I Faked My Death On His Wedding Day. My Billionaire Boyfriend Went Crazy

The old estate was the one place in Miles Farley's heart that no one was ever allowed to touch. People in our circle always laughed that I couldn't live without Miles Farley. The truth is, they weren't wrong. They were the kind of women who had been born with silver spoons in their mouths. Even if they walked away from a man, there was always a family and a company standing behind them. But I had nothing. I was only a scholarship girl supported by the Farley Charitable Foundation. At eighteen, I graduated top of my class and was accepted to one of the best universities in the country, and the Farleys invited me to their estate. It was on that very day that Miles Farley's mother, Mrs. Farley, the woman every soul in Manhattan envied, threw herself from the roof, unable to bear the humiliation inflicted by her husband's mistress. She came crashing down from that height. Her blood splattered across both my face and Miles's. That was how Miles Farley came to develop severe psychological problems. He couldn't stand anything red, and he couldn't bear the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. Every night, the moment he closed his eyes, he dreamed of his mother lying before him, drenched in blood. He smashed every mirror in his bedroom, and he refused to set foot in the old estate ever again. Old Mr. Farley brought in doctor after doctor, and none of it worked. In the end, he came to me and begged. "Maggie, you're the only one. When you're beside him, Miles can finally quiet down, even if it's just for a while." "I want you to stay. Please, keep him company." Maybe it was because we had been through the same nightmare together. Miles Farley trusted me. He quietly allowed me to stay by his side. My heart ached for that pale, fragile boy. And I was grateful for everything the Farleys had done for me. I wanted to do whatever I could. When Miles couldn't sleep, I sat by his bed and stayed with him, night after night. When Miles couldn't eat, I pored over recipes and cooked porridge and meals for him. When he jolted awake in the middle of the night, I held his hand and sat with him until dawn. In those years, there was no Emma beside us, none of the scheming and tangled interests that came later. Only him and me. Like two animals trapped in the dark. Clinging to each other just to survive. I knew that a girl of my background could never become Mrs. Farley. And yet. When Miles's fingers ran through my hair. When our lips met and he whispered that he loved me. When he spent a fortune buying up every flower in the city for me. I still couldn't stop a faint, small hope from taking root in my heart. That hope lasted right up until the day of my twenty-fifth birthday. In the quiet that followed, Miles Farley suddenly reached over and pinched the soft flesh around my waist. He lounged against the headboard and let out a quiet laugh. "Maggie, you've put on weight." "Keep neglecting your figure like this, and next month you might not get your money." My mind went blank, a ringing filling my ears. In an instant I went from heaven straight to hell. That was when it finally hit me. No matter how good Miles Farley was to me. No matter how deep my feelings for him ran. In his eyes, I was only a mistress who sold her body, someone who would never be fit to stand beside him in public. He would never love a woman like me. And he would certainly never truly be with me. Beyond that, I also knew Miles Farley would never let me go. The eldest Farley heir was a domineering man by nature. Whatever he didn't want, he still wouldn't allow anyone else to touch. I refused to keep sinking into a relationship with no end in sight. I had to find myself a way out before he grew sick of me for good. That was when Emma caught my eye. She was vibrant, striking, and immediately caught Miles Farley's attention. I made sure to drop the right hints, gradually turning her into exactly the kind of woman Miles Farley was most drawn to.

And so, little by little, the two of them ended up together. Emma couldn't stomach the idea of sharing a man with anyone else. She wanted to push me out and take my place, to become the real Mrs. Farley. So she found every possible way to make my life miserable. And the more she tormented me, the guiltier Miles felt. The guiltier Miles felt, the more he paid me to make up for it. He paid me enough that I could retire from being his mistress before my youth and looks were gone. My phone screen lit up. Another compensation payment had landed. I stared at that long string of digits. And the bitterness in my chest melted away with it. This was fine, really. Love was hers. Money was mine. She got what she wanted, and so did I. Everyone got exactly what they needed. After I saw Miles off, I started tallying up the assets in my name. Two hundred million in savings, enough that I'd never have to worry about money for the rest of my life. Once I'd confirmed the numbers, I booked myself a flight to Switzerland. Departure was three days away. Once I'd tied up the last loose ends, I could walk away free. I'd barely finalized the travel plans when Miles's call came through. I was still worried he might have figured something out. Then I heard him on the other end, giving an order that left no room for argument. "Come to the old estate." "Emma hasn't had much of an appetite lately. She wants some of your fish soup." I let out a breath. I didn't argue. I simply changed my clothes and hurried over to the old estate. The old Farley estate hadn't been this lively in a long time. Luxury cars were parked bumper to bumper out front. And Old Mr. Farley couldn't hide his laughter if he tried. "Good, good, the Farley line will go on." "You wild thing, all these years of running around, and now you've finally settled down." Emma sat in the middle of the crowd, one hand resting lightly on her belly. Miles sat beside her, smiling as he peeled an orange for her. Guests crowded around them, showering them with congratulations. I'd long since gotten used to being left out in the cold. But then Miles and the others started discussing names for the baby growing inside Emma. And without meaning to, I looked down at my own flat stomach. There had once been a child there too. Our baby. Our flesh and blood. The day Emma pushed me down the stairs, I was already more than three months pregnant. When the blood came sliding down between my legs, I was terrified. Lost, not knowing what to do, all I could do was call Miles in a panic. I called more than a dozen times. In the end, the only answer I got was the sound of Emma moaning on the other end of the line. It wasn't until the next afternoon that Miles heard about my miscarriage from his secretary. He didn't offer much of an explanation. He only said two things to me. "It's just as well it's gone. Saves the trouble." "Remember to take your medicine on schedule from now on." And with that, he signed the villa over to me. Back then I laughed and told myself it was fine. An unborn child for a villa worth over a hundred million. Not a bad trade. But now, watching the tenderness in Miles's eyes, watching him so full of anticipation, I felt an ache in my chest unlike anything I'd ever felt before, and I couldn't even say where it came from. "Why are you only getting here now?" Miles's voice cut into my memories. His gaze swept over my pale face before shifting toward the kitchen. "The fish is already cleaned. Emma can't stand the smell. Be careful when you're cooking." I smiled. A gold-digger, a mistress. What right did I have to be upset, to make a scene? I nodded and walked obediently into the kitchen. Behind me came wave after wave of laughter, open and undisguised. "Oh my, our little Mrs. Farley really is such a good little wife."

