I never told my husband that I had inherited ten million dollars. He loved me—until I got pregnant and had to leave my job. Then I became a parasite to him. He abandoned me during labor, trembling in pain, when I needed him the most. The next day, he showed up at the hospital with his lover to humiliate me. “She earns $100,000 a year,” he said disdainfully.

The heating bill was ninety dollars higher than last month. To Mark, it was an empire-level disaster.

He slammed the paper onto the kitchen table. It slid across the cheap laminate and stopped against my belly. Eight months pregnant, my belly was the first thing everything hit.

“Ninety dollars, Clara,” he said, rubbing his temples as if my presence gave him a headache. “Did you leave the thermostat at seventy again? I told you sixty-eight is enough. Put on a sweater.”

“I was cold,” I whispered, cradling my belly as Leo kicked in protest. “The doctor said circulation is important. Cold isn’t good for the baby.”

“The doctor said, the doctor said,” he mocked, opening the fridge and inspecting it like an offense before grabbing a beer. “You know who doesn’t complain? Women who contribute. Not those lying around while their husbands work themselves to the bone.”

“I’m on bed rest,” I said calmly. “Preeclampsia. It puts my life and our baby’s at risk.”

“Excuses,” he sneered, downing the beer. “My mom worked in a factory until I was born. You quit as soon as you got a positive test. You’re a parasite, Clara.”

I hid the notification on my phone:

Geneva Bank: Trust Fund Distribution Received – $10,450,000

I wanted love, not loyalty to money.

Mark left. I went into labor alone.

Leo was born at 3:14 a.m., screaming and perfect.

Mark sent papers: divorce.

I activated the trust. He got nothing.

I held my son and whispered, “My empire. My rules.”