My Ex Called Me Cheap, Now I’m a Mogul’s Wife

My thenboyfriend, Bradley Goodman, gave me a black card on the day we got engaged and told me to spend as much as I wanted.

So I did, and I bought a $4 lemonade.

He practically snapped in front of the cashier like I'd just humiliated him in public.

"Leslie, my family wants a hostess who can carry herself with class, not some country bumpkin too scared to spend money. Everything you do reflects on the Goodman name. I can't afford that kind of embarrassment."

That was when I broke off our engagement.

Bradley didn't show any reaction. He turned around and proposed to Sabrina, the broke student he'd been sponsoring like some charity project.

Five years later, we met again outside a public kindergarten.

Bradley stepped out of a Maybach, all polished and pristine, with Sabrina clinging to his arm like the pictureperfect partner.

Meanwhile, across the street, I was crouched by a wornout popsicle cart, buying a treat for my son. Leon had been good all day, and that was our little ritual.

One dollar, two smiles.

Bradley spotted us. His eyes locked on mine, and just like that, he stomped across the street, his voice already rising.

"Leslie! You're seriously feeding my son this kind of garbage? Still clinging to that miserly peasant behavior, huh?"

I met his glare without blinking. "He's not your son."

But of course, he ignored that.

He gave my son a quick look, his expression changing into a smug little grin. "Kid looks this handsome? How could he not be mine?"

I didn't even bother replying.

My son definitely had his father's eyes and nose.

But everything else? That was all me.

Whatever resemblance Bradley saw, it had nothing to do with him.

——

Leslie's POV

After school that afternoon, I noticed my exfiancé's gleaming black Maybach conspicuously parked by the school gates.

Naturally, the crowd of parents started whispering:

"Hey, isn't that Bradley Goodman? The CEO of Verdant Corp.?"

"Oh my god, wait! His son goes to school here?"

"No way! This is just a regular kindergarten. Wealthy men like him wouldn't send their kids here."

Bradley's face tightened, as if the noise around him physically irritated him. He turned toward the car, clearly ready to bolt.

But Sabrina Hartley, his girlfriend, stepped in with her usual polished charm.

"Sorry, everyone. Would you mind giving us a little space? My fiancé doesn't like being crowded. He's not used to being surrounded like this. Please understand. Thank you so much." Her voice was soft and sweet, perfectly pitched for a moment of concern.

And then, as if that wasn't enough, she flashed her signature smile and added, "We're only here to pick up my nephew. I hope there's no confusion. We're not married yet."

Bradley leaned down to her and said something under his breath, low enough that I couldn't hear, but I knew that tone. The tight schedule tone.

"Hurry up and get the kid. We still need to visit the Mercers later."

Now that got my attention.

Anyone who knows Harbor City knows the Mercer family isn't just wealthy. They're untouchable. If you're in business and they schedule a meeting with you, you don't just show up. You arrive early, grateful, and quiet.

And so, Sabrina nodded quickly. "Don't worry, Bradley. I know how many favors you had to call in just to get time with Sean Mercer. I won't get in the way."

Then she tilted her head.

"But I heard Mr. Mercer is super protective of his wife and kids. Keeps them totally hidden. I wonder what kind of woman he married?"

Bradley didn't answer. Not even a grunt.

He just leaned back against the car door, hands in his pockets, casual and cocky.

It was the exact posture he had the day he broke up with me.

And somehow, the image of him standing there and not even blinking when I said I wanted out hit harder than I expected. I'd hardly finished saying the words when he was already on one knee in front of Sabrina.

I didn't even make it out of the building before the two of them were locked in each other's arms.

Back then, it crushed me. I couldn't understand how someone could toss four years together—college, a whole engagement—like what we had was nothing.

Until later, Sabrina sent me that message.

One line. Just a sentence.

Only then did I realize that those four years we had together were a complete joke.

"Mommy, I want a popsicle!"

