I Cashed In On His Betrayal Chapter 1

I am a woman who treats separating ridiculously wealthy men from their money not as a hustle, but as a calling.

Through a bizarre twist of fate, I found myself trapped in a world that operated exactly like a trashy romance novel, cast in the role of the tragic, disposable understudy for a ruthless billionaire’s untouchable first love. But I didn't weep over my lot in life. In barely a year, I had managed to siphon fifty million dollars from his accounts.

I was literally grinning at the staggering balance on my banking app when the hallucination started.

Strings of bizarre, glowing text suddenly materialized in the air, scrolling furiously across my field of vision like a live chat feed on a screen only I could see:

[The Golden Girl is flying back to the States! The understudy’s days are numbered!]

[In a billionaire redemption arc, the body double never survives past chapter three.]

[Girl, you better fake your own death and run, or he’s going to break your legs and lock you in a basement!]

[It’s the plot! You can’t outrun the plot!]

Staring at those floating neon words, the fifty million in my bank account suddenly lost its luster.

Before I could even draft a blueprint for my grand disappearing act, I was dragged to the welcome-home gala for the mythic first love herself, Cathy Astor.

At the center of the ballroom, Cathy flashed a saccharine, camera-ready smile. She picked up a heavy, diamond-encrusted choker from a velvet cushion and unceremoniously clasped it around my neck.

"I hear you have quite the appetite for expensive things, Brooke," she purred, her voice dripping with venom masked as grace. "My dog just got a new collar, so I thought I’d pass his old one down to you."

The cold metal had barely settled against my collarbone when the floating text exploded in front of my eyes again:

[TAKE IT OFF! That thing is laced with radioactive isotopes! You wear that, you die!]

[Don’t touch it! The author literally kills her off with radiation poisoning next chapter!]

Oh?

A slow, genuine smile spread across my face.

Now I knew exactly how I was going to pull off my vanishing act.

* * *

A smattering of cruel laughter rippled through the crowd.

I kept my chin level, letting the smile linger on the corners of my mouth.

"If you feel the need to humiliate me this desperately, Cathy—" I paused, letting my gaze cut straight through her flawless veneer, right into the insecure marrow of her bones. "Is it because you still can't let go of Tristan?"

[LMAO! She went straight for the jugular!]

[This girl knows exactly how to play the game!]

Cathy’s manufactured smile froze.

The air in the ballroom snapped tight. The mocking, dismissive silence of the crowd instantly morphed into the hungry, breathless silence of high-society vultures waiting for blood.

I watched the color drain from Cathy's face, leaving it chalky white, before it flushed a furious, mottled red.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she hissed.

I didn't answer. I merely let out a soft, dismissive breath of a laugh and shifted my gaze over her shoulder.

Tristan Crawford was leaning against a velvet banquette, the lazy swirling of his scotch suddenly stilled. There was a flicker of something in his icy eyes—almost like anticipation.

The whispers began to swell around us like a rising tide.

"Is Cathy really still hung up on Tristan?"

"If she wasn't, why would she target Brooke? Brooke is literally just her carbon copy."

"She probably wants her old life back but is too proud to admit it."

The murmured gossip hit Cathy like physical blows. Her eyes began to glisten with strategic, brimming tears.

Right on cue, Tristan’s protective instincts flared. His voice sliced through the room, cold and authoritative: "Brooke. Remember your place."

I lowered my eyes in a portrait of utter obedience. "Of course, Mr. Crawford."

Without missing a beat, I reached up, unclasped the diamond choker, and held it up to the chandelier light, smiling directly at Cathy. "Thank you for the gift, Cathy. The motive might be trash, but the diamonds are flawless. I'll gladly keep it."

Cathy was shaking now, her carefully curated composure entirely shattered. She spun toward Tristan, her voice turning shrill. "Keep your pet on a leash, Tristan. She’s dragging down the entire room."

Tristan’s jaw tightened.

I looked at him, timing my next move perfectly, letting my eyes go wide and innocent. "Should I leave?"

The room fell dead silent again. Every eye was pinned on Tristan.

He let the silence stretch for two agonizing seconds before he suddenly reached out and wrapped his hand around my wrist.

"Since we clearly aren't welcome here, we’ll be taking our leave," he said smoothly.

[HOLY SHIT? The billionaire is defending the understudy?]

[Wait, this is off-script! Isn't he supposed to be obsessed with the Golden Girl?]

I was stunned. Cathy looked like she’d been struck by lightning.

She opened her mouth, but before a sound could escape, Tristan was already pulling me toward the grand double doors.

We were inches from the exit when Cathy’s voice finally cracked like a whip behind us: "Tristan! Are you really going to ruin my night over her?"

Tristan didn't even bother to turn around. His tone was absolute frost. "She came with me. When you humiliate her, you humiliate me."

Cathy choked on a sob. Her face went from flushed to ashen, her chest heaving.

The sycophants immediately swarmed, trying to patch the sinking ship.

"Come on, Tristan, don't be rash. Cathy was just joking around."

"Yeah, it's her welcome-home party! Don't ruin the vibe."

"Say something, Cathy. Apologize."

Cathy just bit her lip, stubbornly silent.

I stared at the hard, unforgiving line of Tristan’s jaw. There was a tempest of emotion in his eyes, none of it decipherable. But beneath the surface, the truth was startlingly clear.

He wasn't protecting me. He had never been protecting me.

This was a game of chicken. He was using me as a pawn to see if Cathy would beg him to stay.

I was utterly exhausted by their toxic little pantomime. Gently, I tugged my wrist against his iron grip. "Tristan, please don't fight with Cathy because of me. I can take a cab back to the estate."

He didn't let go.

But the whispers around him grew louder, more insistent.

"Tristan, she just got back to the States. Don't do this to her."

"Brooke is giving you an out, man. Take it. Don't make it awkward."

Tristan stood frozen in the doorway. He was quiet for a long, heavy moment. So long, I actually thought he might defy them all and drag me into the night.

And then, his fingers uncurled. He let me go.

[And there it is. He folded.]

[Once a lapdog for the first love, always a lapdog.]

A quiet, self-deprecating smile touched my lips. I knew my cue. I turned my back on the glittering room and started walking.

"Stop right there."

Cathy’s voice echoed through the marble foyer.

I paused and glanced back over my shoulder.

She was staring at me, the arrogant smirk finally returning to her glossy lips. "You ruined my welcome-home gala, Brooke. If I just let you walk out that door—" She paused, relishing the power. "It would make me look terribly weak, wouldn't it?"

I furrowed my brow. "What exactly do you want?"

She swirled her champagne, taking her time. "I want you to—" She raised her eyes, pinning me to the floor. "Crawl out."