Seven Years A Fool, Now Worshipped By The Billionaire Tycoon

Chapter 1- A perfect picture

McKenzie Westfield.

“Are you crying again?”

The grip on my phone tightened as my husband's gentle voice floated from the speaker.

“No. I'm good.”

That word burned at the tip of my tongue. But the moment my lips parted, uncontrollable sobs tore through my throat.

Instinctively, my head tilted backwards, hitting the headrest as I clasped my palm around my mouth to muffle the sound of my tears.

But it was already late. He heard it. Every raw sound.

“Oh, dear.” I heard him sigh pitifully before going quiet for another two seconds.

Something about those words frayed the last thread of composure I was clinging to, causing the walls around my chest to flood with emotions.

My hand dropped to my side, and my fingers dug into the hem of my dress as tears oozed from my eyes like a fountain.

My cries were loud enough for the driver to hear. I could feel his pitiful gaze pierce my skin from the front mirror. Not like it mattered to me.

“Don't beat yourself up, honey; your presence is mandatory at the summit. You prayed for this for years. You worked for this, and now it's here.”

My husband, Alexander Langley, began encouraging me, just like he did all through the night while I bawled my eyes out in his arms.

And just like last night, it didn't help to erase the guilt that clung to me like a second skin. But it was enough to quieten my cries.

I sniffed, shut my eyes tightly as I tried to breathe through the pain.

“We talked about this last night. Skipping one day doesn't make you a bad mother. You've never missed a day in four years. I am certain that Zara and Sebastian understand. And I know they are proud of their mummy.”

He shouldn't have called them. Zara and Sebastian. Not only did the mention of their names drive a stake through my chest, but it also tormented me with guilt.

What kind of mother was I if I skipped my twins’ death anniversary for work?

According to our little family tradition, every 21st of October was set aside to remember them. It was the day their innocent eyes closed in death.

I should be at the cemetery, placing their favourite flowers and stuffed animals on their graves. I should be with them from the start of the day until the end of the day.

But I was a hundred miles away, heading to the airport, ready to represent my company as CEO for a state summit.

What kind of mother was I if I prioritized work over them?

Zara and Sebastian. I hope they were not mad at me for failing them twice.

“It's okay, honey. If it makes you feel better, I'm already at the cemetery with every item they loved. Go represent the company while I send your love to them, okay?”

Like soothing balm, his words healed me. I was finally able to let go of the tensed sigh stuck in my chest.

God, I love him. What would I have done without him?

“You are the best, Alex,” I confessed sincerely, swallowing the sobs that threatened to erupt from my throat.

I was blessed to have him as my husband.

“Stop crying, okay? You'll get wrinkles.”

His words undid my sadness, and before I knew it, I was blushing.

“Is this the time for a joke?” I teased him as I wiped my face with a handkerchief.

The line went silent for a second before his voice pierced the speaker. “I love you, McKenzie.”

“I love you more,” I whispered as my voice was about to crack.

The call ended.

I reclined into the leather seat, staring at our seventh marriage anniversary photoshoot on my wallpaper, lost in the gaze of the love of my life, Alexander Langley.

He was the best thing life rewarded me with after years of hardship and abandonment. I would choose him a billion times if I could.

Alex wasn't just a handsome face with a killer body; he was everything a woman wanted: a helpmate, both in my career and in the household. A reliable support to fall back on. A backbone, especially during the week of my twins’ death anniversary, whenever I crashed out and pushed everyone away. A best friend who understands me better than anyone. He was indeed the perfect husband.

Aside from being a faithful husband, he was a devoted father to our late twins. The kind that made other kids in the neighbourhood jealous.

The numerous awards we've received every Founder's Day in our former and current neighbourhoods were proof of our perfect marriage. Another Founder's Day was approaching, and no doubt, we would receive the Best Couple Award again.

My lips tugged in a smile as my fingers brushed his face through the screen.

Thank God he came my way the night my car broke down on a lonely road. I'm glad I didn't turn him down when he chased after me despite our age difference. He was 42 when we met, and I was 20. It's been seven years of a blossoming married life, and he is still obsessed with me. I was proud I bagged him.

The soft jazz vibrating through the speakers dipped, only to be replaced by an urgent voice that snapped me back to reality.