Tugging at my sleeve, my son's voice snapped me out of it.

I blinked and looked down.

The popsicle vendor was already giving me that impatient look.

"Are you buying or not? If not, hand it back!"

That's when I realized the one in my hand had melted halfway down the stick.

"Sorry," I said quickly. "I'll take this one. And can I get another? I'll pay for both."

But the vendor wasn't in a generous mood.

"You think I care about your two bucks? Take your damn popsicle and get outta here. Don't bring your bad luck around my cart!"

His voice was sharp and loud enough to attract stares.

Frightened by the vendor's outburst, Leon startled at the sound and broke into tears.

And of course, now every eye around us turned.

I didn't even have to look. I felt him.

Bradley Goodman.

I looked up and, sure enough, he was glancing back over his shoulder. At first, it seemed casual, like he just happened to hear the noise.

But then our eyes met, and I saw something flicker across his face. Something sharp.

Bradley stared for a moment longer than necessary. Then, just as quickly, he turned away as if nothing had happened and as if he hadn't seen me at all.

Leslie's POV

My son, Leon, was clinging to my leg, sobbing uncontrollably.

I crouched down and gently offered him the melted popsicle, trying to coax out a smile.

"Just one little lick, okay?"

Before the treat could even touch his lips, Bradley spun around.

He glared at us, his chest heaving with barely contained fury. Then, without saying another word, he stormed over and smacked the popsicle clean out of Leon's hand.

"Leslie! You're seriously feeding my son this kind of garbage?"

As if that wasn't enough, he yanked a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his fingers, as if just being near us was dirtying him.

"You really can't scrub the poverty out of your bones, can you?"

Leon jumped back, startled, and broke into a loud, heartbreaking cry.

I immediately picked him up and held him close, softly whispering to calm him down. His small body trembled against mine as he buried his face in my shoulder.

Bradley froze for a second. Then, his hand hovered just inches from Leon's back, reaching out... hesitating... but at the last second, he pulled it back.

He dropped his voice, and it lost some of that aggressive edge. "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?"

I went completely still.

That outburst—at first, I thought I'd misheard him.

But now, there was no mistaking it.

He actually thought Leon was his son.

Seriously? He really thought I'd leave, have his kid in secret, and spend years raising him alone out of some messedup, selfinflicted martyr complex?

"You've got the wrong idea," I said, steady and calm. "He's not your son. And if you don't mind, please step aside. I have zero interest in taking a stroll down memory lane."

My husband will be pulling up any minute now, and the last thing I need is for him to see this circus. Because trust me, Bradley's tantrum would seem like child's play compared to his.

Still, Bradley didn't budge. He stood there, simply staring at Leon as if he were trying to memorize every detail.

Then Sabrina stepped in, sliding up beside him, her arm looping through his as if staking her claim.

"Bradley, you're scaring the poor kid," she cooed, all sugar and light. "Leslie must be under a lot of pressure right now. But this little boy? He looks just over three. There's no way he's yours."

Then she rose on her toes and whispered flirtatiously in his ear, "If you want a baby, we could get married sooner and have one of our own…"

But Bradley cut her off without hesitation.

Firmly, he asserted, "That is my son. Look at him! He's handsome as hell. Who else could he take after but me?"

I almost laughed at how proud he sounded. The kind of smug confidence that only comes from someone completely delusional.

Sure, Leon inherited his dad's eyes and nose, I wouldn't deny that.

But everything else? That was entirely me. His mouth, his cheeks, that spark in his eyes that made him so uniquely himself—that all came from me.

His looks? Credit goes to me and the man who's actually his father.

Bradley didn't get to claim a single feature.

By now, people were starting to take notice. Parents and staff had begun whispering, craning their necks to see what the fuss was about.

"Wait… is that Bradley Goodman's illegitimate child?"

"Looks like a classic love triangle. Mistress versus fiancée. Oh, this is gonna be good!"

