The Billionaire's Secret Wife

Sam’s pov

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I stared at the video of my girlfriend—the woman I'd loved for three years—moaning loudly as she took back shots from the one man I could never have suspected.

Her boss.

My heart ached, my hands turning clammy as the sounds filled my room, my eyes glued to the screen. I should look away. I really should.

But I couldn't.

I watched as he tilted the camera toward himself, his dark grey eyes locking onto the screen, almost like he was looking directly at me. A slow, taunting smirk spread across his face as he cocked his head.

I stared back at the man who fucked my girlfriend, my eyes wide with horror as a chilling sensation crawled down my spine.

Then the video ended.

My reflection appeared on the dark screen, bloodshot eyes staring back at me.

Slowly, I lowered the phone, leaning against the kitchen counter as a shaky breath escaped my lips. My vision blurred while my heart hammered against my chest. My grip tightened around the edge of the counter so hard I was sure it would leave bruises on my palms.

My girlfriend had just cheated on me.

The woman I loved had cheated on me with the same man I'd shared dinners with. The man I'd praised in front of her for his ridiculous wealth and business skills. The man whose hand I'd shaken countless times while he smiled and told me how lucky I was to have such a smart girlfriend.

The man who invited us to a grand feast at his mansion to celebrate Andrea's promotion while I sat there like a proud idiot, smiling at the both of them...

...while they fucked each other behind my back.

UNDER MY FUCKING NOSE!

A slow breath escaped me as the heartbreak began giving way to something far uglier.

Rage.

The memories came rushing back all at once.

How stupid had I been?

How fucking blind?

I staggered into the bathroom, my eyes falling on her peach-flavoured shampoo still sitting neatly on the shelf.

I quickly looked away.

Turning on the shower, I stepped in fully clothed, the cold water soaking through my shirt and jeans until they clung to my body. I stood there breathing heavily, the pain and fury crashing over me so violently I thought I might suffocate.

I couldn't stay there.

I stepped out, peeling the wet clothes off my body before throwing on a shirt and shorts. Ignoring the pile of her clothes still sitting in the laundry basket, I bolted out of the house.

I walked quickly down the street.

Then faster.

Before I realized it, I was running.

I needed alcohol in my system.

And I needed it now.

•

I knocked back my eighth shot of vodka, resting my head against the counter before lazily signaling the bartender for another.

The music pounded through the club.

Exactly what I needed.

The alcohol blurred my vision and dulled my thoughts...

But not enough.

I still saw him.

Those grey eyes.

That fucking smirk.

It was burned into my mind.

My fist clenched.

I needed more.

More.

Enough to drink him out of my head.

I slammed my hand against the counter, hoping the bartender would finally get the hint and bring my damn vodka.

Or something even stronger.

Nothing.

Frustrated, I looked up to find him calmly polishing a bottle right in front of me.

"Hello! One more shot!"

He looked at me apologetically.

"I'm sorry, sir, but a man just paid us not to serve you any more drinks."

I blinked.

Either I'd fried my brain with alcohol...

Or I'd just heard the dumbest sentence ever spoken.

"Huh?"

I squinted at him.

He leaned in slightly, as though I hadn't heard him the first time.

"I said someone paid us not to serve you any more drinks. I'm sorry."

I tilted my head, trying to process his words all over again.

"What the fuck do you mean—"

My voice rose before a sharp pain exploded inside my head.

I winced.

"He advises you to go home, sir... and he already paid for all your drinks."

The bartender offered another polite smile before walking away to attend to someone else.

I wanted to yell after him.

Hell, I wanted to storm behind the counter and grab the bottle myself.

But the pounding headache and the way the room kept tilting reminded me that probably wouldn't end well.

I pushed myself to my feet, nearly stumbling backward before grabbing the chair to steady myself.

Then I staggered toward the exit, weaving through the crowd until I finally pushed through the doors.

The cold night air slapped against my face.

I pulled out my phone, opening my call logs.

My thumb almost pressed Andrea's number.

She was always the one who came to pick me up whenever I got drunk.

My jaw tightened.

I moved away from her contact and scrolled down to Aaron.

But...

I couldn't call him.

He was married now.

I'd be a complete asshole for dragging him out this late at night.

