From Broken Wife To Billionaire Power

Lying in the hospital bed, I clutched my empty stomach, the doctor' s words about my miscarriage still ringing in my ears.

I called my husband, desperate for comfort, but he sounded annoyed.

"Allison, not now," Erik snapped. "Barbie' s dog is throwing up. She' s hysterical. Just get a cab and stop being so dramatic."

He hung up on his wife who just lost their child to comfort his mistress' s Pomeranian.

When I dragged my broken body home, he didn't hug me. He forced me to apologize to the dog.

Then came the final blow: I watched on TV as he gifted my entire photography portfolio to his mistress, claiming it was her work, while handing me a bottle of perfume he knew I was deadly allergic to.

Broken, I went to a radical clinic to have my memories of him erased forever.

But the procedure didn't leave me blank. It unlocked a door I didn't know existed.

I wasn't the orphan Allison Day.

I was Allison Woodward, the missing billionaire heiress.

And I was done apologizing.