My Billionaire Husband's Deadly Betrayal

throbbed, a dull ache that echoed the hollow emptiness in my chest. I opened my eyes, staring

e and still. Amir. His arm around Hailie, his

ormentor, dragged

messy, focused on saving tiny lives. He was Amir Carter, the tech mogul, already a legend. He was thirty-t

, feeling utterly out of place in my borrowed dress. My hands, usually steady and precise, trembl

g. When his eyes locked with mine, it felt like a spotlight had cut through the opule

ike trophies, polished them, then moved on. I told mysel

d, a knowing glint in his eyes. Then, hours later, as I was

voice was a smooth baritone, de

h was warm, firm. And just li

re. My small apartment was transformed into a floral wonderland, a new bouquet arriving every morning, not in vases, but spilling from every surface. He remembered innocuous details f

yone thought I was a miracle worker. His own sister, Jacqueline, the ice-cold COO of his empire, eyed me wit

. He made me believe I was worth fighting for, that I was the one who could make him change. On our wedding day

, subtly engraved with a date or a word significant only to us. He was a doting husband,

rt, already weak, was failing rap

in specialists, funded experimental treatments. He found Hailie. He even began to financially sup

this is overwhelming for her. We need to make sure she feels s

rted. The late-night calls. The "mentoring sessions" that stretched into the early hours. The ex

eative crisis" and needed his guidance. He showed up late, di

I pushed it down, hard. I confronted him once, gently. "Amir, you'r

k that? This is about Keon! His life depends on her. Are you really that i

me. I apologized, retreating into myself, burying the gnawing suspi

married. "I've always been drawn to potential, Blake. To young, raw talent.

had convinced myself I was the grand finale, not just a longer,

e memory was a fresh wound, bleeding into the present. I was in

tiness in my chest was a black hol

up, my fingers shaking, and scrolled through the news. There it was: a picture of Amir, beaming, his arm around a radiant Hai

eeded retreat to the Maldives to clear her head before her debut. You should come join us!

d retreat" with Hailie was scheduled for the very day Keon died. He killed my brother. His obsession, his s

iven me. The fairy tale was over. No more crying. No more pleading. No more playin

ers steady this time. The first

voice flat, devoid of emotion.

ions. "Consider it done. I'll have the paper

s," I said. "I don't wa

was over. But it was a