Billionaire Boss? Nah, Just A Possessive Husband!

My husband is a billionaire. I'm not saying this to brag about how luxurious my daily life is. I just have one question-do all billionaires cheat?

Like right now, his head is buried against the 36D breasts of a young woman sitting on his lap. From where I stand, the two of them look like some kind of ultra–postmodern sculpture titled Interrupted Sex.

Before his hand could pull that blonde's dress all the way up to her chest, I pushed open the door. Enough. I'm not some voyeur into multi-partner arrangements-especially not when the man in the scene is my own husband.

I don't know how the other trophy wives of billionaires manage it. But me? I can't stay that calm. If not for my current predicament, I swear I'd dump scalding coffee right onto that bastard's dick.

I coughed again. My husband, Cary, finally lifted his handsome face from the woman's overflowing cleavage (seriously, how was he not suffocating?) and glared at me.

"Didn't anyone teach you to knock?" he growled, voice sharp with irritation.

Grinding my teeth, I said, "Sorry. Next time I'll hang a bell on the door handle, so at least when I knock the first time, you'll actually hear it."

"Oh my God, Cary. Your secretary is so disrespectful. I think you should fire her immediately," the blonde in his lap snapped.

I almost pitied her. She had no idea she'd just sealed her fate. Cary despised anyone who interfered in his work decisions.

"Lisa, you need to leave," Cary said coldly. The air seemed to freeze solid around us.

But Lisa didn't feel it at all. Her hand slid toward Cary's belt. With a playful smirk, she purred, "I know you're already hard. I can take care of you right now. You know, having someone watch us would make it even hotter."

A second later, Cary shoved her off him. She hit the floor.

He grabbed the phone instantly. "Security. Remove Lisa from the premises. And don't ever let her appear in my sight again."

Moments later, the guards stormed in and dragged a desperate Lisa away.

The office was suddenly silent, just Cary and me. But I felt no triumph-because truthfully, I was no different from her.

Cary's eyes burned into me, hot enough to scorch right through my skin. His look made it clear: I'd better have something important to say, or I'd end up like Lisa-or worse.

He didn't need a jealous wife. He'd warned me of that when we married.

Before he could unleash his anger, I quickly produced a document that needed his signature. "I need you to sign this."

I forced myself to stay calm as I flipped to the page requiring his name. My heart was pounding so violently it nearly leapt out of my chest. I didn't dare meet his eyes-one glance and he might read me like an open book.

Cary snatched up the pen and scrawled his signature without bothering to look at the text. He never needed to-because I never made mistakes.

But in that instant, my breath nearly stopped-until he finished signing the divorce papers.

My heartbeat came roaring back. I'd done it. I was free. I was divorced. I should have felt joy-but instead, a hollow emptiness surged over me like a tide. Three years of marriage, finished.

I had to leave before Cary looked up and noticed anything unusual.

But then his broad hand caught mine. "Ah!" I gasped. Had he discovered the truth?

Instead of letting go, Cary yanked me effortlessly onto his lap, his hand sliding beneath my bra.

If I hadn't just witnessed that little scene with the blonde, maybe-just maybe-I would've considered indulging him in a little office play.

But jealousy had already devoured me cell by cell. Without thinking, I raised my arm and slapped him hard across the face. Smack! The sound cracked sharp and clear in the silence of the office.

"What the fuck! Are you insane? You dare hit me?" Cary shoved me off, staring at me in disbelief.

"Yes." I didn't bother to deny it. The cameras in this office would prove me guilty anyway.

His teeth ground together with a sound like knives sharpening on stone. I had no doubt-if he wanted to bite my throat, my veins would burst instantly, spilling blood all over the luxury carpet.

Before this turned into a murder scene, I tried to bolt. But Cary's towering frame gave him the advantage. With one stride, he caught my arm.

"How fucking dare you?!" he roared like a beast claiming its prey. Fear surged through me.

