THE BILLIONAIRE'S SECOND WIFE

"You know that rent is to be paid in just two days, right?"

I fixated on the flickering cursor on my laptop, attempting to drown out the sound of my roommate's voice.

"Morgan," she called, her tone climbing like a teenager caught sneaking in after curfew, stretching my last name like a rubber band about to snap.

Inhaled deeply, bracing myself. "Yes. I know."

"Then why are you rewriting the same sentence for the fourth time?"

"Because it sounds like crap," I muttered.

"You're not Hemingway. Hit submit and pray."

I blinked hard and pressed the spacebar a few times. The freelance piece I'd promised an editor two weeks ago still looked like a high school essay. No flow. No soul. No chance of being paid.

"I have thirty-two dollars in my account," I said.

"Twelve," she corrected. "You Venmo'd me for coffee yesterday."

I closed the laptop. "Right."

Ashley tossed herself on the couch across from me. "Ivy, we need to talk options. That rich-people dating site you signed up for? Maybe it's time to use it."

"I will not."

She looked at me, her expression sullen "You said if you hit rock bottom-"

"I'm not dating a millionaire for rent money."

"He's a billionaire, actually."

I groaned. "God. You're the devil."

Ashley smirked. "A broke devil with a good memory. He dropped a message again, didn't he?"

I did not want to dwell on it. The app was meant to be a joke. A game. Swipe, screenshot, laugh. But he hadn't been like the others. No shirtless gym selfies. No yachts. No weird age-gap comments.

His profile just said: Nicholas. 38. CEO. Looking for someone who knows how to keep a secret.

It should have been a red flag. But it intrigued me instead.

"I deleted the app," I said.

"You're lying."

"I archived the app."

Ashley smiled like she won the lottery. "So message him."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to sell myself."

"You wouldn't be selling yourself. You'd be... temporarily leasing your company."

I laughed despite myself. "You're so gross."

She leaned forward, suddenly serious. "Ivy, I know you. You're about to get evicted. You're eating saltines for dinner. You haven't called your mom in two weeks because you're too proud to ask for help. And here you are, being all noble, while the universe is offering you a lifeline in the form of a sexy mysterious billionaire."

"You don't know that he's sexy."

Ashley opened her phone. "Let's check."

"No. Don't-"

Too late. She pulled up his profile like a weapon. And there it was. That same photo I hadn't been able to forget.

Dark suit. Crisp tie. Sharp jawline. Cold gray eyes. No smile.

He looked... expensive.

"Yeah," Ashley said slowly, studying the photo. "That man has definitely committed tax fraud. And maybe a little murder. But in a hot way."

I reached for her phone and scrolled.

There was a message.

Nicholas Thorne: I'd like to meet. Discretion matters. No expectations. Just time.

"That's stalking, right?" I said, even as my thumb hesitated over the reply button.

Ashley shrugged. "Depends on what 'time' means."

I stared at the screen. And then I typed two words.

Where and when?

---

I wore black. Simple dress. No heels. I wasn't the type to wear makeup, it maked me look like I hadn't slept for days.

He sent the location: Glasshouse. I know the place, , a rooftop bar in Midtown that served twelve-dollar water.

I walked in five minutes before and handed the hostess his name.

"This way," she said with a fake smile. I knew better.

He was already there.

Nicholas Thorne.

Exactly like the picture. Only worse. Or better. Depending on how you measure intensity.

He stood as I approached the table.

"Ivy Morgan."

His voice was low. Controlled. Like every statement he said had been rehearsed and edited for effect.

"Wow, you are real," I said before I could stop myself.

He smirked. Not a smile. Not quite. "So are you."

He could take a joke, Thank heavens

We sat. A waiter hovered, then vanished without taking our order.

"I don't usually do this," I said, my fingers locking under the table.

"Neither do I."

"Then what do you usually do?"

"I usually pay people to solve my problems."

"And I'm a problem now?"

"You might be the solution."

I blinked. "Okay. You're going to have to be precise. Because I thought this was a date, and now it sounds like a merger."

He rested back, folding his hands. "I need a wife."

I laughed. Then saw his expression. And stopped. "You're serious."

"Yes."

"You need a wife."

"Correct."

"Like, for paperwork?"

"Like for my daughter."

That shut me up.

He continued. "Her name is Lena. She's five. Her grandparents are suing for custody. They believe I'm emotionally unfit. That I don't provide a stable environment."

"And your solution is to marry a stranger off a dating app?"

"My solution is to make my life appear stable. Traditional. Normal."

"And you think I look like stability?"