Swallowing hard, I locked my phone and shoved it back into my pocket.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I looked up at the dark sky and squeezed my eyes shut.

It'll be fine, Sam.

It'll all be fine.

I just have to make it home.

It'll all be fine.

.

I could see my house.

A smile spread across my face.

I made it.

I didn't pass out somewhere on the road.

I actually made it.

I stumbled toward the house before a frown slowly settled on my face.

A car was parked right in front of it.

My shitty roommates were all away for the holidays, so it couldn't possibly belong to any of them.

I walked closer, my eyes landing on the familiar man leaning against it in a tailored suit, one leg crossed over the other as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

Nicholas Grey.

Andrea's boss.

The darkness covered half his face, but I'd recognize that build and that cologne anywhere.

My hands curled into fists as rage came flooding back.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

I took another step toward him.

"I said, what the fuck are you doing here?"

My voice was louder this time.

"You're drunk."

His tone was low and flat.

I let out a bitter scoff.

"Well, no shit, Sherlock. Now answer me. What the fuck are you doing here before my fist lands on your fucking face?"

He calmly took another drag from his cigarette before lowering it.

"Did you enjoy the video?"

A slow smirk tugged at his lips.

"It was an early anniversary gift for the both of you."

That was it.

I swung at him.

He dodged effortlessly, and I stumbled forward, crashing onto the ground as a quiet chuckle filled the air.

I tried pushing myself up, but the alcohol had turned my limbs to paper. My arms buckled beneath me, and I collapsed again.

He crouched beside me, tilting his head as though he were studying something interesting.

"You don't want to fight me, baby."

His voice stayed maddeningly calm.

"If you fight me..."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"I'll beat you."

I swung again with everything I had.

He caught my wrist.

Before I could even process it, he pulled me to my feet and straight into him, one arm firm against my lower back to steady me.

I stared at him, my alcohol-soaked brain struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

"Say thanks."

I shoved him away with all my strength, throwing another punch that finally connected.

His head turned slightly with the impact.

A rush of pride, rage, and every other emotion I couldn't name crashed through me as I struggled to catch my breath.

"You fucking piece of shit!"

My voice echoed down the quiet street.

"How could you? I thought you were a good man! You've been fucking my girlfriend this whole fucking time?"

I pointed at him with shaking hands.

"Huh? You asshole! I've got plenty more where that came from."

I didn't care if the neighbors heard.

I didn't care that there was a very good chance this man—who looked like he'd never skipped a day at the gym—could beat my drunk ass unconscious.

I didn't care that fighting him now wouldn't change a damn thing.

I didn't care about anything anymore.

He slowly looked back at me.

My eyes dropped to his lips.

No split.

No bruise.

Nothing.

A small frown crossed my face.

I could've sworn I'd actually hit him.

That same smirk returned.

He didn't say a word.

He just kept looking at me.

And somehow, that made me even angrier.

"You're rich."

My voice cracked.

"You could've had anyone. Anyone you fucking wanted."

I took another shaky step toward him.

"But you chose her."

Another.

"You chose what was mine."

I felt tears burning behind my eyes.

"Why?"

My voice broke completely.

"It could've been anybody else..."

A tear rolled down my cheek.

"Why did you have to choose the woman I fucking loved?"

Embarrassment hit almost as hard as the heartbreak.

Of course.

Of fucking course I had to cry in front of the man who'd just destroyed my life.

"Because you chose her."

His answer came without hesitation.

"Because you loved her."

He took one slow step toward me.

"It had to be ruined, Sam."

I lunged at him again.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

But it didn't come out threatening.

It came out broken.

Weak.

Small.

I kept hitting him.

Punch after punch.

Until I couldn't anymore.

The next thing I knew, I was being pulled against him.

The sob I'd been holding back finally escaped, loud enough to echo through the silent night.

I couldn't...

I couldn't process any of this.

My mind was still clouded by alcohol.

But I desperately hoped this was all some twisted hallucination...

That I wasn't actually crying in the arms of the man who'd slept with my girlfriend.

I felt a hand slide gently behind my head.

His fingers stroked my hair with an almost unsettling tenderness.

"Go to sleep now..."

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Shhh..."

My eyelids grew heavier.

The world around me slowly faded as consciousness slipped away.

The last words I heard echoed inside my head.

"It's just me and you now, baby."