"Answer me. How dare you strike me?! I'm your boss!" Cary snarled, squeezing tighter. One more twist and I was certain my wrist would snap.

"And my husband," I shot back. But the second the words left my mouth, regret hit me hard. What fresh ridicule would he throw at me now?

Sure enough, Cary froze. I opened my mouth to explain, but he suddenly released me, flashing a devastating smile. "Oh, hyacinth. Why does it matter to you now? You never cared when I held other women's hands-or kissed them."

Because I needed your money, bastard. But now your mother has already given me a fortune. Of course, I couldn't tell him that-our confidentiality agreement was binding. At least for thirty days.

Feigning obedience, I murmured, "Maybe my period's coming. You know how hormones make women act irrational sometimes."

Cary's lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze sharp and dangerous as a predator zeroing in on prey. I swallowed hard, still clutching our divorce papers. If he discovered them, his mother would cancel the payout in an instant.

Suddenly, my phone rang. I saw his mother's name flash on the screen. Saved. "It's your mom," I said quickly. "She probably just wants to make sure I'm still a proper wife."

Cary knew his mother never approved of me. But he needed me. Marrying me had been his way of rebelling against her snobbery.

He cupped my face and murmured, "No matter how much she objects, I'll never divorce you. I could never find a wife more perfect than you."

A perfect wife. One who tolerated her husband's affairs. The irony was suffocating.

"Now go. I trust you'll handle my mother." His tone turned icy again. I kept my composure, turned, and walked away.

"Miles will bring you a gift later. Did you forget? Your birthday's coming up," Cary called after me.

My spine stiffened all over again. For a heartbeat, my resolve wavered.

Cary was lethal in his allure-his face sculpted for magazine covers, his lean yet powerful body radiating dominance in every inch. He was rich, extravagant, generous to a fault with his wife. He could give me the world.

But he had one fatal flaw: he didn't love me.

Three years ago, when we signed the contract, he'd said it plainly: no feelings. He wouldn't promise fidelity, but he would be a dutiful husband.

And he had been. I was the one who broke the rule.

"Thanks," I forced out, two strangled syllables. Without looking back, I closed the door quickly behind me.

Outside, Miles was already waiting. I offered him a smile.

"Mrs. Galloway, this is the president's gift for your birthday," Miles said.

I eyed the exquisite box. I knew the brand. I knew the necklace inside was worth six figures. My vanity table was cluttered with necklaces like this. I never needed them.

I was nothing more than an invisible CEO's wife. I wasn't required to attend public events with Cary. Like those necklaces, I was a caged songbird.

Maybe I could make it worth something.

I set the pendant back in its box, snapped it shut, and dropped it into a bag. "Can you do me a favor?"

Miles blinked, then nodded quickly. "Of course."

"Put it up for auction online. It's a limited edition-should fetch a good price. Whatever it sells for, donate it to any charity."

Before he could react, I slipped into the elevator. The doors slid shut.

A single tear rolled down my cheek. I wiped it away instantly. No crying. I was just leaving a man who didn't love me. That's all.

My phone rang again. I looked down.

Drawing in a deep breath, I pressed the green button. "Cary's signed. I'll send you a photo."

I hung up, snapped a picture of the signature, and sent it to my mother-in-law, Tanya Grant, with a message:

[I've done it. Now it's your turn to deliver. My account: xxxxx]

"You serious?" Portia Pierce asked for the nth time in twenty minutes.

"Yes."

"You're really dumping that playboy?"

"I am."

"Are you still the High C I know-or did aliens possess you?" my best friend yelled down the line. "Whoever you are, get out of High C's body! By the power of Christ, begone!"

I frowned, lying on the couch in my new apartment, and moved the phone slightly away from my ear. "Have you been watching The Exorcist again?"

"You being able to name my favorite movie proves you're probably still the original High C." Portia quickly accepted my decision to divorce and immediately switched gears. "Then we have to celebrate! The Verve, eleven tonight. Put on your sluttiest dress and your tackiest makeup! I won't leave until I've introduced you to the sexiest man in the club tonight!" She hung up before I could refuse.