"Still, I gotta give the mistress credit. She raised the kid solo and never asked for a cent."

The gossip was spreading fast, faster than wildfire.

It was starting to show on Sabrina's face. Her charming expression briefly cracked before she quickly regained it, her voice remaining soft but tinged with passiveaggressive sympathy.

"Leslie, we're getting married soon. So, even if your son is really Bradley's child, I hope you'll continue to raise him yourself. Please don't bring unnecessary drama into our lives. Bradley and I have worked through a great deal to get to where we are. I don't want a child we didn't plan for ruining that."

She leaned into him, playing the sweet, supportive girlfriend who couldn't bear conflict.

"Bradley, maybe you could give Leslie some child support? I mean, I'm not ready to be anyone's stepmom."

Bradley's gaze snapped back to me, his fury simmering beneath his voice.

"My son is over four years old, and this is what you've turned him into? He's scrawny and underfed! You can't even take care of him right. Did it never occur to you to ask me for help? Doesn't it trouble you to see your own child like this?"

I stared at him, stunned, not just by the nerve of it, but by how confident he was rewriting reality.

Leon was three years old, and for his age, he was remarkably healthy, intelligent, strong, and more energetic than I could sometimes manage.

But in Bradley's words, Leon suddenly appeared like a neglected child raised in filth.

"I'll say this one more time," I said, voice steady but firm. "He's not your son. Leon was born in May. He just turned three. Kids his age? They're all about this size."

Bradley's brow furrowed as he pulled out his phone, clearly prepared to factcheck me as if this were a courtroom.

Typical.

He could never take no for an answer, even when the truth was staring him in the face.

Leslie's POV

Still insisting, Bradley pressed on.

"Give me your number. I'll transfer the child support now. If I want to see my son in the future, I need a way to contact you."

"That won't be necessary," I responded, my voice flat from trying to keep up with his delusions.

His tone instantly shifted, hardening with that cold, entitled edge I remembered all too well.

"The kid isn't just yours. I'm not allowed to do my part as a father?"

I exhaled sharply and frowned. My frustration was apparent, and honestly, I didn't care who noticed.

"Are you done?" I asked in exasperation. "It's been five years since we broke up, Bradley. What's the point of dragging this out now?"

He blinked as if he hadn't expected me to shut him down so directly. But after a moment, his face hardened into something smug and sharp.

"Don't flatter yourself, Leslie. You think this is about you?" Bradley said, his voice adopting his usual condescending tone used when trying to win an argument. "I just don't want my son growing up under your roof, living that kind of life. This has nothing to do with you."

His gaze shifted between me and my son, his expression gradually becoming more insinuating.

"Relax," he added, like he was doing me a favor. "Even if I had your number, I'd only use it to schedule visits. I wouldn't want Sabrina getting the wrong idea."

Then he paused, just long enough to twist the knife.

"Or is that really what this is about?" Bradley's eyebrow shot up as he asked. "You're still bitter. You're starving my son to get back at me, hoping I'll regret the breakup and come crawling back?"

I stared at him, genuinely stunned by how absurd he sounded.

I nearly laughed.

Waving my hand, I said calmly, "I love Leon. I would never—"

"Leslie!" Bradley cut me off, snapping his voice and rubbing his temples, as if I were exhausting him. "Stop playing the tough girl. I know the breakup crushed you. But I love Sabrina now. And if I'd known you were pregnant back then, I would've made you get rid of it. We wouldn't be in this mess."

I went still. There it was.

No sugarcoating. No pretending. Just raw, ugly truth.

Even if I had been pregnant with his child, he would've treated it as nothing more than a problem—something to erase, a threat to his perfect future with Sabrina.

I didn't need that reminder.

If I had truly been carrying his baby, I never would have kept it because a man in love with someone else didn't deserve to have a child with me.

I didn't say anything for a long moment, and just let the silence hang between us.

