My Husband, the Billionaire Killer

Chapter One: Kiss The Bride

If her mother were here, she'd probably cry at the sight of her daughter in lace and love.

But her mother wasn't here.

And Naomi wasn't sure if what she felt was excitement... or something.

She felt Damien's arm slip gently around her waist as they stood before the officiant. Naomi gripped her bouquet tighter-not to stop herself from tripping, but to anchor herself to reality.

This was real.

She was married.

Her heart thudded beneath layers of satin and lace, catching in her throat when the officiant's voice echoed, "You may now kiss the bride."

Damien turned toward her, his hand brushing her cheek before he leaned in.

His lips were warm, slow, and patient against hers. The room erupted in applause, but Naomi barely heard it. It was like the world had gone quiet for just a second, and it was only the two of them.

"You're doing great, Mrs. Everhart," he whispered against her lips as they pulled apart, his voice low and teasing.

She smiled, cheeks blooming with warmth. "You make that sound like you've been waiting forever to say it."

"I have," he said, that charming grin sliding into place.

She believed him.

He had a way of saying things that made her feel... precious. Like she mattered.

When they finally pulled apart, Naomi's eyes flickered across the crowd-and landed on her father.

He sat stiffly at the family table like he had every right to be there.

Her smile faltered for the briefest second. She needed someone to walk her down the aisle. She just hadn't wanted it to be him.

But there he was-silent, unreadable, and still pretending to be the father she needed.

And then her gaze slid one seat over.

Empty.

That seat wasn't supposed to be empty.

It should've been her mother's.

She blinked quickly, willing the heat behind her eyes to settle. You're not allowed to cry today, Naomi told herself.

Her mother would've wanted her to be happy. She would've been the loudest one clapping. The first one crying.

She felt her chest squeeze at the memory of one of their late-night talks.

"Your wedding day should feel like the start of your forever, not the end of anything else."

Petals floated down from the ceiling, a blur of soft color. Naomi's smile widened-then flickered just slightly when her eyes landed on the empty seat beside her father.

That seat wasn't supposed to be empty.

It should've been her mother's.

She blinked quickly, looking away. You're not allowed to cry today, Naomi told herself.

Her mother would've wanted her to be happy. She would've been the loudest one clapping. The first one crying.

She felt her chest squeeze at the memory of one of their late-night talks.

"Your wedding day should feel like the start of your forever, not the end of anything else." Her mother's voice echoed through her heart, wrapping around her tighter than any hug.

Naomi pushed a breath out and forced her gaze back to Damien, who was leading her toward the reception hall.

Focus on now, she thought.

Focus on this.

The reception was a blur of champagne, soft laughter, and camera flashes.

Naomi caught glimpses of Rachel-her best friend-flitting between tables like a glittering butterfly in a satin dress.

Thirteen years of friendship meant Naomi could spot Rachel's chaos from a mile away-heels clicking, eyes gleaming, and trouble practically radiating off her.

Rachel swooped in for a hug. "Look at you, Mrs. Everhart. You're glowing like you just won the lottery and the man."

Naomi grinned. "I think the man was the lottery."

Rachel let out a dramatic sigh. "Ugh. Disgusting. I love it. But also-you better text me if the yacht has a chocolate fountain."

"Rachel," Naomi laughed, "It's not that fancy."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "You married a billionaire, Naomi. Everything's that fancy now."

Before Naomi could reply, a warm hand slid around her waist. Damien leaned in from behind, lips brushing just close enough to her ear to make her shiver.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "If you keep looking this beautiful, I might skip the honeymoon and lock us in a room right now."

Naomi's cheeks flamed. Rachel let out a scandalized cackle.

"Okay! I'm officially leaving before I need therapy," Rachel said, throwing her hands up.

Naomi could barely look up. Damien just smirked, clearly pleased with himself.

She was still blushing when Damien led her onto the dance floor, his hand splayed gently across her lower back.

"You look like you're thinking again," Damien said as they swayed.

"I always think," she teased. "Someone's gotta overthink us into forever."

He grinned, pulling her closer. "Just don't overthink tonight. Let it be perfect."

"Perfect might be too much to ask for," she said, smiling up at him.

"Then let's make it unforgettable."

And for a while... it was.

From the stolen glances, to the clinking glasses, to the soft kisses when no one was looking-Naomi felt like she was floating inside a bubble no one could pop.

As they headed toward the exit, Damien's hand never left the small of her back - steady, claiming, like she was his entire world.

But just as they passed one of the side tables near the door, Damien's gaze flickered down.

"Hold on a second," he said, reaching for a small white envelope lying alone on the table.

Naomi barely noticed. She was too busy feeling dizzy and giddy and a little like she might explode from happiness.

