SECRETS OF A BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND

For seven hundred and thirty days, Rivera Royce lived in a sun-drenched villa in Tuscany with a man she believed was her husband.

She knew his coffee order, black, two sugars. She knew the rhythm of his footsteps in the hallway. She knew the scent of his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and sea salt that clung to the sheets.

But she didn't know his name.

Her real husband, the real Reagan Royce was in prison. The handsome man she shared a home with was none other than Reagan's best friend, Luke Ivan.

The Tuscan sun that morning when Luke told her the truth was a cruel witness to the shattering of Rivera's life.

It was a Tuesday morning at the Villa d'Oro, the kind of morning that usually felt like a shimmering dream.

The scent of blooming lemon trees wafted through the open windows, and the distant, sapphire shimmer of the Mediterranean promised a day of quiet luxury.

She looked like a woman who had everything. In reality, she felt like a woman waiting for her life to finally begin.

Behind her, the man she had called her husband for seven hundred and thirty days stood by the balcony. He was a statue of a man; beautiful, cold, and meticulously distant.

"The two years are up," he repeated calmly, far too calmly. "The real Reagan Royce was released from prison three hours ago."

The world didn't stop, but Rivera's heart seemed to.

"What... what kind of joke is this?" she whispered, her laughter sounded like breaking glass. It was a laughter of disbelief. "You're Reagan. We've been married for two years. We moved here together after the wedding."

"You exchanged vows over a phone line, Rivera. You signed a marriage certificate that he already signed, and the groom was absent at the ceremony. You're married indeed, but not to me." He stepped toward her, but he didn't reach out. "I am your husband's lawyer and his best friend."

Rivera sank to the edge of the bed. Every memory of her "marriage" flashed before her eyes like a sickening montage. The way he always slept in the guest wing, claiming "late-night calls with the States." The way he never kissed her, only offering a respectful nod or a brief touch on the shoulder.

She had spent two years blaming herself, thinking she wasn't sophisticated enough, pretty enough, desirable enough for him. She had been trying to win the heart of a man who had been pretending to be her husband.

"Is it really all fake?" She looked up at him, her vision blurring with hot, stinging tears. "I've been living with my husband's best friend?" She repeated his words to affirm the reality of her situation. He nodded.

"He was released today. He'll leave first. We'll return to New York tomorrow morning. He has instructed that I bring you to him. I have already bought the tickets. I'll pick you up at six."

"I'm not going anywhere," she snapped, the shock finally giving way to a white-hot spark of rage. "I want a divorce. I want to see my father."

A good amount of rage was directed at her father because he was the one who deceived her and gave her to complete strangers who had just played with her intelligence and emotions for two years.

Rivera Royce was born Rivera Banks to Robert and Sue Banks, a once-wealthy family living in the hills of California.

During her teenage years, her father's company collapsed. Bankruptcy followed, along with crushing debt. Creditors harassed them endlessly that they lived in constant fear for their lives.

Eventually, they fled to the countryside in Arizona. Around the same time, her mother left and remarried. Years later, a perfect opportunity to pay off their debts came.

An old powerful friend of her father, Stanton Royce promised to pay off their debts if Rivera married his son, Reagan Royce. It was a deal that sounded like a miracle.

Rivera wasn't sure how this benefited the Royce family. She had heard rumors about Reagan. He's a powerful and popular billionaire, he is currently the most eligible bachelor in the world.

Rivera was hesitant about marrying a man she had never met, but her father convinced her that it was the only way that they could survive.

Stanton also promised to let her divorce him after two years if she wasn't happy. Everything felt strange to Rivera, but she was happy that she had at least saved her father.

She joined her husband in Italy shortly after. It was part of the agreement. She would live with him there for two years before returning to the United States.

Rivera never once suspected that the man she shared a home with was not her husband. She felt utterly ridiculed and devastated.

"You'll go," Luke said. "If you want a divorce, you can tell him yourself."

Then he turned to leave. Only then did Rivera realize something terrifying. She didn't even know his name.

"Wait," she called to stop him in his tracks. "What's your name?"

He stopped, turned and looked at her in surprise.

"Luke," he simply said.

Once the door closed behind him, Rivera curled up on the floor and cried until she was exhausted.

