From Jilted Ex To Your Billionaire Stepmother

I supported my boyfriend for six years, carrying him from a broke rink rat who couldn't afford a hockey stick to a first-round NHL rookie.

But when I pushed open the door to his hotel suite, I caught him in bed with a blonde socialite.

"You were just a placeholder while he was at rock bottom," his new girl sneered.

Gary threw his checkbook at me, telling me to name my price and get out of his life.

When the news broke, she publicly mocked me as a desperate gold digger. Even my own parents called me an ungrateful slut, demanding I beg him for my brother's mortgage money. When I refused, they ambushed me on the streets.

Six years of my youth, PR management, and emotional labor, only to be discarded like trash and harassed by everyone I knew. I was entirely alone, cornered by a man who thought his new wealth made him untouchable.

So I took his twenty-five-million-dollar severance check and married his adoptive father—the billionaire NHL captain who owns his contract.

Now, legally speaking, I'm my cheating ex's stepmother.