My Fake Husband

“Where’s that bastard?” My eyes snapped toward the woman storming into the room like a hurricane. “I couldn’t stop her, Mr. Darian!” I waved the guy away and studied the woman whose hair looked like it had gone through war, clearly fighting her way up here. My brothers looked just as entertained as I did confused. “Which bastard?” “My bastard of a husband! Where is Darian Freeman?” My brothers burst out laughing like they’d just witnessed the world’s finest comedy show. I, however, failed to see the joke. She smoothed her wild hair, fixing those hazel eyes on me. “Tell me where he is. I swear I won’t kill him. I just want to shove these papers down his throat,” she said, waving the papers in my face. “There must be a mistake,” I said, still trying to piece this insanity together. “Oh stop feeding me fairy tales! Where is that son of a bitch?” “Are you insane? There’s clearly a mistake here! I am Darian Freeman and I am one hundred percent sure I am not your husband!”