"Her husband marries another woman and has a baby with her, and instead of raising hell, she comes over and cooks for them herself." "What husband? Miles never even married her. At best she's the mistress he keeps on the side." "Now that Miles has a real wife, she'll be thrown out sooner or later!" I'd heard all of it too many times to count. I rinsed my hands and dropped the sliced ginger into the pot. In my head, I quietly counted down the days until I could leave. I was so lost in it that I didn't notice someone tap me on the shoulder from behind. It was Miles's secretary. He took my hands and dunked them into the bucket of alcohol beside me. Then he handed me a black mask and explained in a flat voice. "Madam says she's a germaphobe. Women like you are filthy, so from now on you need to disinfect yourself from head to toe before you set foot in the Farley house." "Madam also says the sight of your face turns her stomach so badly she can't eat, so you're to keep the mask on whenever you're around her." "And once the fish soup is done, go home." "Tonight is a Farley family dinner. You're not fit to sit at the table." The same childish games again. Tricks like these had long since stopped surprising me. Not long ago, Emma had made me kneel and wash her feet. A mask was nothing compared to that. Either way, as long as I got paid, it didn't matter. I nodded obediently. I put on the mask and kept cooking the fish soup. Emma had a picky palate, complaining it was too hot one minute, too fishy the next. I had to remake the same bowl of soup again and again. She ran me ragged until my hands were covered in blood blisters. Only then was she satisfied enough to let me go. The old estate was remote, and by the time I got back to the hillside villa it was nearly dawn. My body still hadn't fully recovered from the miscarriage. I lay in pain for half the night before drifting into a hazy sleep. I'd barely fallen asleep when a sharp pain shot through my wrist. Miles stood beside the bed, his face dark with fury. He yanked me upright by the arm. "What did you put in the fish soup?" "Emma drank the soup you made and her stomach hasn't stopped hurting." Groggy and confused, I mumbled. "I have no idea what you're talking about!" Miles stared at me, then let out a cold, contemptuous laugh. "Drop the act. Don't think I don't know exactly what kind of woman you are." "You're just like those sluts who drove my mother to her death. For money, to climb your way up, there's no shameless thing you wouldn't do!" "You failed at using a baby to climb higher, so now you want to hurt the child in Emma's belly?" His grip tightened painfully around my wrist. My unhealed belly seized with a wave of pain. I shoved Miles away on instinct and shouted. "Miles, have you lost your mind? What does Emma's stomachache have to do with me?" "She's the one who hurt my child first. Even if something really did happen to her, that's her own comeuppance!" The words had barely left my mouth when a slap crashed across my face. Miles closed his hand around my throat, a vicious light in his eyes. "Maggie, who gave you the nerve to slander Emma!" "Who do you think you are, daring to compare yourself to her?" "Emma comes from a good family, pure and honest." "And you? You're a dog I pay to keep, a whore anyone can have for the right price." "When I'm pleased, I humor you. When I'm not, I can wipe you off the earth in a heartbeat!" With that, Miles ripped my nightgown open. He was about to go any further when his phone rang. Whatever was said on the other end, I couldn't hear. The fury on Miles's face gave way to worry in an instant, and he hurried toward the door. When he reached it, he turned back and looked at me. "You'd better pray that Emma and the baby are fine." "Because if they're not, I will never let this go!" With that, Miles slammed the door and was gone. The room fell silent again. A thick, metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I sat on the bed, staring at my wrists, already mottled with purple and blue bruises. And then, despite everything, my tears started falling. Look at him. This was the man I'd loved with my whole heart for ten years. I forced myself to steady my breathing. But Emma deliberately sent me photo after photo. In them, Miles kept vigil at her bedside, his eyes brimming with tenderness. Emma sent them with obvious satisfaction. "Maggie, you've lost again." "Take my advice and leave the Farleys quietly, or I've got a thousand ways to throw you out!" The old me would have saved every single photo. Then, when Miles was in a good mood, I'd show them to him and use them to squeeze out another compensation payment for my little nest egg. But this time, I did nothing. I pressed a hand to my numb, throbbing cheek. I placed the black card Miles had given me beside the suicide note I'd prepared long ago, right in the most conspicuous spot in the living room. Then I walked to the harbor, alone. The lights and scenery of Manhattan slowly faded behind me. Not long after, Miles, still at the hospital, turned his phone back on and saw the headline flashing across the trending page. "Ten years apart, two Farley wives take their own lives for love, one after the other." "Behind this elite family's tortured romance, what secret can't be told?"