My Husband Gambled Me Away To A Ruthless Billionaire

Emily's POV:

I woke up to the cold side of the bed again.

No surprise there.

The space where David should’ve been was empty, sheets still tucked in like no one had touched them. I sighed, rolled over, and stared up at the ceiling for a good ten seconds before dragging myself out of bed.

It was too early for the type of disappointment that had settled in my chest so I didn’t even bother checking my phone because I already knew there were no messages. No “Hey babe, working late” or even a drunken “I’ll be home soon.” 

“Tch.” I hissed, dragging myself to the bathroom where I took a quick shower, then wore an old jean and a wrinkled blouse I didn’t have time to iron. 

I had five minutes to brush my hair and throw on some mascara before I’d be officially late to work. But just as I rushed into the sitting room with my bag half-zipped, I froze on seeing that David was right there, passed out on the couch.

Seriously?

He was flat on his back, mouth slightly open, still in the same stupid hoodie he wore when he went out drinking. I didn’t even have to get close to know he reeked of alcohol. His left shoe was halfway off, like he didn’t even make the effort to undress before crashing. 

Typical.

I dropped my bag with a loud thud. “Really, David?”

He stirred, blinked at the ceiling like a confused puppy, then looked over at me. “Em… morning…”

“Oh, don’t you ‘morning’ me.” I stormed toward him. “What the hell is this, huh? You didn’t come home last night, and now you’re stinking up my couch like a frat boy after a bender?”

He sat up slowly, rubbing his face. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Because you were drunk. Again. You didn’t even try to come to the room.”

“I didn’t want to hear you nagging.”

I swear my left eye twitched.

“Nagging?” I folded my arms. “Is that what we’re calling concern now? You’re lucky I didn't throw your phone in the toilet.”

David groaned and stood up, wobbling a little. “Look, I had a rough night, alright? Things didn’t go the way I expected.”

“You gambled again, didn't you?” I scoffed. “Let me guess, you lost another ‘sure bet’ and then drowned your sorrows in tequila?”

“I don’t need this from you right now.”

“Oh, but I’m the one making your life hard?” I stepped in front of him. “You’ve been unemployed for over a year, David. One year. And instead of trying to get your act together, you’re out there acting like some desperate clown.”

“Wow.” His voice turned cold. “So now I’m a clown? After everything I’ve done for you?”

I blinked. “You’re not seriously pulling that card.”

“I gave up my job so we could move to this city for your opportunity.”

“You got fired, David. You didn’t ‘give up’ anything.”

He looked away, jaw tight. I could see it in his eyes that he was about to spiral into victim mode. I knew because I’d seen it a hundred times.

“I’m late for work.” I snapped, grabbing my bag. “We’re not done with this.”

He didn’t say anything, he just dropped back onto the couch while I slammed the door on my way out, then I hailed a cab to the Grand Palais Hotel, where I worked as a receptionist with my best friend Clara. 

When I arrived, I rushed to the staff lounge and quickly put on my work clothes, then I returned to the lobby.

Clara was already behind the reception desk, sipping iced coffee. “Hey, Em. You look like hell.” She said, glancing up.

“Thanks.” I muttered. “You’re such a ray of sunshine.”

She laughed and handed me a muffin. “I figured you’d skip breakfast. You always do when the Trash Panda stays out.”

“Trash Panda?” I actually cracked a smile. “That’s generous.”

After a quick breakfast, we pulled ourselves together and switched into work mode. We were halfway through our shift when my phone buzzed in the pocket of my blazer.

I slid it out and saw our landlady’s name flashing on the screen. Clearing my throat, I accepted the call and brought the phone to my ear.

“Hello, ma'am?”

“Some men have shown up at your apartment and they’re creating quite the disturbance.”

My heart dropped. “Men?”

“Yes, really loud ones.” She replied. “Please come and handle this immediately, because the neighbors are frightened.”

I hung up before she finished. “Clara.” I said, wide-eyed. “I have to go. Something’s wrong.”

With that I rushed out of the hotel, and hailed a cab back home. When I arrived, it was like stepping into the set of a crime movie.

Black SUVs lined the compound. Like a lot of them.. And standing near our building, were men all dressed in black, all stone-faced like security guards, or gang members. 

I looked up to see that our neighbors were on their balconies, leaning over railings like curious pigeons, whispering and pointing so I ran up the stairs but when I reached our floor, a tall, bald, and terrifying looking man who was stationed at my apartment door, blocked my path.

“I live here.” I blurted out and he gave a small nod and stepped aside.

Stepping inside, I was stunned to see David on his knees. He was held down by two men in matching black suits, and sitting across from him like he owned the damn world?

Was. ETHAN. freaking. LANGFORD.

I knew that face anywhere. The billionaire heartthrob every news channel drooled over. The one whose company sponsored half the subway ads in New York. What the hell was he doing in my apartment?

I barely had time to think when another man moved toward me like he meant to restrain me too. But Ethan lifted a hand.

“She’s fine.”

I backed up. “Okay, what the hell is going on here?”

Ethan ignored me. Instead, he turned to David. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

David stared at the floor.

“Tell me what?” I demanded. “Say something David, before I scream.”

Ethan turned to me. “A month ago, your husband came into my casino and requested a loan.”

I froze. “What?”

My brain struggled to connect the dots. David taking out a loan? No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t even possible. 

He had tried getting one just three months ago but the loan officer told him that he wasn't qualified because his credit was wrecked. Even with me co-signing, they still said no. 

So what the hell was Ethan talking about?

I turned to David. “David, what the hell is he talking about?” My eyes searched his face, desperate for any kind of answer, even a lie. 

“What loan did you get behind my back?” I demanded but he remained silent. 

“David!” I yelled his name this time, angrier. “Say something!”

Still nothing.

Ethan let out a chuckle, like we were some pathetic soap opera playing out for his afternoon amusement. “Well.” He said, turning ever so slightly in his chair. “Since your husband seems to have lost his tongue, allow me.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “About a month ago, David walked into my casino and took out a loan of twenty-two million dollars. He promised that after flipping it and earning just fifty million dollars in profit, he’d return the full amount, plus five hundred grand in interest.”

“Twenty-two million?” I repeated, my voice barely a whisper.

David still didn’t look at me. His eyes were glued to the floor like he was hoping it would swallow him whole.

“But here’s the interesting part.” Ethan continued, the corners of his mouth curling. “If he couldn’t repay the loan for whatever reason, he promised me something else.”

My head snapped toward David again, fury replacing shock. “What did you stake, David?” I asked, but received no answer. 

I took a few steps toward him, feeling my fists clench by my sides. “Answer me, David. What the hell did you stake?! We don’t have anything left. You already lost your car, my mother’s ring, your dad’s house, the freaking sofa we’re sitting on is on installment. So what else did you have left to give, huh?”

His lips parted, like he might say something, finally, but nothing came out so I turned back to Ethan. “What did he promise as collateral?” I asked, my voice lower now.

Ethan didn’t blink. “YOU.”

“Excuse me?” I said, my breath catching halfway through.

He tilted his head, almost sympathetically, like he was explaining math to a slow student. “He said that if he couldn’t repay the loan in cash, you would be transferred to me as a form of compensation.”