She felt dirty, used, and utterly ridiculous. 'Two years of my life... was any of it real?' she wondered bitterly.

___

They flew on a Royce private jet. She wore her most beautiful dress and put on makeup, not because she was thrilled at this situation but because she didn't want to appear like an easy target.

She didn't know what to expect, what kind of man Reagan was or what crime had sent him to prison. But she needed answers.

Luke sat across from her, his eyes fixed on his laptop. He was no longer the "husband" who asked how her day was. She saw him now as nothing more than her husband's shadow.

When they landed at JFK, a black SUV was already there to pick them up. As it sped through the canyons of Manhattan, she saw him. Reagan Royce was everywhere. His face was plastered on giant digital billboards in Times Square.

The headlines were deafening: 'THE KING RETURNS.' 'ROYCE EMPIRE STABILIZES AS REAGAN TAKES THE HELM.'

The man in the photos was devastatingly handsome, sharper, darker, and infinitely more intimidating than Luke. He looked like a man who could crush an empire with a single word.

"He must be incredibly wealthy," she murmured. She knew that the whole city couldn't be obsessed with this man solely for his good looks.

"Wealth is the least of it. In this city, he's the law."

Rivera glanced at Luke. Despite the lies, she felt a pang of abandonment. The anger was still there, but he was the only familiar thing she had in this terrifying new reality.

However, right now, she was more curious about her husband. "What is he like?" she asked Luke. "I mean what kind of person is he?"

"That is for you to decide after you meet him."

"What was he in prison for?"

"I cannot tell you that. You can ask him yourself and see if he tells you."

"You cannot tell me or will you not tell me?" she continued to press him, but he simply didn't budge. "Fine then, at least tell me about yourself."

The car turned into a secluded, high-walled estate in a quiet, wealthy corner of the city. The gates were massive wrought iron, embossed with the Royce crest.

"We're here," he told her. He finally looked at her. "Listen carefully. You'll meet the real Reagan Royce in less than an hour. You must be courteous around him. He has a temper. Don't ask any questions yet. Settle in, I'll come see you tomorrow."

Rivera simply nodded to hide the rebellion going on in her mind. She knew that she would do everything but what he had just told her.

She was done taking orders from men. She had one plan: walk in, look the devil in the eye, and demand a divorce.

The Estate's tour car, a Jeep Wrangler, approached, driven by a middle-aged Asian man dressed neatly as a butler.

Rivera adjusted tensely. This was all starting to get real.

"I asked you a question." She turned toward Luke hoping to still get something out of him.

"That would be unnecessary." His tone was suddenly cold and distant.

Rivera's brow furrowed. "Unnecessary? I spent two years of my life with you. I think I deserve more than a one-word dismissal."

"My work here is done, Rivera," Luke replied, finally turning to look at her. "You will now meet your husband."

Before she could respond, he got back in the car, reversed it and sped away, the tires kicking up a fine mist of dust. She was now left to stand alone at the entrance of the vast estate.

Rivera stared after the disappearing car in disbelief. "How dare he? I lived with him for two years, and now he treats me like some virus."

Unknown to her, Reagan Royce stood upstairs in the study of the twin mansion, observing her through a telescope.

"She looks rather plain," he murmured, yet his gaze lingered longer than necessary.

A mischievous smile curved his lips as he handed the telescope back to the waiting servant beside him and returned to his seat.

"Tell Choi to take her to the garden lounge. Let's see if the plain girl has any fire in her bones."

The Jeep finally stopped in front of Rivera. "Mrs. Rivera Royce. Butler Choi at your service," the man said with a respectful bow.

Rivera bowed back awkwardly. Despite her once-prestigious upbringing, no one had ever bowed to her like this, certainly not a man old enough to be her father.

"Welcome to the Royce Estate, Madame."

"Thank you. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Choi."

"Where is your luggage?" Choi asked, glancing at the empty space behind her.

Rivera let out a short, nervous laugh, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, no. I'm not staying. I'm only here to see Mr. Royce."

She found it amusing that anyone would expect her to move in with a conniving man she had never met.

She had deliberately left her main suitcases in a locker at the airport. She'd retrieve it later and travel back to her home in Arizona tomorrow morning.