“And now to the weather and travel. Severe thunderstorms have hit the capital this morning, grounding all outgoing flights at the airport…”

The rest of the news fell on deaf ears as my heart nearly jumped out of my chest in sheer excitement.

Please, be true.

I straightened in my seat, replaying the news in my head before my phone buzzed. It was an email from the Events coordinator of the summit.

With trembling fingers, I unlocked my phone and tapped on the G***l icon.

My mouth fell open as I read the message. A full smile crossed my face.

There it was. A confirmation email stating that the summit has been postponed until further notice.

Just the last-minute miracle I needed.

The surge of happiness that flooded my veins made me nearly jump from my seat and hug the driver.

I spared no second as I dialed Alex's number, but it went to voicemail. I called until I lost count, but stopped after getting the same automated reply every time.

I groaned, tapping my forehead as I remembered our rules about the cemetery: no phone calls.

How could I forget that?

“Mrs. Westfield.” The driver's voice sliced through the silence.

My head tilted in his direction.

“Should I drive to the cemetery?” He asked, slowing down as we approached a U-turn.

I bit my lower lip, blinking hard as the familiar ache settled in the chambers of my heart.

“Take me to my former house.” I breathed, swallowing the pain in my voice.

“Yes, ma'am,” he answered, taking the U-turn. The road leading to the airport disappeared behind us.

I didn't know why I chose there instead of the cemetery where Alex was waiting for me.

Maybe it was because this year's grief struck me so hard that I wanted to spend some time alone in the house that was filled with our memories.

Maybe it was because I dreaded every October 21st.

Maybe it was because I hadn't healed after the traumatic experience.

I tried to be strong for myself, my late twins, and Alex, but pretending broke me even faster and deeper.

Maybe it was because I needed to bawl my eyes out and relieve myself of this ache before going to meet Alex and the kids.

I don't want him to know that I haven't healed a bit. I don't want to be selfish; he was grieving, too.

After Zara and Sebastian died, I was diagnosed with severe depression that made me attempt suicide twice. Alex was my backbone. He managed my company while I was drowning in depression, and took care of me at home until I got better.

I didn't want him to feel like his efforts were wasted.

Tears gathered in my eyes as the familiar house in my former neighbourhood hit me with a wave of nostalgia.

Maybe it was all of the reasons.

“Thank you, Tim,” I told him as I alighted from the car.

He waited patiently, just like he always did every time I sneaked out of the house to spend some time alone here. It was our little secret.

My knees wobbled with every step closer to the front door.

I walked into the house I moved into after our wedding. The same house that held the memories of my late children and their mysterious death.

Alexander insisted on selling the house as it caused me a great deal of pain, but I refused. It was my sanctuary. Coming here was the only way I was able to get through.

“Mrs. Westfield!” The cleaner’s startled tone threw me a bit off-balance.

From his posture, he looked like he was on his way out.

Although we were not living in the house, we hired two male cleaners to keep the place tidy.

Blood drained from his face as he glared at me as though he was staring at a ghost. His knuckles gripped the cleaning supplies so hard that I was afraid they would snap.

I peeked to his side, furrowing my brow before my eyes danced across the sitting room in search of the second cleaner.

I forced a smile. “Where is…” Before I could finish my sentence, he excused himself.

That was weird.

“Whatever,” I muttered under my breath as I ascended the stairs.

I had barely gone halfway before my body stiffened in disbelief, then fright, then anger.

My blood boiled ten times hotter as piercing groaning sounds and shrill cries drifted from my late twins’ room.

No, he did not!

Fuck that cleaner! I knew he was never to be trusted.

How dare he sneak his girlfriend to my house, and fuck her in my twins’ room?!

My safe space.

How dare he desecrate my sanctuary?

God, he was so fired.

I swear on my mother's grave, I will render him unemployable.

Tears burned my vision as I barged into my twins’ room and forced the door open with all my strength.

On my mama, he and his little girlfriend would face my wrath…

I stopped dead in my tracks as if I had come face-to-face with a monster.

My body went still like a bucket of ice had been thrown over me.

My heartbeat dropped 20 BPM, and dizziness hit me like a tidal wave.

The sight of Zara's bed was so gory, my stomach threatened to release all I had eaten.

Did I just walk into my perfect husband, Alex, and four other men in the middle of an orgy?