Revenge Marriage: My Secret Billionaire Husband

Huang Xiaohuai

Modern | Ongoing

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I walked into my apartment dripping wet from the rain, only to hear a guttural moan coming from the bedroom. I told myself it was just the TV, but my shaking hands could barely fit the key into the lock. When the door swung open, I saw a pair of red stilettos on the floor and my fiancé's favorite silk tie discarded like trash. I pushed the bedroom door open to find Javon in our bed with another woman, the sheets I had just washed two days ago tangled around them. Instead of apologizing, Javon looked at me with a sneer and barked, "You don't know how to knock?" He claimed he paid the bills, even though I worked double shifts just to keep the lights on while he chased a promotion he'd never get. When I slapped him, he didn't show remorse-he called me a "stupid bitch" and lunged at me with a look of pure malice. My life was a total wreck; my fiancé was a cheater, and my grandmother was about to be kicked out of her nursing home because I was forty dollars short of the payment. I felt like I was falling off a cliff with no one to catch me. Why was the man I loved treating me like a cockroach in my own home? Just as Javon moved to strike me, a shadow fell over the room. A man in an expensive black trench coat stood in the doorway, his presence sucking the oxygen out of the room. It was Carmine Wilkinson, a man I had never met but whose terrifying calm made my heart stop. He didn't look at the trash on the bed; he only looked at me. He handed me a monogrammed handkerchief and asked one simple, brutal question. "Do you want revenge?" I nodded, desperate for any lifeline in the middle of my imploding world. He didn't offer me a shoulder to cry on; he looked me in the eye and gave me an ultimatum that would change my life forever. "Good. Get your ID. We're going to City Hall."

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Chapter 20 20

Today 14:53

Chapter 1 1

The sound coming from the apartment wasn't the television.

Kiley Love stood in the hallway, her fingers white-knuckled around the handle of her dripping umbrella. Rainwater pooled around her cheap sneakers, seeping into her socks, but the cold dampness on her skin was nothing compared to the chill spreading through her chest.

It was a groan. A distinct, rhythmic, guttural sound that she knew.

She took a breath that rattled in her lungs. It's the TV, she told herself. Javon is watching a movie. He's alone.

But her heart was hammering against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Her hand shook violently as she slid the key into the lock. The metal scraped against metal. Click.

She pushed the door open.

The smell hit her first. It was the scent of musk, stale pizza, and a cloying, floral perfume that didn't belong to her. In the small entryway, a pair of red stilettos lay on their sides, discarded carelessly next to Javon's striped tie-the one she had bought him for his interview last week.

Kiley didn't want to move, but her legs carried her forward on autopilot. The hallway was dim, the only light spilling from the bedroom door that was left slightly ajar.

She saw them.

The sheets she had laundered two days ago were tangled around two bodies. The pale, sweaty back of a woman arched off the mattress. Javon was above her, his hands gripping the woman's hips.

Kiley felt her stomach lurch. The bile rose in her throat, burning and acidic.

Her grip on the umbrella failed. It slipped from her numb fingers and clattered onto the hardwood floor with a sound like a gunshot in the heavy silence.

Javon's head snapped up.

For a second, there was only the sound of heavy breathing. Javon's eyes widened, panic flashing across his face, but it was quickly replaced by something darker. Annoyance.

The woman beneath him let out a sharp, piercing shriek. She scrambled backward, yanking the duvet up to cover her chest. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick smeared, but her eyes locked onto Kiley with a look that wasn't shame. It was a smirk. Amalia.

Kiley felt the room spin. She took a step into the bedroom, her knees threatening to buckle.

Javon sat up, not bothering to cover himself. He ran a hand over his face and let out a huff of breath.

"Do you not know how to knock?" he barked.

The question was so absurd, so devoid of guilt, that Kiley stopped breathing for a moment.

"Knock?" she whispered. "This is my apartment, Javon. My name is on the lease."

"Yeah, well, you're interrupting," he sneered, swinging his legs off the bed.

The rage hit her then. It wasn't a slow burn; it was an explosion. It started in her toes and shot up her spine, hot and blinding.

She lunged.

Javon saw it coming. He stood up, towering over her, his expression twisting into a scowl. He reached out to grab her wrist, his fingers digging into her skin.

"Don't be crazy, Kiley," he warned.

She didn't think. She just reacted. Using every ounce of strength in her body, she ripped her arm from his grasp. The momentum carried her forward.

Smack.

Her palm connected with his cheek with a force that stung her own hand. The sound was crisp, echoing off the thin walls.

Javon's head snapped to the side. A red handprint bloomed instantly on his skin.

Silence fell over the room again, heavier this time. Dangerous.

Javon turned back to look at her. His eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide. He took a step toward her, his jaw working.

"You stupid bitch," he hissed.

Kiley stepped back, her heel catching on the rug. She stumbled, her back hitting the doorframe. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through the anger. Javon had never hit her, but she had seen him punch walls. She had seen the way he looked when he didn't get his way.

He raised his hand.

Kiley flinched, closing her eyes.

"That's enough."

The voice was low, deep, and vibrated through the floorboards. It didn't come from the room. It came from behind her.

Javon froze. His hand hovered in the air, his eyes darting to the doorway behind Kiley.

Kiley opened her eyes and turned.

A man was standing in the open door of the apartment. He was tall-taller than Javon-and broad-shouldered. He wore a black trench coat that was completely soaked through, the fabric heavy with water, as if he had been standing outside in the storm for a long time, waiting for something. The hallway light behind him cast his face in shadow, but she could see the sharp line of his jaw and the glint of his eyes.

He took up the entire space. The air in the room seemed to shift, the oxygen sucked out by his presence.

"Who the hell are you?" Javon demanded, though his voice wavered. "This is private property."

The stranger didn't look at Javon. He didn't even acknowledge Amalia, who was now trembling under the sheets.

His eyes were locked on Kiley. They were dark, intense, and unreadable.

He stepped into the room, moving with a fluid grace that seemed out of place in the cramped, dirty apartment. He stopped inches from Kiley.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. It was white, crisp, and looked expensive.

"Here," he said. His voice was calm, a stark contrast to the chaos screaming in Kiley's head.

Kiley stared at the cloth, her brain unable to process the gesture. She didn't move.

The stranger didn't wait. He reached out, took her hand, and pressed the handkerchief into her palm. His fingers were warm, his skin rough but gentle.

"It's not worth getting your hands dirty for trash," he said.

Javon's face turned a deep shade of purple. "Trash? You walk into my house-"

The stranger turned his head slightly. He looked at Javon the way one might look at a cockroach scuttling across a kitchen floor.

"Your house?" the stranger asked, his tone bored. "She just said her name is on the lease."

Javon opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked from the stranger to Kiley, his bravado crumbling under the weight of the other man's sheer dominance.

The stranger turned back to Kiley. He looked at her tear-streaked face, her trembling lips, the way she was holding herself together by a thread.

"Do you want revenge?" he asked.

The question hung in the air.

Kiley blinked, tears spilling over her lashes. Her rational mind was offline. All she could feel was the stinging in her hand and the hole in her chest where her future used to be.

She nodded. A jerky, broken movement.

The stranger's lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was a dangerous smile. A predator's smile.

"Good," he said. "Get your ID. We're going to City Hall to get married."