Then I calmly pulled out my phone.

"He's not your son," I said. "I'm married. My husband treats me well. Want to see the proof?"

I held my phone like a shield, prepared to put an end to all of this.

But just as I started to unlock it, Bradley reached out and grabbed my wrist.

"Photos can be edited," he snapped, eyes sharp. "If you're lying, of course, you'd come prepared."

I stared at him, completely done. "Think whatever you want, then."

The crowd around us was getting louder. The whispers had grown into a hum of curiosity just beneath the surface.

Right then, I bent down to pick up Leon. My son had seen enough. He was too young to be caught in a mess like this. But before I could lift him, Bradley grabbed my wrist again. He didn't even look at me this time. His eyes were fixed on Leon.

"Leon," he said quietly, "say Daddy."

I froze.

Leon looked up at him with those wide, innocent eyes.

Then, after a tiny pause, he said shyly, "Uncle."

Bradley's face fell in an instant. His eyes reddened, and he looked at me like I had torn him apart.

"Leslie," he said, voice breaking, "you never told him about me? You never even mentioned me?"

Bradley's voice cracked again as he continued, "How could you do that? Other kids grow up with their fathers, and my son has to suffer without one?"

And just like that, I lost all my patience.

"Are you done? Let go of me!"

But his grip only tightened. He stayed silent for a long second before releasing a deep, tired sigh. His voice was soft when he spoke again, as if he was trying to sound reasonable now.

"For our son's sake, I'll compromise."

I gave him a confused look. "What the hell are you even talking about?"

A smug curl of his lip was his response.

"You can come back," Bradley said, as if he were granting me a wish. "That's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

From the side, I heard a gasp.

"Bradley, what about me?" Sabrina's voice cracked as she turned to him, her eyes wide in disbelief.

He barely glanced her way.

"Sabrina," he said smoothly, "I'll treat Leslie as my son's nanny. My feelings for you haven't changed. It's just I can't abandon my son."

Sabrina's face collapsed. Whatever performance she'd been putting on suddenly slipped away. She turned to look at me as if she wanted to tear me apart.

Then, unexpectedly, Sabrina's eyes welled up, and tears began to fall.

Leslie's POV

Frustrated with Bradley's plan, Sabrina yelled, "I'm not letting this happen! That woman's pulling every dirty trick in the book to keep her claws in you. Look at her, acting like some helpless victim. It's obvious that she's never moved on."

Bradley tried to calm her down, but not before throwing a sharp glare straight at me.

"I know. Don't worry," he muttered under his breath. "Even if Leslie dropped to her knees and cried, I wouldn't budge. You and I both know that someone like her, with that background and narrow little worldview, could never be good enough for me."

And then, as if on cue, the popsicle vendor nearby let out a loud, dry laugh.

"I thought she was some big shot," the guy muttered. "Turns out she's just another drama queen holding onto her ex."

That one comment triggered a flood of snide remarks from the bystanders around us.

"She's playing the innocent card, but she's a gradeA manipulator."

"Raising that poor kid to be bitter and petty, just like her."

"Didn't you hear what Bradley Goodman said? She's from the countryside. Tacky and broke. What'd you expect?"

Their words didn't sting. Not really. I'd heard worse.

So what if I was from a small town?

I worked my way up from nothing to managing investment portfolios that generated returns of seven and eight figures. I didn't climb my way out of nowhere just to be insulted by people who couldn't tell grit from gold.

But to Bradley, none of that ever mattered. He never saw me beyond where I came from.

I liked simple things—midnight food runs, sunrise hikes, cutting a watermelon in half, and eating it straight from the fridge with a spoon. To Bradley, that was all 'lowclass,' something to be ashamed of.

But Sabrina? She was the broke scholarship girl he once supported. She spent his money on designer handbags and wore brand names like armor. Yet, Bradley never once called her materialistic.

Because let's be real, this wasn't about background or taste.

