Hidden No More: The Billionaire’s Plus-Sized Secret

Hold still, Laura. You’re wrinkling the lapel."

Hemsworth slapped my hand away from his chest. His touch, which used to send butterflies erupting in my stomach, now just left a stinging coldness.

"Sorry," I mumbled, stepping back.

He stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror of our penthouse, adjusting the cuffs of his custom Tom Ford tuxedo. Tonight was the Vanguard Film Awards. He was nominated for Best Actor. He looked breathtaking. He always did.

I looked down at myself. I was wearing an oversized sweater and sweatpants, my plus-sized frame completely hidden in the baggy fabric.

When Hemsworth Deluca proposed to me three years ago, I thought I was living in a fairy tale. I had harbored a secret, painful crush on him since we were teenagers. Back then, he was sweet. He would hold my hand, tell me my curves were beautiful, and promise me the world.

But the moment the ring slipped onto my finger and my billionaire father funded his first blockbuster movie, the fairy tale ended. The sweet boy vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stranger who couldn't stand the sight of me.

"Are you even listening to me?" Hemsworth’s harsh voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"What? Yes, I'm listening," I said quickly.

"I said, make sure the housekeeper packs my overnight bag. I'm going straight to the hospital from the after-party." He didn't even look at me. He was too busy admiring his own reflection.

"Hemsworth..." I hesitated, twisting my fingers together. "Can I... can I come with you tonight?"

He froze. Slowly, he turned his head to look at me, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"You?" he scoffed. "On the red carpet?"

"I'm your wife," I whispered, my chest tightening. "It's been three years. Nobody even knows I exist."

"And there's a reason for that," he said, taking a step toward me. His towering height made me shrink back. "Look at yourself, Laura. Do you really think my fans want to see the leading man of Hollywood holding hands with... you? My mother was right. You don't fit into this world. You couldn't even fit into that designer gown she bought you last Christmas."

I flinched. His family made a sport out of mocking my weight, and Hemsworth never once defended me. He usually just laughed along with them.

"You always say you want to keep your private life private," I fired back, a rare spark of anger igniting in my chest. "But that didn't stop you from letting the paparazzi photograph you with Sienna at the premiere last week. You had your hands all over her!"

Hemsworth rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by my sudden backbone. "Sienna is my co-star. It's called PR, Laura. It's business. She looks the part. You don't."

Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not again.

"But you need me tomorrow," I said softly.

He stopped adjusting his tie. The room went dead silent.

Tomorrow at 8 AM, Hemsworth was scheduled for a partial liver transplant. A rare genetic condition had flared up, threatening to end his career—and his life. He needed a perfect match. Out of millions of people, out of all his adoring fans and supermodel co-stars, the only match was me.

I agreed to do it instantly. Because despite his cruelty, the little girl inside me still loved him.

He closed the distance between us, his demeanor shifting in a split second. This was the part that messed with my head. The dangerous, unpredictable shift. He backed me up against the closet door, planting a hand on either side of my head, trapping me.

His minty breath fanned my face. His dark eyes stared intensely into mine, making my heart race despite how much I hated him in this moment.

"And I appreciate it, baby," he murmured, his voice dropping low, sounding exactly like the bad boys he played on screen. His thumb brushed over my lower lip. "You’re going to save my life tomorrow. You’re my good, sweet girl. You know I have to maintain an image tonight. It's for us. For our future."

He was lying. I knew he was lying. But when he was this close, when his body was pressed against mine, my mind completely short-circuited.

"Okay," I breathed out, hating how weak I sounded.

"Good girl." He kissed my forehead, a brief, sterile touch, before pulling away entirely. The warmth vanished. "Be at the hospital at six. Don't be late. I need you prepped."

He turned his back on me, grabbing his cologne from the dresser.

Right beside the cologne, his phone lit up. It was on silent, but the screen glowed brightly in the dim closet.

I was standing right next to the dresser. I couldn't help but look down.

A text message banner flashed across the lock screen.

Ember: Can't wait to see you tonight, baby. I'm wearing that red lingerie you like. Room 404.

My blood ran cold. Ember. My best friend.

My breath hitched so loudly it echoed in the room. Hemsworth turned around, following my gaze.

In a flash, he lunged forward and snatched the phone off the marble counter, shoving it into his tuxedo pocket. His jaw tightened, but his face remained a blank, unreadable mask.

"Who was that?" I asked, my voice shaking so violently I could barely form the words.

"Just my publicist," Hemsworth said smoothly, not missing a beat. He shot his cuffs, grabbed his keys, and walked toward the door. "Checking in on the red carpet times."

"Your publicist calls you baby?" I choked out.

He paused in the doorway. He didn't look back at me.

"Don't start drama where there is none, Laura. I have a big night." He opened the door. "See you in surgery."