"You look honest. You have no ties. No scandal. No interest in my money. You would sign a prenup. You'd be compensated generously. And you'd walk away after one year."

"You're offering me a contract marriage."

"Yes."

"Do I look like someone out of a K-drama to you?"

"I don't watch television."

I stared at him. He wasn't blinking. He wasn't joking.

"And if I said yes?" I asked, my voice low.

He didn't flinch. "You'd move in this weekend. Appear in a few photos. Attend a few events. Speak kindly to reporters. Smile. Occasionally hold my hand in public."

"And in private?"

"Nothing will be expected of you."

"And the money?"

"A hundred thousand now. Another hundred when the divorce is finalized. More if you choose to extend the arrangement."

I tried to keep breathing.

That amount of money would wipe out my debts. Let me start over. Maybe even finish the book I'd been trying to write since college.

"Why me?" I asked. "Why not someone in your circle? Someone richer. Prettier. Easier to control."

He leaned forward then. And for the first time, his expression changed.

"You're not afraid of me."

I swallowed hard. "Should I be?"

Just as he wanted to answer, his phone rang. He glanced at it and went still.

"Problem?" I asked.

He looked up, and something in his face had changes. A tension. A darkness.

"My daughter's gone," he said quietly.

"Gone?"

"She ran away from the nanny. She's missing."

And just like that, I was thrown into another world.

"Why are we just sitting here? Let's go look for her!"

I didn't intend to sound harsh, but his complete stillness was really getting to me. Nicholas's phone sat on the table like a ticking time bomb, yet he hadn't moved an inch.

"Hold on a minute while I get things figured out," he replied.

"Think faster. She's five, right? Five-year-olds don't just disappear without a trace."

"I pay people to handle these things."

"Yeah? Well maybe she ran because you're emotionally unavailable and icy as hell."

His eyes flicked to mine.

"She's a child," I said. "Call your assistant. The nanny. The police. Someone."

He finally stood and pulled out his phone. His voice dropped an octave. Calm. Precise.

"Charlotte. Where was she last seen?"

A pause. His fingers clenched at his side.

"Send me the street address. I'll be there at fifteen."

He hung up.

"Where is she?" I asked.

"Central Park. Near the carousel."

"And you're still standing here, why?"

He threw a glance my way and turned on his heel. I followed him without asking.

The car was already there. A slick black SUV with tinted windows and a driver who didn't even flinch when Nicholas snapped out the address.

"You don't have to come," he said to me once we got inside.

"I'm not gonna let you go searching for a missing kid alone. Plus, I still need my daily fix of emotional drama."

He didn't crack a smile.

I turned in my seat. "How does a five-year-old go missing like that?"

"The nanny took her to the park after piano class. She looked away for two seconds."

"And no bodyguards?"

"I like Lena to feel free when she's outside."

I tilted my head "She has a personal chef and two hundred-dollar ballet shoes."

He didn't respond.

"Have you tried calling her?" I asked.

"She doesn't have a phone."

"Then what does she have?"

He hesitated.

"What?"

"A GPS watch. She took it off last week. She said it made her wrist itchy."

I sighed. "Then we find the itchy wrist."

The car stopped. Nicholas was out before the driver could open the door. I jogged to keep up.

Central Park was flooded with people. Tourists. Joggers. Moms with strollers. I looked around the carousel, my eyes darting for any sign of pink or pigtails.

Nicholas was pacing at one corner, making a phone call

My eyes met a woman holiday a clipboard. Park staff.

I jogged over.

"Sorry, Excuse me. Did you see a little girl here today? Five years old. Brown hair. Probably alone?"

The woman frowned. "A man just asked me the same thing. I haven't seen anyone like that."

"Thanks."

I turned back and nearly ran into Nicholas.

"We split up," he said. "You check near the playground. I'll go west toward the boathouse."

"Fine. But if I find her first, I'm charging double for this fake wife gig."

He didn't reply. He just walked off.

I made sure to look at every face as I made my way toward the playground. I was just about to pass the swings when I saw her.

She was sitting alone on a bench, legs swinging

Brown curls. Pink dress. A little dirt on one knee.

"Lena?" I called softly.

She looked up. Her eyes were wide, cautious.

I slowed my steps. "Hey. I'm Ivy. Your dad sent it to me."

"Where is he?"

"He's looking for you. He's scared."

She looked down. "I didn't mean to run. I just... wanted to see the horses again."

"The carousel?"

She nodded.

"You got away from the nanny?"

"I hid at a corner when she was on her phone. I didn't want to get lost. I just didn't want to go back to that big cold house."

I bent down in front of her.

"That's fine. But your dad's really worried. Can I call him?"