If Luke had noticed her lack of bags, he hadn't said a word. He had been too preoccupied with his own guilt or perhaps his relief to be rid of her.

Mr. Choi didn't argue. He simply shrugged, and held the door open for her. "As you wish. Please, step inside."

As the Jeep began the long drive into the heart of the estate, Rivera stared in awe. This wasn't just a house, it was a kingdom.

The land stretched endlessly in every direction: manicured lawns, sculpted hedges, fountains, and private roads disappearing into the horizon.

There were three mansions on the land. Two were grand, classic structures, but the third, a twin mansion, stood apart. It was an architectural marvel. It was larger, more imposing, and sat on a slight rise like a crown.

Rivera had seen wealth before, but this was generational power. This was the kind of money that didn't just buy things; it bought silence, laws, and people.

"Does this entire estate belong to him?" she asked.

"It does indeed, Mrs. Royce."

"Please, call me Rivera," she sighed.

"I'm afraid I cannot. Mr. Royce would not approve of such familiarity with the staff.

That alone told her a lot.

"I barely know anything about the family," she admitted.

"The Royce family?"

She nodded. "You cannot blame me, I only arrived in the city today. This is all new to me."

Choi straightened his posture, a note of genuine pride entering his tone. "Mr. Royce is one of the highest-profile individuals in the country. He owns a chain of companies across multiple industries. While his wealth is generational, he has expanded the Royce reach immensely through his own brilliance and efforts."

Rivera listened closely. She expected to hear fear in the butler's voice. Instead, she heard a genuine, unwavering admiration and respect.

"That's... reassuring." He almost changed her opinion of Reagan who she had decided was evil, selfish and probably gained his wealth through illegal dealings, hence the prison sentence.

"If he were merely living off his father's legacy, he would not have spent the past two years working closely with the partner companies in Italy," Mr. Choi added.

"He was working in Italy?" The irony hit her all at once, and she burst into laughter.

Now it made sense. If the country believed Reagan Royce had been in Italy for business, then his imprisonment must have been kept a secret so that his return would be seamless; no scandal, no suspicion.

But her role in all of this still made no sense. Why would a man like that pay five hundred million dollars to clear her father's debt just to marry a girl he had never met?

The Jeep stopped in front of the twin mansion. A line of the mansion's servers stood at the entrance.

"Welcome to the twin mansion, Mrs. Royce," they chorused, bowing in unison.

She offered a polite smile and bowed back, her mind raced as she struggled to keep up with the names they recited as they introduced themselves. By the time the third maid had finished, Rivera's brain was a fog of "Yes, thank you" and "Nice to meet you."

Everything felt overwhelming and surreal. Still, there was something oddly comforting about it.

Inside, the mansion was breathtaking: classic, refined and sophisticated.

"He has good taste. He's probably old-fashioned too, like Dad," she whispered to herself. She found that strangely charming.

"This way, Madame," Choi said, leading her toward the rear of the house to a stunning garden porch.

"Please, wait here. Mr. Royce will be with you shortly."

She was served tea while she waited. Minutes passed, then she faintly heard footsteps from inside. The maids stiffened. A heavy door opened somewhere in the mansion.

Rivera set the teacup down slowly, her fingers trembling.

Her husband was finally coming.

"Why is Mr. Reagan not here yet?" Rivera asked one of her attendants a while later when her host failed to show up.

"Impatient?" a deep baritone voice teased from behind her.

She turned around sharply. The man standing behind her was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen.

It was him indeed, the man whose face had dominated the billboards all over the city, only now, standing before her in flesh and blood. She realized how poorly those digital images had captured him. They were a pale, flat imitation of the man in the flesh.

He had god-like features; sharp cheekbones, perfectly sculpted lips and cold grey eyes that seemed to see straight through her. He was dressed in tailored trousers and a black silk shirt with the top buttons undone.

His skin had a bronzed, healthy glow that seemed impossible for a man who had supposedly spent two years in a cell. His tall, broad frame screamed power and dominance. Rivera found herself momentarily frozen and staring at him.

"Reagan Royce?" she asked breathlessly.

He nodded slowly, A lazy, arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his perfectly sculpted lips.

This man... is my husband?

She felt an involuntary shiver race down her spine, a confusing cocktail of pure, unadulterated fear and a sudden, violent spark of attraction that she absolutely loathed herself for feeling.