Bradley didn't love me.

Not back then. Not now.

With my expression flat, I yanked my wrist out of his hand. "Bradley, keep this up and I swear I'll call the cops."

Sabrina instantly latched onto his arm. "Bradley, come on. She's just poor and stubborn. She always takes your kindness and twists it into something else. Let's stop wasting our time."

But Bradley didn't budge. His gaze stayed locked on me, sharp and smug.

"Call the cops?" he said, his tone colder than ever. "Great idea. With my lawyers, custody would easily go to me."

Then he made it real.

"You've got two choices," Bradley said with icy calm. "One: give me your number and accept the child support. Two: come back to my place with the kid. You can raise him like a nanny."

The rage bubbling inside me was so fierce that I actually laughed.

Without another word, I picked Leon up and turned to leave.

But Bradley's expression changed. Something in his eyes darkened, and suddenly he lunged forward and tore Leon right out of my arms.

"If you're gonna be ungrateful," he barked, holding my son like he had the right, "then I'll raise him myself."

Leon screamed, kicking and thrashing in his hold. His tiny arms reached out for me, terrified.

"If you ever want to see him again," Bradley said as he backed toward his car, "come to Ocean One Estates. I just moved to Harbor City."

I stood there frozen, heart racing, while he marched toward the Maybach with Leon in his arms.

Sabrina chased after him, whining pitifully, "Bradley, weren't we just here to pick up my nephew?"

And then, Leon let out a heartwrenching scream, desperately reaching his small hands toward me.

"Mommy! Bad man! I'm scared!"

Something snapped inside me. I pushed forward, adrenaline coursing through my body. But just as I lunged, the crowd surged ahead like a wall of people, blocking me with cold, indifferent stares.

"Why are you freaking out? With Bradley Goodman, that kid's set for life," someone scoffed.

Another parent remarked, "No wonder he left her. She's got zero class. Doesn't even care what's best for the kid."

I watched as Bradley opened the car door.

I broke.

Voice trembling, I yelled his name. "Bradley! Please! I'm begging you, give me back my son!"

My hands trembled as I scrambled to unlock my phone.

"I'm not a mistress! My husband is Sean Mercer. Leon is our son. We even have a daughter! I have a family photo—look!"

I held up my phone as if it were proof of my existence.

For a second, the crowd went silent—just a second.

Then came the laughter.

Cold. Cruel. Cutting.

"Sean Mercer? You mean that Mercer family? The one that can bankrupt half the city with a phone call?"

"If Sean Mercer were your husband, your kid wouldn't be going to some rundown public kindergarten."

"Yeah, right. What's next? You're the mayor's wife? Maybe the First Lady?"

They were laughing—every single one of them.

And not a damn one believed me.

I felt it then—that harsh, marrowdeep cold that climbs your spine and lingers, regardless of how hot the sun is.

But even with my heart breaking and my hands trembling, I couldn't just stand there and watch my son be taken away.

Leslie's POV

And so, I did the only thing I could.

I screamed, from the pit of my chest, "Bradley! I'll go back with you!"

Right there, Bradley stopped dead in his tracks.

Then, as if a switch had flipped, he turned on his heel, shoved Leon into Sabrina's arms, and stormed toward me like a thundercloud on the verge of breaking.

He didn't say a word and grabbed me, pulling me into a tight, suffocating hug that knocked the air completely out of my lungs.

I started to struggle, pushing at his chest, but he caught my chin in one hand, forcing me to look up at him.

His voice dropped, low and sharp, right next to my face.

"You really think I'd want a woman like you? Someone who'd stoop to using a child just to manipulate me? Where was this fire when you dumped me in front of everybody back then? You had no problem walking away like I meant nothing."

Tears welled up in my eyes from the sting of his grip, but I didn't let them fall.

"Call me whatever you want," I said, my voice steady. "Cheap. Manipulative. Trashy. I don't care. Just give me back my son."

