My Husband's Twisted Secret Life

eremony at a deserted courthouse, the only witnesses a tired-looking clerk and Julian's stone-faced

r, not a window, holding the world at a distance. The furniture was all sharp angles and monochrome colors-black leather, chrome, grey marble. There was no

ood by the window, a dark silhouette against the city lights. "In public, we are a devoted, newly married couple. You will defer to me

rtners. This is my wing of the penthouse," he gestured to a hallway on the right.

ge, hollow thud in my chest. I nodded, wrapping the cashmere blanket tighter around myself. I

aid, his gaze flicking over me with that same detached, assessing quality. "Tomorr

table and picked up a thin tablet, hand

ife, displaying a single, encrypted folde

e malfeasance, shady deals, and hidden accounts. It was a portrait of the family I tho

wo words: "Project Nightingale." My breath hitched. I tapped it open. Most of

other's locket. The one Annelise was wearing. Beneath the photo was a

tingale. A secret so important it connected my family's deepest conspiracy to Julian Thorne's

Julian had given me buzzed on the marble table where

air. Julian watched me, his expression unreadable, his silence a test. The pr

lian said quiet

eath and tapped t

om, thick with manufactured tears and panic. "We've been so worried! Wher

risy was so staggering it s

hink you saw. The stress, the grief... it can play tricks on your mind. Dr. Evans warned us this might happen.

otional manipulation, the voice that had soothed my childhood fevers and nightmares, almost w

ng. They held no judgment, only a silent, clear-eyed focus. He saw the

d, hard certainty. "I'm not coming hom

Cla

llowed was heavy. I felt hollowed out, as if she had reached through th

gers, closing the file. "Get some rest," he said, his t

de of the apartment as the contract stipulated. Inste

, his gaze intense. "W

ow? It's the midd

datory smile. "And the annual Veridia Heritage Charity Gala is still in full swing. Your father's company is the p

to ice. He cou

g, midnight-blue gown of heavy silk that clung to my body. My hair was swept up, and subtle makeup hid the ravages of the night. I looked in the mirror and saw a

y tailored tuxedo. He looked at me, and for the first time,

d of polite conversation and a string quartet. As we entered, a hush fell over the room. Heads turned.

ng me through the crowd as if we were royalty parting the seas. He nodded curtly at acquai

standing proudly beside him. "...and it is these family values," my father was saying, his vo

stage, our path clearing before us. The whispers died

f applause. Mark saw us first. The color drained from his face, his smile freezing and cr

reached the podium and, with a polite but firm gesture, took the microph

ugh the speakers, smooth as velvet, sharp as steel. "I simply w

sink in. Father-in-law. A g

on the audience. He smiled that dangerous smile again. "But I believe my

lare of a hundred pairs of eyes, with the flash of cameras starting to pop like