
I overheard my billionaire boyfriend say poor girls like me are easy to get rid of—just throw money and they go away quietly. So I faked an affair and left, pregnant with his child. He spent years searching for me. Then one day in a mall, a little girl ran past him into another man's arms and called him "Daddy." Jason looked at her face—my eyes, his nose—and asked me one question: "Whose child is she?" I smiled and said, "Mine."