Which was fine-I wasn't going to refuse.

Clubs weren't really my scene anymore, but if I wanted to cut Cary Grant out of my life cleanly, the divorce papers alone weren't enough. Marrying a billionaire required corporate compliance and board-level approvals, or so Cary's mother had told me.

She needed time to make sure my exit wouldn't rattle the family business-and that took thirty days.

Anyway, I'd already got two signed copies of the agreement. For the last thirty days, pretending to be a compliant wife wasn't that hard.

After I left Cary, I'd need to find a new job. No rush-the settlement would keep me comfortable.

What I worried about most was how to tell my parents I was divorced.

They were conservative. When I told them I'd married suddenly three years ago, they disapproved-convinced I had sold myself to a billionaire to pay for my mother's illness.

Cary's attention had eased their worries back then, even if it had all been an act.

No point fretting over things that hadn't happened yet. For now, I wanted to enjoy a little freedom.

I got up at Portia's command and smeared on heavy eye makeup, applied lip gloss so loud it practically screamed "come get me," but I ignored the instruction to wear my sleaziest dress.

Of course I had miniskirts-yes, some of them were short enough to almost show a cheek back when I was younger-and sky-high heels. But I wanted any trust-fund boys I might meet at the club to think I was a woman with curves and brains, not a cheap slut willing to trade a business card for a quickie in a restroom.

When I arrived, Portia nearly stripped me down to lingerie-she wanted me in something that would have suited a charity gala.

I grabbed her. "I want to taste the expensive drinks first, then find a dick to fuck."

She relented reluctantly, though her eyes promised she'd make sure that happened tonight.

She dragged me up to the mezzanine. The thick walls and soundproofed carpet finally muted the bass so I could hear myself think.

"The handsome crowd won't show up until midnight," she said as she settled onto a velvet booth. "That means we've got an hour. You can tell me everything, down enough drinks to flush Cary's toxins out of your system, and then be ready to celebrate with the first man who makes you want to kiss him."

A handsome waiter holding menus cleared his throat awkwardly, reminding us to order.

Portia winked at him, ordered a French martini for herself, a cosmopolitan for me, and popped a bottle of champagne. When he left, she turned back.

"All right, spill," she said.

So I did. Portia was the perfect listener-gasping when appropriate, cursing the other woman with no mercy, and saving the fiercest fire for Cary.

"Probably the tits," she concluded. "Nothing's wrong with your face-any guy with eyes can see that. So it must be the tits."

I rolled my eyes. "Are you trying to persuade me to get a boob job?"

"Hey, I own Seraphina Clinic. I'm proud of our world-class results." She cupped her chest and pushed up, like a TV-shopping demo.

I laughed. "Don't push too hard-your babies will pop out."

"That's a win for you, right? And profit for him." She flirted with the waiter who'd just brought another round; he blinked back at her.

Afraid Portia might go off and have sex with the waiter right here, I waved him away. Then I heard my name.

Our booth wasn't fully enclosed; a screen separated us from the next table, so it was easy to overhear.

"Really?" a young man's voice said-high and floaty, as if drunk or drugged.

"Really. I have a source-on the floor with the boss's office. He said he saw a woman go into Cary's office and not come out for half an hour. When Hyacinth went in, the woman was still inside." Another voice, raspy and smoky, at least in his twenties, added.

Portia glanced at me, eyes sharp. I shrugged.

"Oh my God-office sex. Cary's a legend!" the conversation continued.

"No surprise. We all know Cary doesn't respect his-what's the term-peasant wife. She should accept it quietly. Sure, she lost her dignity, but she got gold, right?"

"Tonight she watched her husband fuck someone live. That's different," the drunk one said with schadenfreude. "Bet she's at home crying buckets. Poor thing-I feel like hugging her."

The smoky-voiced man sneered. "Hug? Or fuck?"

