Not Just An Incubator: The Ex-Wife's Cold Revenge

Ten minutes. That was how close I was to handing my fiancé the keys to a three-hundred-million-dollar empire built on my code.

But when I walked into the office, his mistress was sitting in my chair, spinning the pen I bought him for our anniversary.

Caleb didn't even look up. He told me the investors wanted stability, not a pregnant woman. He called our unborn child a "liability" and ordered security to escort me out of the building I paid for.

I went home to pack, only to find a burner phone hidden in the closet. The texts were brutal. He called me an "incubator."