His eyes flickered. Something passed through them, maybe hesitation or doubt. Still, I didn't let it slip away.

But then, just as quickly, Bradley pushed me aside as if I were something dirty. He pulled out a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands, as if touching me had stained them.

"Get in the car yourself."

I slowly followed behind, enduring the crowd's scornful glances as he headed towards the Maybach.

And right on cue, Sabrina ran over to Bradley. She threw herself into his arms like it was her moment in a cheesy soap and started crying.

"Bradley, please don't bring her back," she sobbed, her voice high and trembling. "That house has been our home for ten years. I don't want a stranger living there."

Bradley gave her a soothing pat on the back.

"Be good. She'll stay in the servants' quarters. Just act like she's not there."

I felt my stomach tighten at the sight of him holding her like that. It wasn't just about this moment but the flood of memories that came before it.

Sabrina had been part of his life for years. The Goodmans took her in during her high school years. She lived in their house, ate their food, and basked in their wealth. Bradley's parents treated her like a member of the family.

And Bradley? He doted on her like she hung the damn moon.

He only began pursuing me during my sophomore year, after I participated in a college debate competition. He was charming, persistent, the kind of guy who always knew exactly what to say.

And so, the innocent and naive girl in me back then fell hard.

But in all four years we were together, he never once brought me home. He always said Sabrina didn't like strangers, and his family needed their peace.

One year, I attempted to surprise him on his birthday by waiting outside the Goodman estate in the rain for hours. That was the moment I saw Bradley and Sabrina, standing under the porch light, kissing as if no one else mattered. Yet, I had painfully convinced myself it was all just a hallucination.

Right there, Sabrina's voice pierced the air, pulling me back to the present.

"Leslie, have some shame! You're still clinging to Bradley like some parasite. Why didn't you just die in that car crash five years ago?"

My entire body trembled.

'The accident... How did she know about that?' I thought.

The day Bradley and I broke up, I had barely walked a block from the hotel when I was hit by a car. I remembered waking up midsurgery, dazed and trying to give him the black card he had given me for emergencies.

The nurse took one look at it and said, "Miss, this card's been frozen."

I laughed then, through the pain, the meds, and the betrayal. Bradley didn't even wait an hour before cutting me off completely. If it hadn't been for my nowhusband, who was on inspection rounds at the hospital, I might not even be alive.

Just then, Bradley whipped his head toward her. "Sabrina? What car crash? What are you talking about?"

Sabrina froze for a split second, then blinked and tilted her head like she was confused.

"Huh? I didn't say anything. You must've misheard."

And so, Bradley barked at me, "What are you just standing there for? Get in the car. I'm going to the Mercer estate. You're coming too."

I blinked, caught off guard. "The Mercer estate?"

He looked at me as if I were dense, then replied, "Yeah. And spare me whatever fantasy you've cooked up about being married to Sean Mercer or having kids with him. Don't embarrass yourself."

I exhaled quietly, holding back the storm in my chest. "Okay."

That one word was all I needed to say. Because as long as we went back to Mercer estate, all of this—the lies, the threats, the show—would finally come crashing down.

Bradley shot me a strange look, as if thrown off by how suddenly obedient I was.

But in that moment, neither of us saw what was going on behind us. It wasn't until I heard the gasps and turned around that I saw my son.

Leon slipped out of the car, standing alone in the middle of the road.

Leon rubbed his sleepy eyes and squinted at the road. A familiar silver Maybach approached us.

Then, out of nowhere, he lifted his tiny arm and waved madly, yelling at the car as it neared, "Daddy! There are bad people! Come save me and Mommy!"

My stomach dropped, and every nerve in my body froze. I could hardly breathe, but I pushed forward anyway, legs trembling as I sprinted toward him. I scooped Leon up just as he stepped off the curb, wrapping myself around him to shield his body with mine.

"Sean! Stop the car!"