was the last to know.

No, maybe I wasn't the last to know. I was simply the one who endured it the longest.

As for the divorce agreement, all I got was nothing.

"Brad, you really are ruthless," I said, staring at the man I'd loved and supported for ten years.

Now, he was the one who threw me straight into hell.

"You should count yourself lucky that you were my wife for so long."

I shook with rage. I snatched up the glass from the table and hurled it at him.

He dodged it with ease, and the glass shattered against the wall.

"You crazy bitch!" Brad snapped, his face twisted in disgust. "You'd better know your place and sign those papers, or I've got plenty of ways to force you."

I laughed, tears rolling down my cheeks. "Alright, I'll sign."

I signed both documents.

He put the papers away with a look of satisfaction, his eyes looking at me like discarded trash.

"You can stay in this villa for now. Consider it my last act of kindness. Be out within a month," he said.

With that, he walked out without so much as a backward glance, probably rushing off to be with his precious family.

I stared at his retreating figure and, under my breath, whispered each word slowly, so quietly that only I could hear. "Brad, you'll regret this."

*****

My mind snapped back to reality.

The interrogation room's lights were harsh and glaring.

The officer across from me asked, going through the motions, "After Brad left the house last night, where did you go? What did you do? Can anyone confirm your whereabouts?"

"I didn't go anywhere. I stayed home. I watched a movie by myself and then went to bed," I replied honestly.

"You were alone? No witnesses?" the officer pressed.

"That's right."

The officer's pen scratched across the paper, the sound harsh in the quiet room.

"According to our investigation, you and your husband were getting divorced, and he transferred all his assets away from you. That gives you plenty of motive," the officer said.

I looked up at him. "Officer, motive isn't a crime. Do you have any evidence?"

He was left speechless by my retort.