My Fake Bankrupt Husband Is A Tycoon

Chapter 7

Word Count: 616 | Released on: Today at 09:39

owd. I am pressed against the doors for forty agon

et. The temperature has

on the concrete steps, shivering in a thin winter

e cries, launching h

ol coat around her tiny shoulders. I apologize prof

eburgers. While Rosie eats her fries, I text Eloise the new add

uses back to Center City,

apartment, Ethan's e

ondon. A multi-billion-dollar acquisition is on th

s his laptop. To ensure absolute silence, he switches his pers

front door of the townhouse

door handle. I

the door. The building requires a key fob for entry after

locke

st. I pull out my phone

raight to

nd again. Five

m locked out. The

espo

ng through my thin sweater. Rosie sn

Auntie," sh

there are no names, just numbers.

corner of the street, trying to use the glass shelter to block the wind. I

ur pa

reen. A heavy, suffocating

ignor

other to his life, I lied about him being bankrupt, and now I'm bringing a kid to

g on my lashes. I feel like

Ethan slams his laptop shut. He j

out into the living room.

n fr

into the bedroom, snatch

Five missed calls. E

ocked

s reall

ou as

for both

it-hits Ethan like a bullet to the chest. His

't grab his shoes. He grabs the

Chapter End

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“I was trapped in a greasy diner by my own mother. She was forcing me to marry my abusive cousin because he had paid her twenty thousand dollars. To escape, I used a contract marriage app and begged a complete stranger to marry me at City Hall that very day. Ethan drove a cheap Ford and wore a plain suit. I thought he was just an ordinary guy needing a fake wife. When my mother found out, she brought thugs to destroy my flower shop-my only home and livelihood. To protect Ethan from her endless extortion, I shielded him and screamed that he was bankrupt and drowning in credit card debt. My mother fled in disgust, and Ethan took me into his apartment for the night. But out of trauma and habit, I locked my bedroom door, muttering that he must be old and desperate. He stormed out into the freezing night, leaving me terrified that I had ruined my only lifeline. I didn't understand why he was so furiously offended, completely unaware that my "broke" husband was actually the most ruthless billionaire in New York, and I had just trampled his massive ego. The next morning, his face was a mask of ice as he dragged me back to City Hall to annul the marriage and get rid of me. "Annulment. Now," he demanded. But the clerk just popped her gum and slid a pink paper across the counter. "State law changed. Mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period."”