The Billionaire's Revengeful Contract Marriage

I drove in silence, the cramped interior of the car suffocatingly quiet.

Eventually, my husband, Denis Lowery, couldn't hold back any longer.

"Gail, it's not what you think," he explained, sounding flustered. "Barbara and I were just collaborating on a channel and shooting videos now and then."

I hummed in response, saying nothing else.

Denis suddenly took my hand and pulled it against his chest. "Yell at me, hit me, do whatever you want... Just talk to me, please!"

I slammed on the brakes, forcing the car to a sudden halt on the shoulder. That was when my best friend, Barbara Moore, finally broke her silence from the backseat.

"What do you expect her to say? We're all adults here; it's obvious what happened." She met my bloodshot eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Since we all just stared death in the face anyway, we might as well tell the truth. Denis and I have been together for a while now.

"The day your dad passed away, you went back to your hometown, and we were in your bed. I was the one who changed your bedsheets afterward. Ring a bell?"

I covered my ears tightly, but her words seeped through my fingers.

"And that night you waited for us at the restaurant for your birthday... And just earlier, in the lavatory on the plane..."

"Shut up!" Denis yelled, kicking her out of the car.

He asked me to take the passenger seat and sat behind the wheel himself.

"That was just an accident," he stammered nervously. "There were no feelings involved. You know how often we hang out. It was a drunken mistake."

Barbara was a brave girl with an outspoken personality.

She was always the first to step up and defend me. Back in college, when I was getting bullied or ostracized, she was the only one willing to be my friend, watching my back for four whole years.

I still remembered our wedding reception when Denis and I were doing toasts. She had held up a bottle of whiskey and challenged him to a drinking duel.

"If you can't even outdrink me, how am I supposed to trust you to take care of my girl?"

After that, whenever drinks were involved, I was always left out. The two of them would slip outside together for smoke breaks, then come back with their arms linked, laughing and joking like they had their own little world.

They had clearly developed a private language of inside jokes and shared moments that excluded everyone else. Whatever their relationship had once been, it had crossed the line a long time ago.

This time, it was different.

As Denis faced what he thought might be his final moments, he clung tightly to Barbara's hand and left just three words in his final note.

[Never forget Barbara.]

That was an instinct deeper than lust; even a fool could see it.

He rambled on and on, but I didn't even know what to say anymore. Eventually, I let out a tired breath. "Denis, I'm tired."

He froze for a second, then relaxed a little. "Right! Flying all day must have exhausted you. Let's go home, and I'll cook us dinner."

When we arrived home, he hurried out to open the car door for me. On the driver's seat, his phone screen lit up with a text.

Barbara: [I know her. If she isn't making a scene, she's probably over it. Since we barely escaped death today, want to come over and pick up where we left off?]