"Who says I can't do both?" the drunk grinned. "I've got her number. Maybe I'll call her later. Her ass is the tightest in SoHo-I've wanted to fuck her since the first day I saw her."

I leaned back, found the control panel, and pressed a button. The wall to our right flashed and turned transparent. Drunk Rick Hatchett froze mid-sentence, dumbfounded.

Portia slid me a can of pepper spray.

"No," I shook my head, hit the call-waiter button, and stood. I walked straight into their booth. Four men stared-fish-eyed, mouths open.

I went up to Rick. "Hi, Rick."

When we'd first met last year at a charity ball, he'd played the perfect gentleman. Turns out his so-called dancing had been foreplay for groping my "perky ass."

"Oh-hi, Hyacinth. Didn't expect to see you here. I hadn't heard Cary was around." His smile was brittle; he kept glancing at the transparent wall, probably hoping it would become soundproof.

"Of course he's not here," I said, smiling back. "But isn't that the best part?"

"What?!" Rick gaped.

"I mean-you just said you've been dying to fuck my ass." I repeated his words.

"No, I was joking." Rick jumped up, flustered. "I can apologize."

"You serious?" I cocked my head, smiled sweetly. "Since you're so interested in my ass-why don't you buy me a drink?"

His eyes widened, but my tone inflated his ego. "Of course. Anything you want," he said, grinning.

"Perfect." I reached behind the bar, picked the most expensive whisky on the shelf, and walked toward him with a smile that would make anyone kneel.

"Let me-" he began, trying to be the faux-gentleman.

Without hesitation, I smashed the bottle over his head. Glass shattered; the golden liquid mixed with his blood as it rained down his suit.

Everything happened so fast and so shockingly that everyone watched, stunned.

I was perfectly calm. I turned to the nearest waiter and smiled. "Put this on his tab. He insisted on buying it for me."

Rick snapped back to himself. "You bitch!" He lunged at me.

I realized there was a window behind me-but before he could reach me, a voice rumbled through the room: "You just called my wife a bitch?"

Everyone froze as if turned into ice, not daring to make a sound. They would never dare mock me in front of Cary.

I knew Cary-he could humiliate me, but that didn't mean anyone could, not even his mother. I summed it up as a chauvinistic, perverse possessiveness.

Cary was tall; even in a suit his presence made the air hard to breathe. He filled the space like a beast. Rick's face had gone the color of the dead.

"Cary, I was drunk. It was just a joke-" the man stammered.

"Cary? I don't remember knowing you," Cary's voice vibrated from his chest, and Rick immediately dropped to his knees.

"Mr. Grant, I apologize. I was stupid, pathetic; how dare I humiliate your wife." Rick begged.

"Apologize to my wife, not to me," Cary said coldly.

"Mrs. Grant, I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?" Rick looked at me; the wound on his head needed attention. I didn't press him further.

"Just go," I said.

But Cary grabbed Rick's collar again. "Listen. This is the last warning. From today on, I don't want to see your face in this city. Do you understand?"

Rick nodded frantically and stumbled backward until he almost ran out.

Seeing Rick like that, nobody else was in the mood to party; everyone was frightened and left. Portia gripped my arm-she knew about my separation from Cary and that it couldn't be made public for another thirty days. She couldn't just drag me out.

"Do you want to go?" she asked, looking at me.

I nodded and then turned to Cary. "Thank you. I'll go home now," I said gratefully. Cary was an asshole, that I knew, but he also helped when needed. If I hadn't fallen in love with him, this would have been the perfect ending.

"What are you doing here?" Cary grabbed me, then glanced at my outfit. "Why are you dressed like this?"

Dressed like this? I looked down-just a tight dress, shoulders and arms exposed. The only excessive thing was the way my curves showed, like a second skin. Portia had even teased that it wasn't proper club attire.

"I don't recall signing a curfew agreement," I said sarcastically. "Everyone else in this club is more revealing than I am."

"You're my wife. You shouldn't be at a club," Cary said coldly.

