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]