She nodded slowly. I took out my phone.

Before I could, a sharp voice interrupted me.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I stood fast. Nicholas was walking up, breathless, furious.

"I found her," I said. "She was sitting right here."

"You let her out of your sight?"

"I just got here. She was already here."

He ignored me and knelt in front of Lena. "You scared me. Do you understand that?"

She looked down again.

"You cannot run off like that. You are not alone in this world. You have responsibilities. To me. To yourself."

She whispered something.

"What is it?" he said, his voice still harsh.

"I miss Mommy."

Silence.

It was like the whole park went quiet. I barely breathed.

Nicholas shut his eyes.

"I understand," he said at last. "I miss her too."

She reached for his hand. He took it gently.

I took a step back, letting them have their moment. My chest hurt in a way I didn't expect.

He picked her up.

"We're going home," he said.

She laid her head on his shoulder.

We walked back to the car in silence.

By the time we got to his penthouse, it was past seven. A housekeeper had left dinner out. Something with roasted vegetables I couldn't pronounce.

Nicholas carried Lena upstairs.

I wandered through the living room. Everything was glass and stone and cold lighting. Like a museum that hated color.

When he came back down, he looked... human. Less marble statue. More exhausted father.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome."

He poured a drink. Something dark and expensive.

"Are you always like this?" I asked.

"Like what?"

"Cold. Closed off. Running on control and caffeine."

He sipped. "You're very bold for someone who just met me."

"You're offering me a hundred grand. Boldness is implied."

He sat on the edge of the couch. "You don't know what you'd be getting into."

"Try me."

"You'd be living here. Full time. You'd be photographed. Watched. Everything you say or do would be examined."

"Sounds like dating in Brooklyn."

He ignored the joke. "There are things I don't talk about. People who would like to see me buried under. You'd be a target."

"Of what?"

"Criticism. Lies. Manipulation."

"Why?"

"Because people want what I have."

"And what do you have?"

He looked at me. Really looked.

"Power. Money. Enemies. And a daughter I will burn the world for."

I swallowed hard.

"I don't want her growing up in a courtroom. I don't want her reading tabloids about her father being broken and alone."

"That's why you need a wife."

"That's why I need you."

I blinked. "You don't even know me."

"I know enough. I've read everything you've published. I know you're honest. Smart. You don't lie easily. You don't scare easily. And you're desperate."

"Wow. You make poverty sound flattering."

"I make truth sound useful."

I crossed my arms. "What happens if I say yes?"

"You move in this weekend. We hold a small engagement party. We make it look real. And then we survive."

"And if I say no?"

"I'll find someone else."

"But not someone you trust."

His mouth curved. "Maybe not."

I took a breath. "And the girl? Does she know this is fake?"

"Not yet."

"And when it ends?"

"We'll say we grew apart."

I sat down across from him.

"This is insane."

"It is."

"But if I do this... I want full control over the story. I want to be more than a photo op."

"You want agency."

"I want to be seen."

He stood. Walked toward me. Slow. Intense.

He stopped a foot away. Looked down at me like he was making a decision.

"You'll get what you want."

"Good. Because I-"

His phone vIbrated again.

He answered with a clipped, "Yes?"

His face changed.

"What do you mean she's here?"

My stomach dropped. I stood slowly.

Nicholas met my eyes.

"My dead wife's sister just showed up at the building. And she's demanding to see Lena."

"You're not letting her in?"

Nicholas didn't reply. He just stood there, with his phone to his ear, jaw clenched so tight I could practically hear his teeth grind.

"Is she downstairs?" I pressed.

"Yes."

"And you're just going to let her stand in the lobby?"

He hung up and stared at me. "Her name is Celeste. She's Eliza's sister."

"Eliza. Your dead wife."

"Don't say it like that."

"You want me to say deceased? Late? Spiritually departed? Nicholas, you can't pretend this isn't a mess."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "After the funeral she disappointed. Now suddenly she's banging on my door? No. She's here for a reason."

"Yeah. The same reason you want a fake wife. Custody."

He looked at me. "She can't be trusted."

"Then let me speak to her."

He blinked. "What?"

"You're all ice and legal threats. Let me soften the room."

"You don't know her."

"No. But I'm not the one she hates either."

He remained rooted to the spots.

"Do you want me to get this paycheck or not?"

That finally got a reaction. He sent his hand through his hair. "One conversation. Five minutes."

"I'll need ten."

Celeste wasn't what I expected.

She had fire-red hair twisted into a knot, sharp cheekbones, and a pale beige coat cinched around her like armor. She was pacing the marble lobby when I stepped off the elevator.

