My Husband Served Me Divorce Papers Hours After I Gave Birth To Triplets. He Called Our Children A Mistake, Not Knowing I Am Actually The Billionaire Heiress Funding His Company. Should I Bankrupt Him Before He Realizes Who I Really Am?

A Familiar Face

She staggered toward the bassinets where her three little miracles lay. As she gazed at their small, innocent, and fragile faces, a powerful wave of protectiveness surged within her, mixed with the unbearable pain of the rejection she had just suffered. How could a father turn his back on these angels? How could the man she had loved for the past five years become a cruel stranger in the blink of an eye?

She collapsed to the floor beside the bassinets, sobbing uncontrollably but trying to muffle her voice so as not to wake her children, feeling as if her world had completely fallen apart. The minutes passed, heavy as centuries, as Eleanor sat there sunk in an abyss of despair until a polite but firm knock on the door brought her back to the harsh reality. She hastily wiped her tears, thinking it was a nurse or a doctor coming to check on her. But when the door opened, a group of people she would never have expected entered the small room.

At the forefront was an elderly man with impeccably styled silver hair, dressed in a bespoke three-piece suit. His posture was erect and dignified despite his advanced age. Behind him followed four men in black suits carrying leather briefcases. Their faces were serious and respectful.

Eleanor froze, her heart pounding. She recognized the elderly man as the butler who had served her family for decades, a familiar face she had not seen since she ran away from home to marry Richard. Winston approached her with timeless elegance, stopping a few feet away before kneeling on one knee, bowing his head deeply in a sign of absolute respect.

The four lawyers behind him immediately did the same, creating a surreal scene in that hospital room that smelled of antiseptic. Winston’s voice trembled slightly with contained emotion as he greeted the young Miss Eleanor and apologized for taking so many years to find her. Eleanor felt her breath catch in her throat. The facade of the ordinary housewife she had worn for so long began to crack.

The Billion-Dollar Inheritance

She whispered the old man’s name, asking how he had found her there. Winston looked up, his eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and relief as he looked at the woman who was once the little girl he used to carry on his shoulders running through the mansion’s gardens. Winston delivered the news gently, but the information hit her with a different, more complex and profound pain. Her father, the great Mr. Prescott, had passed away three days ago.

Before he died, he had changed his entire will, revoking all inheritance rights of other greedy relatives and leaving everything to his only lost daughter. One of the lawyers stepped forward, opened his leather briefcase, and took out a stack of documents that looked far more important than the divorce papers Richard had left.

The lawyer said in a tone of professional respect that, according to this legal will, Eleanor was now the majority shareholder of the Prescott Group and the sole owner of a personal estate valued at $5 billion, including properties, trust funds, and global investments. The figures floated in the air, creating a sharp and ironic contrast with the small stipend Richard had just mentioned with disdain a few minutes ago.

Eleanor stood up slowly. The physical pain seemed forgotten for a moment as the weight of this truth settled on her shoulders. She looked from the divorce papers scattered on the floor to the multi-billion dollar inheritance documents in the lawyer’s hands. The bitter irony was so sharp she felt as if she were tasting blood in her mouth. Richard had left her because he thought she was a useless burden, chasing another woman whose wealth was but a speck of dust compared to what Eleanor now possessed.

A fire began to burn in her eyes, drying the tears of the weak and abandoned wife and replacing them with the steely gaze of a sovereign. She had given up her family’s wealth to prove that true love could exist without money. But Richard had shown her she was wrong in the cruelest way possible. And now she would no longer be Eleanor the housewife. She was Eleanor Prescott, the queen who had returned to her throne.

The Queen Returns

Eleanor’s voice changed completely, shedding the tremor of sadness and adopting a tone of authority she was destined to possess but had long suppressed. She ordered Winston to rise. She asked him to immediately prepare the best medical team to transfer her and her children to the Prescott Group’s private care facilities because she did not want to remain in this depressing place for another minute.

She walked over to the divorce papers, picked them up, and slowly tore them into pieces, letting the fragments fall to the floor like snowflakes mourning a dead marriage. She turned to the lawyers and ordered them to contact the best legal team. She declared that if her ex-husband wanted to play dirty, she would make sure he paid a price so high he would regret ever being born.

Winston smiled. An expression of genuine pride returned to his old face as he bowed once more, confirming that all her orders would be executed immediately, marking the beginning of a sweet revenge. The journey from the crowded and noisy city hospital to the private medical facilities of the Prescott family was like passing between two dimensions of a completely different world. A transition that marked the end of Eleanor’s life as a mistreated wife and the beginning of a new era as the sole sovereign of unimaginable wealth.

A convoy of high-end black SUVs sliced through the streets of Manhattan with military precision, escorting the limousine where Eleanor and her three babies rested with a level of high security that even made other drivers move aside with respect. Inside the silent, expensive, leather-scented cabin, Eleanor reclined, looking through the tinted windows as the skyscrapers passed by. As the sun set, taking with it the last vestiges of her naive past life, Winston sat opposite her with his back straight, watching over the three advanced portable incubators transporting the little Prescott heirs with the alertness of a loyal guardian.

Upon arriving at the VIP wing of the Prescott Clinic, Eleanor was not received as just any patient but as a queen returning from the battlefield with the wounds of victory that needed to be healed immediately. The entire top floor had been cleared exclusively for her, transformed into a medical suite that far surpassed the standards of any five-star hotel in the country.