Damien turned the envelope over in his hand, curious. "No name," he mused, sliding it casually into his pocket. "We'll check it later."

He smiled at Naomi again, tugging her hand in his.

If only he had known.

If only he hadn't picked it up.

Because the real honeymoon was about to end before it even began.

Chapter Two: "Tick-tock, Lover Boy"

The morning sun crept through the parted curtains, casting golden streaks across silk sheets and sleepy skin. Naomi stirred first, blinking slowly as the warmth of the light kissed her face. She stretched just enough to feel the satisfying ache in her limbs, then turned her head, expecting to find Damien beside her.

Empty.

His side of the bed was cool, the sheets tossed back like he'd left in a rush.

She frowned slightly, brushing a hand through her hair. Maybe he couldn't sleep. Or maybe work had already called him away-again.

Just as she sat up, the bedroom door eased open.

"Morning," Damien said, stepping in with a soft smile. He had two mugs in his hands and stubble dusting his jaw.

Naomi's face lit up. "You made coffee?"

"Figured you'd need it. Last night was... a lot."

Her cheeks heated instantly. "You're not supposed to say that so casually."

He handed her a mug and dropped onto the bed beside her. "Why not? It was our wedding night. It should be memorable."

She sipped slowly, eyes peeking over the rim of the mug. "It was."

He leaned in, brushing a kiss to her temple. "Good."

For a few moments, they sat in a warm silence. Her legs curled beneath her, his arm draped around her shoulder. It felt real. Comfortable.

Naomi took another sip of coffee, stifling a grin as Damien stretched out beside her.

"So," Damien began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I saw you laughing at my dad last night. What was that about?"

Naomi smirked, putting the mug down. "Oh, you mean when he tried to twirl your mom and almost knocked over the entire table? Yeah, that was fun."

Damien burst out laughing. "I told him to keep it simple! But no, he had to go full-on Broadway with it."

Naomi covered her mouth, trying not to laugh too loud. "I seriously thought your mom was going to strangle him right there on the dance floor."

"I almost felt bad for him. But then he pulled out the 'air guitar' move, and that was it." He shook his head, laughing. "She almost tossed him out the door."

Naomi was practically in stitches now, her shoulders shaking with laughter. "Oh my God, the air guitar. I can't even-how does someone that bad at dancing think they can pull that off?"

Damien shrugged, grinning. "Confidence. And a little too much wine."

Naomi wiped away a tear from laughing. "At least he didn't break anything. That's a win, right?"

Damien leaned back against the headboard, eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's a miracle, honestly."

The warmth between them, like a soft blanket, settled in again. But as Naomi smiled, something caught her eye - the envelope. Sitting innocently on the nightstand.

Naomi glanced at it. "What's that?"

Damien reached for the letter, his fingers brushing lightly over the paper.

He turned the envelope over, his brow furrowing at the red timestamp on the back. 10:32 AM.

Inside the envelope was a single sheet of paper. Folded neatly, with sharp edges and clean handwriting.

Damien's stomach twisted as soon as he saw the first line.

> "To the groom with blood on his hands..."

He gripped the paper tighter, jaw tightening a little.

> "You thought love would bury the past? You thought she'd never know? Tick-tock, lover boy. Secrets don't stay buried forever."

No name. No signature. Just a few chilling words.

He folded the paper back up, shoving it into his hand like it might bite him if he didn't hold it tight enough.

"Is it something bad?" Naomi asked, her voice playful. "Is someone already trying to steal your bride?"

Damien forced a laugh, trying to sound normal. "No one would dare."

Naomi grinned, totally oblivious to what was going through his head. She went back to sipping her coffee, looking perfectly at ease.

Damien, on the other hand, was starting to feel like he was suffocating a little. His mind kept flashing back to those words. Someone knew. And if they decided to tell Naomi...

He pushed the thought away. Not now. He couldn't ruin today. Not with her so happy, so relaxed.

Instead, he focused on her, on that easy smile of hers. He cleared his throat, trying to get back to a normal conversation.

"Hey," he said casually. "You know, I don't think I tell you this enough."

Naomi looked up from her coffee, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Damien leaned back against the headboard, his gaze soft. "I love you. I know I don't say it all the time, but I do. A lot."

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Well, considering we just got married yesterday, I hope you do."

Damien chuckled, but there was something deeper in his eyes now. "No, seriously. I love you. And I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me."

Naomi smiled at him, her face lighting up, and she slid closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Well, I'm not exactly complaining. I love you too, you know?"

Damien wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer, and the weight of everything in the letter seemed to melt away for a second.

"Good," he said softly. "Because I'm kind of attached to you."

She giggled and nudged him. "I think I can handle it. For now."