"Newsflash-we have an agreement. I'm your secret wife; no one knows me except your high-society friends," I shot back.

Cary tightened his grip on my wrist. I frowned at him. Suddenly I didn't want to give in. I knew if I told him, "Okay, I was wrong," he would let me go, and I'd get my payout faster.

That thought left a hollow in me. I hated that feeling. "Or do you want to make me publicly your wife?" I ground out.

The flame in Cary's eyes could have burned me to ashes.

"Cary, what's going on? My brother is waiting for you." A gentle female voice suddenly cut through the tension.

The woman came over and slipped her arm through Cary's. Her gaze paused on my face with a hint of puzzlement.

"She's nobody important-just my secretary. I saw her being bothered and came to help," Cary said, releasing me.

I felt Portia's look could kill. I met her eyes. I suddenly didn't want to be an invisible wife anymore.

I collapsed into Cary's arms. "Boss, I'm dizzy. Can you take me to the hospital?"

I saw the warning in Cary's eyes, but boldly shoved that woman aside. I recognized her-not a gold digger, but Vanessa, the sister of the lead on a major project our company had recently partnered with.

She was an important client.

I buried my face in Cary's chest. "Really-I need emergency care."

I figured Cary would push me away the next second, but unexpectedly he pushed Vanessa aside and held me instead. "Tell your brother I need to take my secretary to the hospital."

"What?! No! Cary?!" Vanessa shrieked. "You know how important this cooperation is!"

But Cary ignored her and led me into the elevator. His heart pounded fast; I didn't know what he intended.

I was frightened; I rarely angered him. As soon as we were in the elevator I struggled to get down.

Cary slammed me against the elevator wall in anger. "Listen, I know you're still sulking about the office incident. I can allow it-let's call it a little kink between us."

He bit my ear as he spoke. I didn't dare move; I curled my body as small as possible. Then, suddenly, Cary pushed my skirt up.

"Are you crazy? There's surveillance!" I screamed and grabbed his large hand. Although I knew Cary would handle the surveillance, public exposure still terrified me.

"You're the crazy one. You stalk me and then come here to catch me in the act," he sneered.

What? I was just here to indulge with Portia. How was I to know he would bring his new mistress here? I shouted, "I didn't! Why would I do that? I don't love you."

The air went suddenly silent. Cary's gaze turned ice-cold, different from his earlier fury-like my words had wounded his pride.

I don't love him-wasn't that what he wanted?

Suddenly the elevator dinged and the doors opened again. Cary blocked me; I looked down and saw a pair of well-made black leather shoes, black suit pants wrapping long straight legs, big hands hanging beside pockets. Cary nodded politely at him. "I have to go ahead."

Clearly a big shot-someone of equal standing.

I kept my head down and followed Cary out. I didn't dare linger, but I still felt the man's contemptuous gaze, as if I were nothing but a cheap whore.

I was indeed-no man would humiliate his wife in an elevator.

Once inside Cary's car, the driver discreetly raised the partition. I folded myself up as small as possible, as far from Cary the bastard as I could.

The quiet was broken only by my breathing. I refused to speak.

Cary suddenly sighed. "I'm going to discuss the project. You storming into the club and making a scene doesn't help-you look especially foolish, ugly, like a shrew, don't you think?"

I wanted to retort, but I thought of the divorce pending. No need to explain. "Anything else?" I asked, wanting to know what other insults he had lined up.

"If you want to stay with me long-term, stop these unnecessary suspicions. I don't have time to care for your emotions," Cary said, frowning.

"Okay. Anything else?" I continued to play obedient.

Cary lunged forward, grabbed my chin, and said coldly, "Hyacinth, do you know how unbearable you look right now?"

It felt like a bullet to the heart. Tears almost spilled. I clamped my palms together hard. A tiny smile curved my mouth. "You know, there's a way to make you not find me unbearable."

"What?!" Cary's dangerous eyes narrowed again.

"Divorce me." I looked up and met his gaze.