Chapter 1

I turned my ex-husband into a punchline and landed myself at the top of the trending list.

After the divorce, desperate for cash, I joined a reality dating show that gathered my exes, sworn enemies, and people I'd been romantically linked to.

The producers specifically warned me to tone it down. After all, my billionaire ex-husband was the show's biggest investor, currently watching with his unforgettable first love from the VIP box.

I smiled, nodded, then turned, and walked on stage, picked up the mic, and began.

"I have a friend. She got married for three years. Her husband didn't even know she was allergic to mangoes, but he had another woman's menstrual cycle memorized. Any guesses why?"

"A. He's a 'cares-about-everyone' kind of sweet guy. B. He's a professional gynecologist. C. He's a pure, unadulterated asshole."

The room erupted.

Down in the audience, my ex-husband crushed his champagne flute on the spot.

Stella POV

The divorce agreement slid across the million-dollar desk toward me with a harsh scrape.

Julian Vance leaned back in his leather chair, his assessing gaze cold and devoid of warmth.

"Serena's back," he stated, his tone as impersonal as a business notification. "Sign it. The villa and the money are yours. We're even."

Three years of marriage, summed up in a single, cold "we're even."

Everyone in our circle knew I had been Serena Thompson's stand-in.

Now that the original had returned, the copy was expected to vanish.

His assistant stood ready nearby, holding a large pack of tissues.

They were clearly waiting for a scene.

But I didn't cry. My eyes didn't even redden. Calmly, I pulled something from my bag-a pink calculator.

placed it beside the divorce agreement, where it looked utterly out of place.

Under their watchful gazes, I spoke slowly and deliberately. "Mr. Vance, divorce is fine, but the accounts need to be settled. It's all about contracts, just like you taught me."

My fingers flew across the calculator.

"Three years, one thousand and ninety-five days. I served as your personal life manager, handling daily logistics. Market rate: two thousand per day. That's two million, one hundred ninety thousand."

I also provided on-demand emotional counseling, available 24/7. Top-tier therapist rate, discounted as a friend: ten thousand per day. That's another ten million, nine hundred fifty thousand."

"And as your social companion, attending fifty-two public events to play the devoted spouse. Standard model rate: one hundred thousand per event. That's five million, two hundred thousand."

I paused and looked up, my voice steady. "Due to the long-term mental strain of impersonating someone else, I require an additional twenty percent compensation for professional damages on the total."

"Stella Reed!" He slammed the table, shooting to his feet. "You're reducing everything to a transaction?"

"What else?"I put the calculator away and met his gaze. "Mr. Vance, you didn't actually think I loved you, did you?"

I opened an audio file on my phone and pressed play.

A muffled male voice indistinctly spoke. "Serena... don't go... Serena..."

In the recording, he repeatedly called out another woman's name.

I turned off the audio, shook my phone, and let out a soft laugh. "This is a collection of your sleep-talking from the past three years. If the company's investors heard their new CEO repeatedly calling out another woman's name during his marriage, what do you think the market's reaction would be?"

The air grew thick with silence.

After a long moment, he said coldly, "Sign it."

His assistant quickly replaced the check with a new one.

I took the check, casually glanced at it, then took down our wedding photo from the wall.

I tore the photo in half right in front of him, then into shreds, precisely tossing them into the trash bin by his hand.

I stood up and gave him one final smile-the perfectly practiced smile I'd worn as "Mrs. Vance" for three years.

"You know, trash belongs in the bin."

With that, I turned and left, the click of my heels sharp and clear against the floor.

Stepping out of the building, the sunlight was a bit blinding. I squinted.

Clutching that astonishingly large check, yet my heart felt heavy.

I opened the debt reminder text message on my phone. The number there had an extra zero compared to the check.

This money was far from enough.