Divorced and Dangerous: Let the Heiress Games Begin
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Chapter 1
The day Veronica Dolton returned to Shalton from Jouver happened to be her third wedding anniversary
with Heath Tate.
She had caught a bad flu before the trip, and the cough hadn’t let up.
Still, it had already been three months since she last saw Heath and their two children, Miriam Tate and Samuel Tate. Veronica insisted on going back anyway.
The Tates were native to Shalton. After Shalton’s economic shift, the family’s business expanded into
Jouver. They moved there, but the Tate residence remained rooted in Shalton.
When Veronica arrived at the Tate residence, a news alert popped up on her phone. “Mr. Tate Throws Lavish Bonfire Party for Award–Winning Actress Eleanor Turner.”
Veronica’s expression dulled.
One of the housekeepers, Elsie Joseph–who was originally from Seabrook–noticed the headline and
quickly tried to ease her worries. “Mrs. Tate, you know how the Shalton tabloids are. They love
exaggerating. Don’t take it to heart. Mr. Tate’s just tied up with business tonight.”
Veronica didn’t respond.
She had messaged Heath before making the trip. It still sat quietly in her inbox, unread and unanswered.
Heath hadn’t even bothered to open it, let alone reply.
She wasn’t the type to dwell on things, but the thought lingered. A man like Heath, perched at the very top of Shalton’s economic hierarchy, couldn’t possibly be so consumed by work that he had no time to
answer her message.
She shook the thought away.
Veronica took off her coat and headed toward the playroom to see Miriam and Samuel. It had only been
three months, yet both of them had grown so much.
She smiled softly as she crouched beside the twins, who were playing make–believe with a small sandbox house. Inside each little sand castle, they had placed toy figurines–clearly meant to represent the home’s parents.
Veronica teased gently, “Miri, who are these two figures?”
Miriam didn’t even look up as she continued patting sand into place. “Dad and Ms. Turner.”
“That’s not right,” Samuel chimed in, shaking his head. “Ms. Turner lives in my house. Yours has Mom.”
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“But I want Ms. Turner to be my mom,” Miriam pouted.
Veronica froze for a moment.
She reached out to gently ruffle Miriam’s hair. “Am I not good enough?”
“You are. But Ms. Turner looks better with Dad,” Samuel chimed in, completely sincere.
Miriam nodded in agreement.
Miriam, who had always been particular about her appearance, pulled away from Veronica’s hand. “Also,
you’re sick, Mom. Stay away from me. Don’t touch my hair. Ms. Turner did this braid for me. If it gets messy, she’ll be upset.”
Veronica touched the edge of her mask, her fingers trembling just slightly. She looked at her twins,
excitedly chatting about designing clothes for Eleanor. In the corner of the sandbox, a small figurine
meant to represent her lay forgotten and untouched.
A bitter taste crept into her mouth, and her chest tightened.
The “Ms. Turner” her daughter spoke of was none other than Heath’s first love.
The Shalton tabloids painted them as a perfect match–picture–perfect, even.
Throughout the years that Veronica had been in a secret marriage with Heath, Eleanor was the woman
the world believed to be “Mrs. Tate“.
What Veronica hadn’t expected was that after just a few months apart, even her own children–the ones
who shared her blood–would grow closer to Eleanor than to her.
She lowered her gaze and watched in silence for a long time. It wasn’t until the maid gently reminded her that she finally stood up and went upstairs to shower and rest.
Just as she reached the top floor, Heath’s secretary, Walter Caldwell, arrived. The moment he saw her, his expression flickered with surprise.
“Mrs. Tate, Mr. Tate won’t be back tonight. He asked me to pick up a gift he had prepared for Ms. Turner.”
Veronica gave a simple nod. “Alright.”
Walter left, and the pain in Veronica’s chest deepened.
Her husband remembered to prepare a gift for another woman, yet completely forgot their third wedding
anniversary.
She tapped Heath’s name and started a video call.
He picked up quickly. “What is it?”
The screen lit up with a glimpse of his private lounge. It was sleek, luxurious, and bathed in golden light, radiating the opulence typical of Shalton’s elite.
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Heath was wearing a six–figure, custom–tailored suit, and he had a crystal wineglass in his hand. He leaned casually against the leather couch.
There was none of the sharp calculation typical of Shalton’s businessmen in his demeanor. His features were refined and distant, noble in a way that felt almost inhuman.
He was the man everyone admired but could never reach.
And he was the man Veronica had loved for six years.
