Billionaire Threw Me in the Rain for His Mistress—5 Years Later, I Bought His Entire Empire Under a Fake Name

By the end of the second week, Vincent was out of moves. His criminal defense attorneys demanded a five-hundred-thousand-dollar retainer that he could not provide. The federal prosecutor’s office had issued a grand jury subpoena regarding his foreign shell companies, and his remaining offshore accounts had been seized by international authorities cooperating with Claire's forensic accountants.

He had hit absolute rock bottom.

He walked through the drizzling rain of late October, wearing a cheap trench coat he had bought off the rack. The cold rain soaked through the shoulders, reminiscent of that dreadful night five years ago. He realized with bitter irony that fate had an impeccable sense of humor: he was now walking the same rain-swept streets he had consigned her to.

He found himself standing outside the iron gates of his former estate in Greenwich, Connecticut.

The manor sat dark against the gray autumn sky, surrounded by eighty acres of manicured rolling hills and ancient oaks. This was where they had started when his first big deal cleared. They had picked out the stones together; they had designed the gardens where roses were supposed to bloom every spring.

The front gates were unlocked.

Vincent pushed them open and walked up the long, winding asphalt driveway. As he approached the grand portico, he saw that the lights on the ground floor were glowing warmly. The front door was slightly ajar.

His heart thudded in his chest. Was she here?

He stepped into the marble foyer. The scent of fresh beeswax and burning applewood filled the air. The vulgar modern art Vanessa had installed had been completely removed. In its place hung the quiet, moody oil landscapes of the Maine coast that Evelyn had loved.

""I knew you'd come here,"" a voice called softly from the library.

Vincent walked slowly toward the arched entrance. Claire was standing near the grand stone fireplace, wearing a cozy cream knit sweater and dark trousers, a mug of steaming tea cradled in her hands. There was no makeup on her face, no diamond jewelry, no armor of power. In the warm firelight, she looked startlingly like the young woman who used to stay up with him until sunrise dreaming about the future.

""You took the house back,"" Vincent said, his voice cracked and hollow.

""I bought it at the foreclosure auction yesterday for forty cents on the dollar,"" Claire replied, looking into the dancing flames. ""The bank was eager to get it off their books.""

Vincent stood in the doorway, soaked and trembling from the cold. He looked down at his muddy shoes, ruining the Persian rug he had once purchased to celebrate his first hundred million.