She saw me instantly.

"You're not Nicholas," she said, voice clipped.

"No. I'm Ivy."

She lifted an eyebrow. "New assistant?"

"Fiancée."

Celeste froze.

"Excuse me?"

I smiled, professional and warm. "Nicholas and I are engaged. He asked me to speak with you."

"And he sent you down here like I'm some delivery package?"

"He's with Lena. It's been a long day."

She gave me a look that could freeze traffic.

"And you're what? A PR stunt?"

"Just a woman trying to help."

Celeste narrowed her eyes. "You think he's stable enough to raise a five-year-old?"

I held her gaze. "I think he's doing his best."

"His best involved leaving my niece with a nanny who doesn't know how to keep track of her."

"So you heard."

"I have ears."

"And a motive," I added softly.

She stepped forward. "You don't know anything about me."

"Then tell me."

She hesitated.

"Ten minutes," I said. "You have ten minutes to convince me this isn't a custody ambush."

Celeste's jaw twitched. But then she walked past me and toward the elevator.

We sat in the smaller sitting room on the second floor, one with less glass and more comfort. Nicholas stayed upstairs. I asked him to. No use pouring gasoline on fire.

Celeste stared at the painting over the fireplace.

"He replaced her things," she said. "I recognize nothing."

"It's been two years."

"Not for Lena."

I leaned back. "You want custody?"

"I want what's best for her."

"And you think that's you?"

"I think that's not him."

"Why?"

Celeste exhaled slowly. "Because he was already falling apart before Eliza died. He worked late. I traveled constantly. Left her to raise their daughter alone. When she got sick, he didn't even take time off. He bought her a better hospital room instead."

"That's not the same as not caring."

"No. But it's what a man with a heart made of stock reports does."

I studied her. "So why now?"

"What?"

"Why show up now? After two years. After no visits. Why today?"

She looked away.

"That's what I thought," I said.

"You think I want her trust fund?"

"I think Nicholas thinks you do."

"That man doesn't think. He calculates."

"Still. I haven't heard your answer to the question."

Celeste's hand shook slightly as she took out her purse. She pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table.

It was Lena. Younger. With a woman I assumed was Eliza.

They were both laughing. Hair tangled by the wind. Sunlight everywhere.

"She's all I have left of my sister," Celeste whispered. "And he's turning her into a shadow."

I touched the photo gently. "Have you asked Lena how she feels?"

"She's a child."

"She's not stupid. She has opinions."

"I don't want her to be confused."

"Then don't. Talk to her."

"And what if she wants me in her life?"

"Then Nicholas is going to have to deal with that."

Celeste stared at me. "You're not what I expected."

"Neither are you."

She stood. "Tell him I didn't come here to fight. Not yet. I just want to see her. Once. That's all I want."

"I'll tell him."

She walked to the door. Then paused. "One more thing."

"Yes?"

"How long have you been engaged?"

I didn't blink. "Three weeks."

"And you already live here?"

I smiled. "It's a fast love."

She studied me. "You don't lie well."

"Good. I hate liars."

She left without another word.

I found Nicholas in his office, staring at a security feed of the lobby.

"That was fast," he said.

"She's gone."

"Did she say anything useful?"

"She said a lot."

He turned in his chair.

"I think you need to let her see Lena," I said. "Supervised. Brief. But something."

"No."

"Nicholas."

"I said no."

"She's not going away. You have no idea what she'll do next."

"Yes, I do."

"Then let me help."

He stood abruptly. "You're already helping."

"By playing pretend?"

"By being here."

I folded my arms. "What aren't you letting me know?"

He stared out the window, avoiding the question.

"Nicholas."

"Celeste wants custody. Not just visits. Full guardianship. She filed a motion last week."

My stomach dropped. "You didn't tell me that."

"You didn't need to know."

"I'm supposed to be your fiancée. I should know everything."

He turned to me, voice low. "If I told you everything, you'd run."

"Try me."

"Eliza's death wasn't... clean."

I stepped closer. "What are you saying?"

He hesitated. Then said it.

"There was an investigation. An anonymous tip. Someone suggested I let her die."

My heart skipped.

"Are you saying...?"

"I didn't hurt her. But someone thinks I did. And they're still watching."

"Who?"

He didn't answer.

Then his phone rang again. He stared at the screen.

"Who is it?" I asked.

He showed me.

Unknown Caller

He picked up. "Thorne."

There was a pause.

Then he stiffened.

He put the call on the speaker.

A distorted voice said, "You shouldn't have brought the girl back. She sees too much. Just like her mother did."