He smiled, feeling lighter, and nudged her back. "You know, I'm thinking breakfast might be a good idea. What do you say we go out? I mean, if you're not planning on keeping me here for the next 24 hours."

Naomi laughed. "Only if you promise to make me laugh through it. Your charm will get us through the meal, right?"

Damien grinned. "I'm the best breakfast date. Trust me."

"Sure, sure. But if you start dancing in the middle of the diner, I'm leaving you there."

Damien laughed, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Deal. No dancing. But only if you promise to let me eat in peace for at least ten minutes."

Naomi noded dramatically. "Fine. I'll let you eat in peace. For ten minutes."

"Great. It's a deal," he said, grinning down at her, letting the moment be just about them.

He could breathe again.

And maybe, just maybe, the day could still be perfect.

Chapter Three: "A Goat?"

The laughter still lingered in Naomi's chest as she tossed her phone onto the bed. Rachel had spent the past fifteen minutes teasing her about newlywed life - dropping dramatic sighs and calling her "Mrs. Everhart" every other sentence. Naomi hadn't laughed that hard in days.

Married life, she thought, stretching her arms over her head.

It sounded so official when Rachel said it. Heavy, almost.

But here, in this quiet mansion wrapped in morning light, it just felt peaceful.

She slipped on a robe and padded down the hallway, letting her fingers trail over the cool marble walls. The place was beautiful, of course - Damien wouldn't have settled for anything less - but it was also huge. Too big for just the two of them, really. Naomi smiled to herself, thinking maybe she could get lost and no one would find her for days.

At the end of the hall, a door sat slightly ajar. She nudged it open and stepped inside.

The study smelled of old books and polished wood. A heavy desk sat in the center of the room, the walls lined with bookshelves reaching all the way to the ceiling. Everything looked curated and perfect - so very Damien.

But it wasn't the room that caught her attention.

It was the painting above the fireplace.

Naomi tilted her head, unable to stop the smile that tugged at her lips.

The memory slid in without warning.

---

It had been a crowded art gallery, full of glittering people and confusing art. Naomi remembered standing there, staring at a wild mess of colors that was supposed to be something meaningful.

She had squinted at the canvas, muttering under her breath, "It's a goat. Or... maybe a cloud? A very angry cloud."

A voice beside her had chuckled. "It's abstract. Supposed to make you feel something."

She turned to find a tall man, impeccably dressed, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Well, it's definitely making me feel confused," she replied, arching an eyebrow.

He laughed. "Confusion is a feeling."

They'd spent the rest of the evening debating the merits of modern art, their banter easy and unforced. That night had been the beginning of something neither of them had anticipated.

-

Back in the study, Naomi's smile deepened. She hadn't thought about that night in so long, but now the memory unfurled easily in her mind.

"You're staring at it like you still hate it," Damien's voice cut in, warm and teasing.

She turned to find him standing in the doorway, watching her.

"I don't hate it," Naomi said. "I'm just trying to figure out if it's still a goat."

Damien laughed as he walked closer, the sunlight catching in his hair. "Bought it because of you."

Naomi blinked. "You what?"

He shrugged easily. "Every time I saw it, I remembered that night. You. How you didn't care who I was, how you just..." He smiled, a soft, genuine thing. "Made fun of a painting and stole my attention."

Her cheeks warmed. "You're unbelievable."

"And you married me anyway," he said, stepping in closer.

Before she could fire back a witty retort, he leaned down and kissed her - a slow, lazy kiss that made her toes curl slightly against the rug.

When he pulled back, his voice was lighter, easy. "My parents are around. They're hoping we can have lunch together later."

Naomi grinned. "Already being paraded around as the new Mrs. Everhart, huh?"

"Perks of the title," Damien said with a wink. "I'm gonna get cleaned up. You good here?"

She waved him off, her smile lingering even after he left the room.

For a moment, Naomi just stood there, soaking in the quiet.

Her gaze drifted toward the desk-specifically, a messy stack of papers shoved into one corner. Something peeking out from underneath caught her attention.

Curious, she wandered over and gently tugged it free.

It was an old photograph.

She blinked, confused. Several faces smiled up at her, dressed in what looked like fancy event clothes.

Her breath caught.

There, clear as anything, was her mother. Young, vibrant, laughing at something just out of frame.

And standing not far beside her were two unmistakable figures: Damien's parents.

Naomi stared.

Maybe it was some big gala. Maybe they didn't even know each other.

Maybe Damien's parents had no idea who her mother was, and vice versa.

Still, the sight of them together - in the same photograph - made something uneasy stir in her chest.

Why hadn't her mother ever mentioned this?

Why had no one?

She set the photo down carefully, her mind already racing.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe it was something.