The Hidden Tycoon: My Ex-Husband Is a Billionaire

Chapter 3

Dylan's expression remained impassive as he looked at Karen, his eyes cold and distant. "How I provide for my daughter is none of your concern."

Karen's lips curled into a sneer, her earlier triumph making her bold. "None of my concern? Oh, that's rich coming from a man who just signed away any claim to financial security. What are you going to do, Dylan? Get a job flipping burgers? Maybe you can be a janitor somewhere?" She laughed, the sound grating and cruel. "I'm sure Emma will love visiting Daddy at his studio apartment in the worst part of town."

"Karen, that's enough—"

"You're a joke, Dylan. A complete and utter joke. No wonder Rachel couldn't stand the sight of you. What woman wants a husband who's worth absolutely nothing?"

A small voice cut through Karen's mocking laughter. "You're a bad woman!"

Both adults turned to see Emma standing at the bottom of the stairs, her face flushed with anger, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hands were clenched into tiny fists at her sides, and her whole body trembled.

Karen's face twisted with irritation. "Oh great, the brat's awake. Go back to your room, kid. Adults are talking."

"You ARE bad!" Emma shouted, her voice breaking. "You're mean and horrible and—"

"Emma, sweetheart—" Dylan started to move toward her.

But Karen cut him off, her voice turning vicious. "Listen here, you little brat. Nobody wants you. Do you understand that? Your own mother can't stand you. She told me herself—you're nothing but a burden, a mistake she regrets every single day."

Emma's face crumpled, her sobs coming harder now. "That's not true!"

"Oh, it's true." Karen took a step closer, her expression cruel. "Why do you think she's never home? Why do you think she doesn't come to your little school plays or birthday parties? Because she wishes you'd never been born."

"Stop it!" Emma cried, her small body shaking. "Stop saying those things!"

Dylan's jaw clenched, a cold fury building in his chest. His voice, when it came, was low and dangerous. "Karen. Apologize to my daughter. Now."

Karen threw back her head and laughed. "Apologize? To that little bastard? Why should I apologize when I'm only telling her the truth? Even her own mother doesn't love her. She's an unwanted child, a—"

The slap echoed through the house like a gunshot.

Karen stumbled backward, her hand flying to her reddening cheek, eyes wide with shock. The room fell into stunned silence, broken only by Emma's hiccupping sobs.

Dylan stood between Karen and his daughter, his posture rigid, his expression carved from ice. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but carried the weight of absolute authority. "You can mock me all you want. You can laugh at my situation, insult my choices, question my ability to provide. I don't care." He took a step toward her, and Karen instinctively retreated. "But if you ever—ever—speak about my daughter like that again, I will make sure you regret it. Am I clear?"

Karen's face flushed crimson—part from the slap, part from humiliation, part from rage. "How dare you!" she shrieked, her voice climbing to a hysterical pitch. "You hit me! You're nothing but a poor, worthless loser, and you had the audacity to lay your hands on me? I could have you arrested! I could sue you for everything you don't have!"

Dylan said nothing, simply staring at her with those cold, emotionless eyes.

"You're pathetic!" Karen continued, her voice shaking. "A complete failure as a man, as a husband, as a provider. Rachel was smart to dump you. Any woman would be. You're going to end up in some dingy apartment, struggling to feed that brat, while Rachel lives in luxury with successful men who actually—"

The sound of engines cut through her tirade. Multiple engines, powerful and expensive. Karen's eyes darted toward the window, her rant forgotten. Through the sheer curtains, she could see vehicles pulling up to the curb—sleek, black luxury cars that probably cost more than most people's houses.

"What the..." Karen moved to the window, her earlier anger momentarily replaced by curiosity. She counted them as they parked in perfect formation—ten, twelve, fifteen vehicles. No, more. At least twenty luxury cars, each one more expensive than the last. Mercedes S-Classes, BMW 7 Series, even a Rolls-Royce Phantom.

Karen's face split into a triumphant smirk as she turned back to Dylan. "Well, well, well. Looks like Rachel's already moving up in the world." She pressed her face against the glass, trying to get a better look. "This must be her new life, Dylan. These are the kinds of cars successful people drive. The kind of luxury you'll never even get to touch. This is what happens when you actually make something of yourself, instead of staying home playing Mr. Mom."

Dylan glanced at the window, his expression unreadable. A hint of something—amusement, perhaps—flickered across his face before disappearing.

"Oh God, someone's getting out!" Karen practically squealed, her breath fogging the glass. "He's... oh my God, he's gorgeous."

The man who emerged from the lead vehicle was indeed striking. Tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost five figures, with sharp features and an air of refined elegance. He moved with the confidence of someone who'd never known a moment of financial insecurity.

Karen's eyes went wide, her earlier anger completely forgotten. "That must be one of Rachel's new suitors. Look at him, Dylan. Look at what a real man looks like. That's the kind of person Rachel deserves—successful, refined, wealthy. Not some..." she waved dismissively at Dylan, "whatever you are."

Behind the handsome man, more people emerged from the vehicles. A beautiful woman in an elegant navy dress stepped out, moving to assist an elderly gentleman from the Rolls-Royce. The old man moved slowly but with dignity, leaning on an ornate walking cane.

"There's so many of them," Karen breathed, her tone almost reverent. "This is what success looks like, Dylan. This is the world Rachel lives in now. And you? You'll never even get close to it. You'll spend the rest of your life on the outside looking in, wondering what it's like to—"

"Karen." Dylan's voice was quiet, but something in his tone made her fall silent. "You might want to stop talking now."

"Why should I? I'm just stating facts. That man is probably worth millions, and he's here for Rachel. He's—"

The doorbell rang, its chime cutting through Karen's words. She straightened, smoothing down her blouse, suddenly conscious of her appearance. "Maybe I should answer it. Let them know Rachel isn't home yet. Maybe introduce myself..."

But Dylan was already moving toward the door, Emma now clinging to his leg. Karen followed, unable to resist the pull of curiosity and the opportunity to get closer to such obvious wealth.

Dylan opened the door. The handsome man stood on the doorstep, his posture straight and formal. Behind him, at least thirty people had assembled—men and women in expensive clothing, all standing in perfect formation like an honor guard.

Karen pushed forward, attempting to position herself in front of Dylan. "Hello! I'm Karen Whitmore, Rachel Bennett's attorney and best friend. She's not home right now, but if you'd like to leave a message, I'd be happy to—"

The man's eyes swept over her without a flicker of recognition or interest, as if she were part of the furniture. His gaze moved past her and locked onto Dylan. In one fluid motion, he bowed deeply at the waist—a gesture of profound respect.

"Mr. Pierce," the man said, his voice formal and reverent. "My name is James Crawford. I am the head butler of the Sterling family estate."

Karen's mouth fell open. The Sterling family? THE Sterling family? But why would they...?

Behind Richard, the beautiful woman helped the elderly gentleman forward. Despite his age and the assistance of the cane, the old man's eyes were bright and sharp. When he saw Dylan, his entire face transformed—tears beginning to stream down his weathered cheeks.

"Sir," the old man said, his voice thick with emotion. He attempted to bow, though Richard moved quickly to steady him. "Sir, our master has been waiting for you. Please, we've come to escort you home."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Karen looked from the assembled group to Dylan, then back again, her brain refusing to process what she was seeing.