SECRETS OF A BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND

For seven hundred and thirty days, Rivera Royce lived in a sun-drenched villa in Tuscany with a man she believed was her husband. She knew his coffee order, black, two sugars. She knew the rhythm of his footsteps in the hallway. She knew the scent of his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and sea salt that clung to the sheets. But she didn't know his name. Her real husband, the real Reagan Royce was in prison. The handsome man she shared a home with was none other than Reagan’s best friend, Luke Ivan. The Tuscan sun that morning when Luke told her the truth was a cruel witness to the shattering of Rivera’s life. It was a Tuesday morning at the Villa d'Oro, the kind of morning that usually felt like a shimmering dream. The scent of blooming lemon trees wafted through the open windows, and the distant, sapphire shimmer of the Mediterranean promised a day of quiet luxury. She looked like a woman who had everything. In reality, she felt like a woman waiting for her life to finally begin.

“Why is Mr. Reagan not here yet?” Rivera asked one of her attendants a while later when her host failed to show up. “Impatient?” a deep baritone voice teased from behind her. She turned around sharply. The man standing behind her was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. It was him indeed, the man whose face had dominated the billboards all over the city, only now, standing before her in flesh and blood. She realized how poorly those digital images had captured him. They were a pale, flat imitation of the man in the flesh. He had god-like features; sharp cheekbones, perfectly sculpted lips and cold grey eyes that seemed to see straight through her. He was dressed in tailored trousers and a black silk shirt with the top buttons undone. His skin had a bronzed, healthy glow that seemed impossible for a man who had supposedly spent two years in a cell. His tall, broad frame screamed power and dominance. Rivera found herself momentarily frozen and staring at him. “Reagan Royce?” sh

The news of Reagan Royce’s return had ignited the city like wildfire. But what fascinated the public even more than his return was his marriage. A wife no one knew about. She had become a subject of interest in the entire country's media. 'A mystery bride.' 'The woman who stole the most unattainable bachelor in the country.' 'Who is she?' Rivera sat in the breakfast nook, a cup of coffee cooling between her hands, while the television on the wall dissected her life. The anchor's voice buzzed with forced excitement. “Sources say Mrs. Royce arrived just yesterday. Insiders claim she is young, stunning, and completely unknown to the social elite circle. Everyone is eager to finally meet the woman who finally took the world’s most unattainable bachelor off the market. And find out why she has been kept in the shadows for two years?” Rivera muted the screen. Her stomach churned anxiously. She hadn’t asked for this attention. She hadn’t even wanted the marriage. Yet somehow, overnight,

"What did he mean that you took the fall for me?" Rivera asked again."You'll never let this go, will you?" Reagan dragged a hand through his hair as if restraining something violent inside him.He didn't like that she was digging through things he had warned her to drop.But seeing her with Luke that way awoke something in him that he could barely restrain. How dare he?“Listen to me carefully. Whatever Luke implied means absolutely nothing.""More lies. I saw your face. Why do you treat me like a child?" she sighed.“You think this is some romantic sacrifice and noble gestures?” he snapped.“I don’t know what to think! One minute I’m a contract wife, the next I’m a liability you want to hide, now, this?”“You’re not the center of this. Don’t flatter yourself," he said coldly. The words hurt more than she expected.“Then why won’t you let me leave?” her ego spoke.“Because you don’t understand the kind of world you married into. If you did, you wouldn’t be standing here arguing with

Reagan sat rigidly in the spacious living room of the Royce estate. Across from him, Stanton Royce’s presence dominated the room even before he spoke.The man had a way of filling a space without moving an inch, a king among billionaires; calm, dangerous, and always calculating.Neither of them exchanged pleasantries even though they hadn’t seen each other in two years. That was not their way. In the Royce family, niceties were a weakness.Conversation was measured, sharp and usually about business, alliances, or legacy.“I didn’t know you were back,” Stanton said finally. “And apparently, you haven’t resumed work either. I hear you’ve been partying again. Why do I sense rebellion?”Reagan stiffened. “I’ve been adjusting. You don’t need to know how.”“Adjusting?” Stanton’s eyebrow rose. “Two years in prison and now you’re chasing women in nightclubs? That’s how you adjust? I expected better.”“I’m not a child. I’ll handle my life how I want.”Stanton leaned forward slightly. “Your mot