Veronica steadied her voice. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. I thought maybe tonight-”
“Mr. Tate…”
Before she could finish, a soft, syrupy voice cut in from his side.
It was Eleanor.
The call ended abruptly.
Just before it disconnected, Heath left her with only three words. “We’ll talk later.”
Veronica gripped her phone tightly.
She stood by the window, staring at the glowing skyline of Shalton.
The streets pulsed with traffic, alive with motion and sound. Towering glass buildings glowed beneath the
night sky, their lights painting the city in vibrant color–dazzling, endless, almost dreamlike.
Heath controlled billions in assets and could bend the tides of the city with a single move.
Yet, the one person he had no patience for was Veronica. Six years had passed, and Heath remained as
distant and indifferent as ever.
Even the rare moments of gentleness in his gaze carried a quiet detachment beneath the surface.
For years, Veronica had tried everything to win him back. But standing there in that moment, for the first time, something inside her shifted.
She was tired.
Veronica didn’t call him back. She drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, Heath finally sent a message. “Sorry. Happy third anniversary.”
A moment later came another line. “This is compensation.”
Moments later, a bank notification popped up–an eight–figure transfer.
She scrolled through the messages, her fingers barely steady.
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Right then, an Instagram post from Eleanor appeared on her screen.
“A one–of–a–kind diamond ring, custom–designed in Phoburn over eight months. Thank you, Heath.”
In the photo, Eleanor smiled sweetly. A sparkling diamond ring glinted on her fair hand.
She stood beneath an iconic tower in a rose–red gown, the silk drifting around her like a dream woven from wealth and desire. The thought and care behind it were impossible to ignore.
Veronica suddenly remembered a moment from before she married Heath.
Back in the Tate residence, he had walked past the corridor quietly and somberly, his expression unreadable. But his eyes, cold and steady, had seen straight through her.
He had said, “I’ll marry you. But that’s all.”
Back then, she thought it was dramatic–this idea that wanting love instead of money was childish and
sentimental.
But now, for the first time, it felt painfully real.
She had spent six years clinging to a fantasy. All she ever wanted was Heath’s love, but he had never
once given it to her.
Veronica swallowed down the storm building in her chest and quietly made her way downstairs.
In the garden below, she heard Miriam’s voice–light and innocent, yet with a tinge of complaint. “Why did
Mom have to come back? Ms. Turner said she’d take us to see the dancing bears at the music hall today. If Mom just never came back, that would’ve been better…”
Samuel added, his tone downcast, “Yeah. Dad definitely likes Mr. Turner more. Mr. Woodward said Dad only married Mom because he couldn’t marry Ms. Turner. Mom is pretty, but I still like Ms. Turner more.”
The words sliced clean through Veronica, leaving a dull, rising ache behind.
Heath had married her not out of love, but because he couldn’t marry Eleanor.
She stood frozen, disbelief washing over her, and numbness quickly gave way to a hollow kind of
confusion.
Her gaze shifted slowly to the two children in the garden.
She had nearly died giving birth to them–there was emergency surgery, massive blood loss, and weeks of recovery. They were born frail, and she had cared for them without rest, day and night. The exhaustion left
her with a chronic illness.
Heath later returned to the city with the children when things went wrong in Shalton and when his grandfather, Reynard Tate, fell ill.
Since then, Veronica had been traveling back and forth between Jouver and Shalton. Yet each time she came home, the gap between her and the children had grown wider.
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Veronica wasn’t sure when she had returned to the bedroom.
The twins had a private lesson that afternoon, and Elsie had already taken them out.
Even with everything weighing on her, Veronica still found time to reach out to Heath again.
She was his wife, after all. Whether it was about the children or Eleanor, she had every reason to ask for
answers.
But all she got in return was a short dismissal. “Something urgent came up. Let’s talk tomorrow night.”
A quiet bitterness rose in her throat, impossible to ignore.
She left the house and, almost without realizing it, found herself driving toward the chapel where she had
first met Heath.
The chapel was small, tucked in one of Shalton’s oldest districts.
Just as she stepped past the arched stone gate, a soft, familiar voice reached her ears. Miriam asked, ”
Ms. Turner, is it really true? Your prayers always work?”
“Of course they do.”
Veronica lifted her gaze.
Not far from where she stood, Eleanor and Heath were each holding one of the children’s hands.
They looked like a perfect family of four, kneeling together in quiet reverence beneath the chapel spire.
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Chapter 2
Chapter 2
