The CEO's Live-in Husband

Ethan's Perspective

In the banquet hall of the Wilson Estate on Long Island.

Eleanor Wilson sat in the seat of honor. The white-haired old woman wore a custom-made dark green gown, with an emerald necklace around her neck that gleamed with an intimidating luster under the lights.

A satisfied smile hung on her face as she watched her grandchildren line up to present priceless gifts one after another.

"Grandmother, I specially commissioned Sotheby's to acquire this for you." Michael Wilson, her eldest grandson, dressed in a suit with slicked-back hair, held up an exquisite wooden box containing three bottles of 1947 Romanée-Conti. "One hundred and twenty thousand dollars. May you always be healthy."

"Good boy." Eleanor nodded with satisfaction.

Victoria Wilson followed closely, presenting a limited edition Cartier panther brooch. "Grandmother, one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, only three in the world!"

"Grandmother loves jewelry most. How thoughtful of you." Eleanor beamed with joy.

The other grandchildren weren't about to be outdone. Luxury items sparkled and shone at the banquet, each one proclaiming the Wilson family's status in New York high society.

"You're all good children." Eleanor's voice was full of pride. "The greatest blessing of my life is having such accomplished grandchildren like you."

Standing at the edge of the crowd, I watched all this with an expressionless face.

When I arrived, I wore an ordinary gray-blue suit. My wife, Erin Wilson, stood beside me, clutching a plain gift box tightly in her hands. Inside was an architectural model bookmark she had made herself.

She had stayed up until late into the night for a week to make it.

Erin was the eldest granddaughter of the Wilson family, a Columbia University architecture graduate, brilliantly talented.

But the gift in her hands looked heartbreakingly shabby compared to those luxury items on the table.

I knew I had to speak up tonight.

Sister Margaret.

The woman who had picked me up from the streets of Brooklyn when I was eight and raised me—she was now lying in the ICU at New York Hospital.

End-stage uremia, bilateral kidney failure.

The doctor said if she didn't get a kidney transplant soon, she wouldn't make it through the month.

The surgery plus follow-up treatment would cost at least two million dollars.

I'd tried everything. Bank loans were rejected because I had no steady job. The pawn shop's appraisal was too low—my only valuable possession was an old brooch my mother had left me. Friends couldn't help either.

So I could only come here.

To beg this family that had never respected me.

Eleanor's smile still hung on her face as I took that step forward.

"Mrs. Wilson." My voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly throughout the banquet hall. "I have an urgent matter and need your help."

The whole room fell silent.

All eyes turned to me.

Three years ago, old Mr. Wilson, on his deathbed, had forced Erin to marry me.

After he died, the entire family had been waiting to see when this "waste of space" would get lost.

I continued: "Sister Margaret from Sacred Heart Orphanage in Brooklyn—the nun who raised me—has uremia and urgently needs two million dollars for a kidney transplant. I'd like to ask you to lend me this money. I'll pay it back as soon as possible."

Dead silence filled the room.

Eleanor's face turned ashen. She slammed her champagne glass to the floor: "Bastard! Are you here for a family gathering or to beg for money?"

Victoria sneered: "Erin, what kind of trash did you marry? I gave Grandmother a one hundred and fifty thousand dollar brooch, and your husband shows up empty-handed and asks to borrow money!"

Michael crossed his arms: "Ethan, did you make up this nun story to scam money?"

The guests roared with laughter.

Erin rushed forward to explain, but Eleanor cut her off sharply.

Just then, the butler announced loudly: "Mr. Chad Ford has sent a gift—a Fabergé egg worth three million dollars! He says he looks forward to discussing collaboration projects with Ms. Erin Wilson."

The room erupted.

Chad Ford, heir to a Manhattan real estate tycoon, worth a billion dollars.

Eleanor's eyes lit up. She immediately looked at me: "You want me to help you? Fine. As long as Erin publicly announces her divorce from you and agrees to date Chad, I'll give you two million immediately!"

Michael applauded: "Grandmother is wise!"

All eyes focused on Erin.

Erin's face went pale, but her voice was clear and firm: "Grandmother, I cannot accept this. Ethan is my husband. Grandfather personally entrusted me to him. I will not betray my marriage for any amount of money."

Eleanor flew into a rage: "Fine! Since you're so protective of this waste of space, get out together!"

Security guards stepped forward to grab me.

Eleanor pointed at Erin: "If you dare walk out with him, you and your parents are all out of the Wilson family! From now on, I have no granddaughter like you!"

Erin's eyes reddened, but she couldn't move her feet.

She knew her grandmother wasn't joking.

As I was being dragged away, I looked back at her and shook my head slightly, signaling her to stay.

Michael suddenly laughed loudly. He pulled a one-dollar coin from his pocket and flicked it at my feet: "Ethan, I'm giving you a dollar. So when that nun of yours dies, you'll at least have bus fare to attend the funeral!"

The whole room roared with laughter.

I bent down to pick up the coin, wiped it off, and looked up at Michael: "I'll remember this one dollar. Someday you'll understand—this is the most expensive 'charity' you'll ever give in your life."

With that, I walked out without looking back.

I rushed to New York-Presbyterian Hospital, but the nurse told me Sister Margaret had been transferred to Boston General Hospital.

"A Mr. Victor Sterling paid for all expenses, including helicopter transport and follow-up treatment." The nurse handed me a black embossed business card: CEO of Olympus Capital.

I clutched the card as I walked out of the hospital.

In the parking lot, a Rolls-Royce Phantom sat quietly next to my car.

The door opened, and a man in his fifties stepped out and bowed deeply before me.

"Sir, you've suffered all these years."

My eyes were cold: "Uncle Victor. It was you people who forced my parents to flee back then. They died in a car accident, and I became an orphan at eight. What do you want with me now?"

Victor's eyes reddened: "Sir, what happened back then was Mr. Rosecrest's fault. The conservatives poisoned your mother's food. Your father fled with you, and the car accident was caused by traitors. He has already executed thirteen people involved."

"Mr. Rosecrest is gravely ill. He has six months at most. His only wish is to see you once."

I turned to leave.

Victor called out: "Sir, Sister Margaret's follow-up treatment will cost at least another two million dollars. Are you really going to let your benefactor go without the best treatment because of money?"

I stopped in my tracks.

Victor handed me a document folder and a black gold card: "This is 51% controlling stake in Olympus Capital, managing five trillion dollars in assets. This black gold card—there are only five in the world—contains ten billion dollars. This is what your mother left for you."