She hadn't expected this. She had imagined wealth, yes, cold money, influence, status, but not this. Not a man whose presence alone made it difficult to breathe.

Reagan smiled inwardly in triumph. This reaction was familiar. He always had this effect on people, especially women. Still, there was something oddly satisfying about seeing it work on her.

And now that he was closer, he realized she wasn't plain at all. On the contrary, Rivera Royce was strikingly beautiful. She was what people described as an exotic beauty with her long wavy hair and expressive green eyes.

Her beauty was a sharp contrast to the polished, plastic socialites he usually dealt with. He's got a pretty wife and that would look good on his social status, but beyond that, he would have no more use for a wife.

He dismissed the attendants with a subtle wave of his hand, then casually took the seat beside her, crossing one leg over the other.

"You look like you have a thousand questions," he remarked.

"You bet! I think we should start with proper introductions. It's our first time meeting, despite the fact that we've been married for two years." She didn't try to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

"That won't be necessary." He sounded flat, and her ego took a hit. It was almost insulting how he dismissed her before even hearing her point. How could he show so little interest in his own wife?

Nonchalance seemed to be one thing he had in common with his best friend, but he was obviously more obnoxious than Luke. Luke had been distant, Reagan was outright dismissive.

"I'm curious about something," Rivera stubbornly maintained, as she straightened her posture.

"Luke mentioned you were in prison in Italy during the two years of our marriage. I figured that not many people knew that. I won't ask how you ended up there, but I want to know why you chose me."

She leaned forward, searching his eyes. "You don't seem like the type to do things randomly. There had to be a catch."

Reagan studied her quietly before responding.

"You're right, I had my reservations about marriage. I didn't want to marry at the time, but the situation required it and I trusted my father to find me someone suitable who is capable of keeping my secret."

He didn't sound too evasive this time and Rivera was relieved that perhaps they're getting somewhere.

"If you trusted me to keep your jail time a secret from the public, then you should have told me the whole truth. Instead, you deceived me. You handed me to your best friend and both of you mocked me by lying to my face every day for two years," she snapped.

"I doubt telling you would have changed anything." His arrogant tone had returned and Rivera's eyes blazed with anger.

"Are you saying you assumed you had completely bought my willpower with your money?"

He leaned forward suddenly, invading her space, his face inches from hers. The scent of him, something expensive and masculine, swirled around her, making her heart skip.

"Well, have I not?" he said softly, dangerously.

Their eyes locked. For a heartbeat too long, Rivera forgot her anger. His gaze was intense and she felt herself slipping. She felt this dangerous pull towards him.

That was when she realized he wasn't just using his money to sweep things under the carpet, he was using his charm and for a moment there, it almost worked.

She snapped out of it abruptly, standing up and stepping back. She needed space to breathe, to think.

"No, you haven't. I married you because you saved my family, and I'll always be grateful for that. But you had no right to strip me of my choice. You should have told me the conditions of this marriage, so I'd decide for myself if I wanted this."

Rivera knew that some powerful men prefer wives whose silence could be bought, who wouldn't have the social standing to cause a scandal, and who would be grateful enough to stay exactly where they put them.

But she was simply not that kind of girl. Her background may be humble, but she wasn't, if only he knew.

Reagan didn't speak. He just watched her with a cold, steady interest. He liked the way her eyes lit up when she was angry. The anger was a contrast to his expectations of her reactions when they would meet. He had expected his wealth, looks and charm to intimidate her into surrender. But she wasn't that easy.

After a long moment, he stood up and walked toward her.

"I found myself in a situation where marriage was the only thing that could protect my reputation."

"You're still only talking about how it benefited you. What about me?" she pointed out.

It didn't look like she'd get any apologies out of him, especially since he thinks that he had bought her with his money.

"Trust me, it had more to do with you than you know," he told her.

"What are you talking about?"

"You wanted the truth but trust me, you won't be able to handle it."

"Try me," she challenged, her chin lifting. "I think I've earned the right to know what I'm actually involved in."

"Once you know it, there will be no going back. You won't just be my wife, you'll become my accomplice. He leaned in, his lips hovering just an inch from hers, the tension between them stretched to a breaking point. "Do you still want to know?"