The Billionaire Ex-Wife and the Beggar He Became novel Chapter 139

"Want me to go with you?" Yves Prescott's voice was gentle, full of concern.

"No need."

Winona still couldn't get used to Yves Prescott's solicitousness—especially when it came to something as undignified as a divorce.

"How about I give you a ride to city hall? I'll just drop you off and head back," Yves offered again.

"Alright," Winona agreed.

She stayed silent the entire drive.

There was no thrill from winning that plot of land, and no looming sense of heartbreak over her impending divorce from Julian.

Yves Prescott soon realized that Winona was remarkably calm. Steady. She met everything with a quiet indifference.

Looking at her more closely, he noticed the sharp, defined angles of her face—there was a striking strength there, almost boyish in its boldness. She had a kind of androgynous grace, a handsomeness that blurred the lines.

It was nothing like his first impression of her.

Cheap.

Clingy.

Ugly people are always trouble.

A social climber, so deluded as to think she could compete with someone as dazzling and full of life as Felicity.

But now, seeing her clearly, he realized just how wrong he'd been.

She wasn't cheap in the slightest.

She never clung to anyone.

In fact, she'd never once mentioned in public that she and Julian were married. That alone spoke volumes about her character and her sense of dignity.

And she certainly wasn't ugly, or one to make trouble out of insecurity.

Her beauty, her resolute spirit, her talent—even her sheer will to survive—surpassed Felicity's in every way.

Just as Winona herself had once said:

Felicity always had men falling over themselves to help her. In their eyes, Felicity was adored, always the protagonist, living a life written for the heroine.

Winona, on the other hand—every man who helped Felicity was just as eager to see Winona ruined.

If Felicity was everyone's darling, Winona was everyone's villain.

In their eyes, even in his own before today, Winona was always on the losing side. Someone to be trampled on, belittled, dismissed.

And yet, in that harsh, hostile world, she'd clawed her way back to her feet. No matter how many times they tried to bury her, she kept finding a way to survive.

Yves was speechless.

For a bizarre moment, he couldn't help thinking—how could Julian, that smug bastard, get so lucky?

He deserved every bit of that karma.

Changing the subject, Yves asked, "You know Felicity too, right? Your grandmother and hers were rivals, weren't they?" The usually aloof, enigmatic Yves Prescott sounded almost gossipy.

Winona shot him a look.

She gave a soft, dismissive laugh. "Until I was sixteen, her parents were my parents. Turns out, I was a stand-in—the fake daughter, and she was the real one."

She spoke as if she were reciting someone else's story, her tone offhand and light.

But the words left Yves Prescott stunned; his mouth hung open, eyes wide, unable to process what he'd just heard.

He didn't ask any more.

He'd realized—this must be a wound that ran deep.

Yet Winona continued, almost to herself: "Before I turned sixteen, I was carefree—the happiest little princess in the world. Then, overnight, it was as if I woke from a beautiful dream. The princess was gone, and I was just a stray dog."

"Everyone talks about all the hardships Felicity endured, how unfair life was to her. But what about me?"