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Chapter 031: The Text
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2026-08-13 21:55:33
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The Billionaire's Scandalous Fat Wife Chapter 036: The Leak
Ace's POV"How many outlets.""Four, that I've confirmed. Maybe six by the time we're done counting." Marcus didn't look up from his laptop, which told me more than his voice did. Marcus always looked up. It was a habit, a courtesy, something he did automatically even in the middle of a crisis — and the fact that he didn't now meant he was reading something he didn't want to say out loud twice."Show me."He turned the screen around.The headline sat there in the particular ugly font gossip sites used for stories they knew would get clicked whether or not they were true: ACE STONE'S WIFE ACCUSED OF STEALING FROM CLIENTS — LEAKED DOCUMENTS. Below it, a photo of Natasha from a charity gala three months ago, not long after the wedding, smiling, unaware, captioned like evidence.I read it once. Then I read it again, slower, the way you make yourself walk back into a burning room to check the thing you already know is true."It's fabricated," I said."I know that. You know that." Marcus fi
The Billionaire's Scandalous Fat Wife Chapter 035: Cracks in the Alliance
Noel's POV "Twenty thousand isn't going to feel real to you in six months, Devon. Debt like yours never does. It just becomes the weather." He flinched at that, which was exactly the reaction I wanted — not offense, just the specific, tired flinch of someone hearing an uncomfortable truth said plainly by a stranger who clearly understood his situation better than his own family did. The coffee shop hummed around us, crowded and anonymous in the particular way I'd chosen it for, forty conversations happening at once, the espresso machine hissing every few seconds, everyone around us absorbed in their own laptops and conversations, exactly the kind of crowd I'd chosen the place for. "I don't even know what you actually want me to do," Devon said, low, glancing at the manila folder I'd slid halfway across the table like it might leave fingerprints. "I left Bloom and Co. eight months ago. I don't have current access to anything. They'd have wiped my credentials the day I resigned.
The Billionaire's Scandalous Fat Wife Chapter 034: A Client Named Harrington
Cassandra's POV "You just left the name field blank?" Noel's voice, sharp through the phone, somewhere between amused and appalled, the exact register she used when she thought I'd done something reckless and hadn't yet decided whether she approved. "Requested it be withheld entirely," I said, checking my reflection in the elevator mirror one last time before the doors opened. "Cleaner than a fake name. A fake name is still a thread someone can eventually pull on. No name at all is just — nothing. Nothing to trace, nothing to deny later if she asks." "You could have sent someone else in your place." "I could have. I wanted to see what she does without a script waiting for her." I stepped out into the lobby, heels clicking sharp against polished stone. "You've told me she's soft. Overwhelmed. Riding entirely on Ace's money and Ace's security detail. I'd like to see that for myself before I stake my time on tearing it apart." Noel didn't answer that right away, which told
The Billionaire's Scandalous Fat Wife Chapter 033: Building Something Hers
Natasha's POV "Tell me you're not still living on gas station coffee and adrenaline." Priya said it the second she walked through the office door, two paper cups balanced in one hand, a garment bag over her shoulder that turned out to hold, when she finally set it down, three framed prints she'd apparently had made without asking me — old event photos, ones from years back at Bloom & Co. that neither of us had ever gotten proper credit for. "I switched to real coffee yesterday," I said. "Progress." "Barely." She looked around the space with an expression somewhere between pride and disbelief, taking in the exposed brick, the long worktable I'd found secondhand and had refinished myself over a weekend, the single elegant chandelier the previous tenant had left behind that I'd decided, against all reasonable financial sense, was nonnegotiable. "It's real, Natasha. Two weeks ago this was a sketch on a napkin. Now it's — this." "It's real," I agreed, and felt the truth of that settl
The Billionaire's Scandalous Fat Wife Chapter 032: Diane's Ultimatum
Natasha's POV "Sit down, Natasha. I mean it this time — actually sit." I'd never heard Diane sound quite like that before. Not angry. Tired in a way that had settled somewhere past the point of pretending otherwise, the specific exhaustion of someone who'd been holding a structure together with both hands for months and had finally, quietly, run out of grip. Her office looked the way it always did — cramped, papered floor to ceiling with seating charts and fabric swatches, a half-drunk coffee gone cold on the corner of her desk that had probably been there since morning — except today there were also three separate folders stacked in front of her, each one labeled in her own tight, efficient handwriting, and none of them looked good. "How bad," I said, sitting. "Depends how you're counting." She pulled the top folder toward her without opening it, like she already had the contents memorized and didn't need the reminder. "The Ashworth people called again this morning. Not to canc
The Billionaire's Scandalous Fat Wife Chapter 031: The Text
Ace's POV The restaurant was still less than ten minutes behind us — the warmth of it, the too-warm bread, two hours of easy, ordinary conversation that had felt, for the first time since this entire disaster began, like something close to a normal life — when I stared at the message for longer than I should have before I showed it to her. The highway unspooled dark and empty past the windows, streetlights strobing across the interior of the car in slow, indifferent intervals, and I read the words again in the glow of my own screen, trying to decide whether showing her was protection or accusation, and hating that I couldn't immediately tell the difference. She's not who you think she is. Ask her what she's really been building behind your back with the board seat you handed her. Twenty four words. No name attached, no evidence offered, nothing that could be traced or verified or disproven outright — just a clean, surgical insinuation dropped into my night with the precision of s
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