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The $300 Husband Is A Zillionaire

Author: Nap Regazzini

Chapter 1 No.1

Word Count: 1229 | Released on: 15/01/2026

nding, throbbing white that pulsed behind

sterile. It didn't smell like her lavender deterge

s snapp

ate molding that blurred as a fresh wave of nausea rolled through her

arp, pierced throu

down. She

er chin. Her breath hitched in her throat, jagged

rous to touch. The charity gala. The flashing lights. Her step-sister, Cathie,

isha. You l

ess. And n

or handle turning

athroom, carrying the scent o

road shoulders and a chest defined by hard, lean muscle.

er. He didn't look surpr

wielding it like a shield. "Stay back

ping it back from a face that was unfairly symmetrical. High cheekbone

e was deep, a low rumble that vib

ere shaking so hard the pillow wobbled. "Did Gret

completely ignoring her makeshift weapon, and picked up a watch

There, sitting next to a crystal lamp, w

omach

The air left her lungs.

ed his face-something between amusement and calculation. He didn't deny it.

nk I'm a

e y

s head. "Doe

this was a transaction. A setup. Gretta had staged this per

eyes. She blinked them back furiously.

y clothes?"

ting a long finger tow

vintage piece from her mother-was torn at

s, her movements frantic and clumsy. Every second s

bric as she struggled with the zipper. "I don

aid dryly. "Check

rous sound erupted

Knock

! We know you

visible even from the bed. The muffled shouts of

you spent the nig

s way for

er dress strap. The blood drained from

hispered. "She actual

noyance seemed to sharpen into something more

opular,"

ic. She looked around the room. It was a penthouse su

ice trembling, "my life is over. The

r in her eyes, the way her knuckles turned wh

was a heavy, r

abbing her arm. His grip

she y

d a side door she hadn't noticed. It was

her insi

are

et door, plunging

e wood, her heart hammering agai

inic pick up

he lazy drawl of a morning-after lover anymore. It was

single camera left in five minutes, I'm

en to an escort? Maybe he was a very high-end

boots in the hallway, the complaints

set doo

r a second. Dominic stood there,

s clear,

purse. She felt small. Dirty. An

y she dropped a credit card. She ignored it and pulle

he bills at

down to the car

, trying to regain some shred of digni

ked up at her, a slow, crooked smile spreadin

mused. "That barely

ng toward the door. "Don't spend i

d ran. She di

r of the suite. He bent down and

the sound l

ide table, picked up his p

bout a woman named Aisha Bartlett. And can

Chapter End

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The $300 Husband Is A Zillionaire

Nap Regazzini Modern

“I woke up in a blindingly white hotel penthouse with a throbbing headache and the taste of betrayal in my mouth. The last thing I remembered was my stepsister, Cathie, handing me a flute of champagne at the charity gala with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Now, a tall, dangerously handsome man walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips. On the nightstand sat a stack of hundred-dollar bills. My stepmother had finally done it-she drugged me and staged a scandal with a hired escort to destroy my reputation and my future. "Aisha! Is it true you spent the night with a gigolo?" The shouts of a dozen reporters echoed through the heavy oak door as camera flashes exploded through the peephole. My phone lit up with messages showing my bank accounts were already frozen. My father was invoking the 'morality clause' in my mother's trust fund, and my fiancé had already released a statement dumping me to marry my stepsister instead. I was trapped, penniless, and being hunted by the press for a scandal I hadn't even participated in. My own family had sold me out for a payday, and the man standing in front of me was the only witness who could prove I was innocent-or finish me off for good. I didn't have time to cry. According to the fine print of the trust, I had thirty days to prove my "rehabilitation" through a legal marriage or I would lose everything. I tracked the man down to a coffee shop the next morning, watching him take a thick envelope of cash from a wealthy older woman. I sat across from him and slid a napkin with a $50,000 figure written on it. "I need a husband. Legal, paper-signed, and convincing." He looked at the number, then at me, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face. I thought I was hiring a desperate gigolo to save my inheritance. I had no idea I was actually proposing to Dominic Fields, the reclusive billionaire shark who was currently planning a hostile takeover of my father's entire empire.”