The Billionaire I Slept With Became My Husband

Chapter 4

Word Count: 853 | Released on: 21/07/2026

ather of the Maybach, his eyes closed. The tight

is grandmother, Eleanor Sinclai

h a preliminary understanding with the Price girl

ze as cold as a winter frost. He typed

it came to his life. His marriage. All he w

th him, a frightened deer with fire in her eyes. That combinati

r skin. He had never encountered it on anyone else. For a year, he had caught whiffs of it in crowded rooms

entation where the 2000 Massachusetts quarter used to sit. His mother had given it to him on his eighteenth birthday. "For luc

ished without a

assistant, Liam Reynolds, watched h

any Price's file. Ivy League graduate, impressive resume. Her s

's only reply. He had no intere

n the mirror and silently mouthed, "A hundred

eld up five finge

ent exchange but couldn'

nded coldly. He had no desire to be p

aurant's VIP access lane. Both he and Liam k

heck. "Sir, the reservation is for tabl

d face a mask of indifference. For him, this was j

New York City cab pulled up to

her eyes lifting to the

deep breath, and walked insid

enough to command attention yet modest enough to conceal the faint silver stretch marks that st

olished smile. "Good evening, ma

ce smooth and confident. "I'm

s eyes, but he maintained his professio

more than a few glances. Her posture, her grace, her qui

re Tiffany was supposed to be sitting. The empty chairs, the pristine silverware, the single rose in its crystal vase-all waiting for a princess who

burly man in a cheap t-shirt was boun

is table. "Mr. Tucker,

loe, his eyes went wide. His jaw drop

ugly spinster" Brenda had descri

undisguised hunger. "Brenda said you were-" He stopped himself, grinned, and le

peccable smile on her face. But he

er," she said. "

ame w

Chapter End

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The Billionaire I Slept With Became My Husband

Apache Romance

“I went to my stepsister's birthday party, foolishly hoping for a family truce. Instead, she drugged my drink and had me shoved into a dark hotel suite, where a stranger took my innocence. When I sneaked back home the next morning, battered and humiliated, I overheard my stepsister and stepmother laughing in the hallway. They had orchestrated the whole trap to destroy my reputation so I would be forced to marry a thrice-divorced, abusive butcher. "And don't forget the little extras we've been putting in her food," my stepmother gloated. "She'll never lose the weight. That fat Miss Piggy is meant to be your backdrop." The revelation chilled me to the bone. My years of punishing diets, the brutal exercise, the deep self-hatred-none of it was my fault. It was poison, fed to me daily by the family I trusted. I packed a single bag, took the commemorative coin I had stolen from the stranger's nightstand as a reminder of my lowest point, and vanished into the city. One year later, having lost ninety pounds and transformed into a completely different woman, I agreed to attend the blind date with the butcher they arranged. But because of a flipped brass table number, I sat down in front of the wrong man. It was Julian Sinclair, the billionaire stranger from that dark room, and he looked at me and proposed a contract marriage.”