Breaking The Script: My Billionaire Husband

e heavy brass doorbell of the Beverly Hills

leaming with anticipation. Behind him, a massive camera crew shifted thei

viewer count in the top right corner of the monitor was skyrocketing. Three

f the screen was moving so fast i

oor, you go

de painting on a n

e crypt keeper

cameraman to zoom

click, the heavy oak do

ng the interior of the house. The live

ina Cash, the entryway was a masterpiece of minimalist design. Clean lines, neutral

mmediately

oney bought some good

not even know what

to the foyer, hol

ed out, his voice loud and overl

ng. His mouth hu

s focus, panning up the s

walking do

aring sequins. She was wearing the plain blac

h carpet on the stairs. Her hair was pulled back i

ce that made Juli

ckles across her nose. No heavy eyeliner. Her skin looked pale, clean, an

n. This time, the pause

that her r

looks..

her skin is li

ators immediately started typing furiously

nocent! A vase is still a vase, even without paint

id not put on the wide, fake smile she usually

e main camera lens. Her exp

voice was flat, devoid

is outstretched microphone, and he

is cold, dismissive attitude was entirely new. It was not the dramatic, crying m

er her into th

ol of the interview. "The viewers are dyin

a massive, gray linen sofa. Sh

er, a sound echoed from the deep hallwa

sound of

sounded like someone dragging their fe

his finger at the main cameraman, silently scre

und. The live chat exp

he c

dy to pu

t keeper

, a figure slowly emerged into th

rimmed bifocal glasses that magnified his watery eyes. He was dressed in a

at least seventy

hands, he carried a silver tray

past one million. The servers struggled to

GOD M

S LITERALLY ONE F

ng I have ever seen. She married

rumors were true. The husband was a decrepit old man. He deliberately kep

massive camera lens shoved in his direction. His bushy white eyebrows drew toge

tantly translate

at arrogant

eat the cameraman. Harvey

scene unfold. She saw Julian's greedy, excited f

tly what they

it down. Her right hand rested on her knee. Her fing

ly leane

s," she sa

alked over to the sofa, his joints popping sligh

am," he said, his vo

icate porcelain cup. The tea was hot. The steam

nt absolute

ING HIM SER

k. This is a

her ri

k anymore. He shoved the

ith fake politeness. "Are you not going

r. She looked at Julian. She saw the trap he was setting. She s

. She was going to tell them

first syllable, a sharp, elect

er. The heavy oak door had

he heavy, metallic clunk o

ped breathing. The camerama

his back. He turned his body completely toward the foyer, his hand

nt door

otsteps hit the

were heavy. They were the rhythmic, powerful strides of l

ight. It sent a strange, cold v

f the foyer and headed st