The Fake Wife's Billionaire Heiress Comeback

pter in her life. For two years, Chloe had called this place home. Now, looking at the familiar cream-colored walls and the tast

uel clarity, starte

nancy. Chloe, we'll try again. Maybe this time it will work. The way he always said "we," but the we

m as she complained to a cousin about a friend's "barren" daughter-in

octor's visits, the bitter herbal teas she had forced down, the quiet, desperate prayers in

staircase pulled her

ing one of Julian's crisp, white button-down shirts, the sleeves rolled up t

Seraphina's, was a little boy of about five.

oyer. A flicker of surprise crossed his face bef

th and concern. "You're home. Seraphina wasn't fe

door of which was now closing. The guest room. Another lie, so casual, so effo

of fragile innocence. "Chloe, I'm so sorry to impose. I just fel

le boy. Mason. He looked so much like J

tion carefully omitting any mention of the boy's father. He

was his actual wife, and their child. The last vestiges of any lingering sentimentality

rning syrupy sweet. "Mason, h

d her legs, his eyes wide and

reaching for her shoulder in a familiar, possessiv

of her blouse felt like a spider crawling on

nsole table to pick up a glass of water. The movement

Confusion, then a flash of annoyance, cross

, lowering his hand. He was trying to reclaim control, to

rim of the glass. They were cold, empty of the adoration he wa

ave been. He knew how to handle her tears, her gentle frustration

eyes. She interpreted Chloe's coldness as jealousy, a sign of her

. Julian's attention s

?" he asked, rus

er, tucking a cashmere throw around her legs. They were a self-contained unit, whispe

al skills of his nominal wife to ensure the success of the company's initial public offering. His r

them. Now, it was tim

vements graceful. "I

stracted. "Of course

nd climbed the stairs to the third floor, to a small, forgotten gue

ng against the solid wood. The lock c

on the way here. Her fingers flew across the screen, the se

tate agencie