Billionaire Producer's Secret Wife

Serena Rivera had walked more red carpets in the last three months than in the twenty-two years of her life, and not once—not once—had Lucian Vale ever touched her like this.

Not once had he placed a hand on the small of her back.

Not once had he turned toward her for the cameras.

Not once had he so much as acknowledged her unless the moment absolutely demanded it.

Until tonight.

Tonight, the man who usually treated her like thin air wrapped a possessive arm around her waist, pulled her close like she was something breakable, and whispered low and dark against her ear—

“Smile. Like you’re mine.”

Her heart stalled.

She smiled. She had to. But it wasn’t for the cameras.

It was for survival.

And maybe—just maybe—because she remembered this touch. Once.

No one else in this entire room knew the truth.

Not the flashing press.

Not the fans screaming from barricades.

Not even the cast and crew of the very film she was supposed to be promoting tonight.

They didn’t know Serena Rivera was already married.

To Lucian Vale.

And Lucian Vale—the most terrifying, untouchable man in the industry—had never once acted like it mattered.

Not until now.

“Are you drunk?” she whispered back, voice tight behind her teeth, her expression frozen into practiced serenity.

His grip tightened. Just enough for her ribs to ache.

“Say that again,” he murmured, so low no one else could hear, “and I’ll drag you off this carpet so fast your career will never recover.”

There it was.

The real Lucian. Cold. Cruel. Controlled.

She hated him.

She hated that her skin still burned where he touched her. That her heart was still stupid enough to jump at his voice. That he could ruin her night without lifting a finger—and now he was actively trying.

“What is this?” she asked, still smiling for the cameras. “You haven’t looked at me in weeks. You barely acknowledge me unless we’re in private, and even then, you only speak in legalese. Now you’re—what? Playing husband for a few photos?”

His jaw ticked.

It was the only crack in his mask.

Then she saw it.

The flash of something—something dark, something dangerous—flare in his eyes as they slid over her shimmering black gown, the low cut back, the dangerously high slit.

She didn’t understand. Lucian had never cared about scandalous dresses. Hell, she was sure today was the first time he even noticed what she was wearing.

Aiden Wolfe—her co-star and Hollywood's King—passed by them, ignoring the shouts from the paparazzi for a photo.

"You won't see this again, so don't miss it," he called over his shoulder, gesturing between her and Lucian. Just like that, the cameras shifted—like Aiden had pulled a thread that redirected all attention. Then he jogged back to them and leaned in, lips near her ear. “You look beautiful, Serena.”

She frowned. He’d said that already, before they even stepped onto the carpet. But this time, it wasn’t the words that made her heart spike—it was the flick of his eyes toward Lucian, a deliberate smirk playing on his lips.

Lucian’s gaze turned black.

Colder than she’d ever seen it.

Not just angry. Something else. Something older.

Possession? Or was it the reminder that someone else had noticed what he’d ignored?

Aiden sauntered away with a smirk, and Serena could only pray no one caught the exchange...

Still, she smiled. Polite. Composed. She turned to walk off, leaving Lucian no choice but to follow.

“What was that?” she whispered, frantic once they were clear.

“What was that?” Lucian echoed, low and cold. He stepped into her space, and when she tried to back off, he caught her waist and yanked her forward. Her fingers gripped the fabric at his shoulder to steady herself.

His grip tightened.

“He call you beautiful all the time? Look at you like that? Like you’re his to touch?”

His voice was razor-sharp, laced with something dark and possessive. One hand slid up to her neck, fingers at her pulse, thumb brushing the shell of her ear—too soft. Too calculated.

Serena froze.

“Jealousy?” she managed, breath catching. “You’re seriously throwing a fit because Aiden called me beautiful?”

“You think this is jealousy?”

His fingers traced her jaw—barely a whisper of touch—but her skin lit up like fire.

“I think,” she said carefully, holding his stare, “you’re forgetting the terms of our contract.”

Lucian leaned closer. His breath was cold against her cheek.

“I remember them. Especially the part where your image reflects on me.”

“Which is why you decided to ignore me in public and not acknowledge our marriage. Right?"

His gaze darkened. "Don't pretend like you're dying to acknowledge this marriage. You can't wait to get out of it."

Serena generally has a lot of patience, but she lost it at that. "You can't wait to get out of it so you can ride off into the sunset with Seraphina."

“Don’t push me, Serena.”

Serena scoffed. "Does Seraphina know you're whoring around with some other rando? Because I know damn well you weren't going to Seraphina all those times late at night."

Aiden had told her that him and Seraphina were catching up with the crew for their next ambitious project and due to the busy schedule of the director, the talks were happening late at night.

"What if I am? Aren't you doing the same with Aiden Wolfe?" He said, cold and cruel.

Serena blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then she let out a quiet, incredulous laugh.

"Aiden?" she repeated, her voice flat with disbelief. "You’re serious about bringing him into this?"

Lucian’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer. Just let her step out of his hold.

Serena won't allow that. He doesn't get a choice to yank and push whenever he wanted.

She stepped forward. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, and for a second, all the false polish fell from her expression.

“You treat me like a contract,” she whispered, “like I’m a name on paper, like I don’t even exist outside of a red carpet or press release. And the first time you so much as look at me, it’s not because you remembered we’re married. It’s because another man did what you don't want to.”

"Watch your mouth," he gazed down at her, voice dangerously low.

She laughed again—bitter this time, jagged like broken glass.

“No. You don’t get to play husband now, Lucian. Not after repeatedly driving it home that this is a contract. Not after months of pretending I was invisible. You don’t get to act like this marriage means something only when it threatens your pride.”

His eyes were burning. It was like the inside of a fire. Blue and Cold even in flame. “You think it’s just pride?”

“What else would it be?” Her voice cracked—barely. “You never wanted this. You made that clear."

Lucian didn’t answer. He stepped closer instead.

He looked as if he was about to say something. Then, deadlier and less quiet. "Just remember, Aiden Wolfe doesn’t love you.”

Serena’s spine snapped straight. “And you do?”

He stepped back.

And then, just like that, he walked away—no answer, no apology.

Leaving her standing there with her fingers still burning, her chest heaving, and her heart screaming something she couldn’t afford to listen to.

Not anymore.

She regretted marrying Lucian Vale.

Regretted the contract. The silence. The conditions.

But more than anything—

She regretted the part of her that still cared.