All Chapters of Just One Year With Mr. Billionaire: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

_Danica’s POV_The crowd that had been jeering at me just moments ago suddenly shifted. Their hostile faces melted into expressions of remorse and embarrassment as they realized who I was—or more accurately, who my husband was.“We’re so sorry, Mrs. Cross,” one woman said, wringing her hands nervously. “Please don’t take offense to what happened. We didn’t know—”“We were completely out of line,” another man added quickly. “Please forgive us.”I frowned at them, crossing my arms over my chest. The tears I’d shed just minutes ago were already drying on my cheeks, but the humiliation still burned hot in my throat. These people had been ready to tear me apart based on lies, based on assumptions, without even bothering to hear my side of the story.“You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” I said, my voice steady despite the lingering hurt. “You were so quick to judge me, so ready to believe the worst without knowing anything about the situation. What if I hadn’t been able to prove my in

_Danica’s POV_ The fallout began immediately. By morning, my phone was exploding with notifications. I made the mistake of opening social media, and there it was, photos from the mall incident, pictures of me at the police station, all plastered across every gossip site and news outlet imaginable. The headlines made my stomach turn. “Billionaire’s Pregnant Wife Sends Stepmother to Jail.” “Eden Cross’s Wife Shows No Mercy to Family.” “Power Couple’s Cruel Treatment of Elderly Woman.” I threw my phone across the bed and pressed my hands against my face. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I’d stood up for myself, defended myself against people who’d hurt me for years, and somehow I was still the villain in their story. But what bothered me most wasn’t that they were painting me as cruel. It was that every single article assumed Eden had orchestrated the whole thing. That I was just his puppet, his protected property, incapable of making my own decisions or fighting my own bat

_Danica’s POV_Eden had been gone for five days now, and each day felt longer than the last.I sat in the living room, staring at my phone. The silence in this house was suffocating. My phone buzzed. It was Melissa from Eden’s PR team.“Mrs. Cross, we have three interview requests for you this week. I’m sending over the briefing documents now.”I sighed. “Do I have to do all three?”“Mr. Cross thinks it would be beneficial. Given the recent… incident with your family, it’s important to control the narrative.”Control the narrative. That was all anyone cared about. Not the truth. Not how I felt. Just what the public thought.“Fine. Send them over.”Twenty minutes later, I was staring at a fifteen-page document titled “Media Guidelines for Mrs. Danica Cross.” It was filled with instructions on what to say, what not to say, how to smile, how to sit, what to wear. There was even a section on “appropriate hand gestures.”Do not discuss personal family matters.Do not comment on your fathe

_Author’s POV_Eden loosened his tie as he walked out of the conference room, exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders. The meeting with the Vega group had dragged on for three hours, and all he wanted was to return to his hotel, order room service, and maybe sleep.His Argentina assistant, Carlos Martinez, was waiting for him in the hallway, tablet in hand and that anxious expression he always wore when he had to deliver news Eden wouldn’t like.“Mr. Cross,” Carlos began, falling into step beside him. “There’s a situation.”Eden didn’t slow down. “What kind of situation?”“There’s a party tonight. The Montenegro Real Estate Gala. It’s where Vega and several other potential investors will be finalizing the Southern Corridor Development deal.” Carlos scrolled through his tablet. “Your presence is… strongly encouraged. Actually, it’s mandatory if you want the deal to go through.”Eden stopped walking and turned to face Carlos. “Tonight?”“Yes, sir. Seven o’clock. Black tie event.” C

_Danica’s POV_I sat on my bed staring at my phone screen, at the photos of Eden and that woman. The photos had multiplied over the last few hours. More angles, more shots, more proof that my husband was in Argentina living his life while I was here falling apart.In one photo, they were dancing. His hand on her waist, her hand on his shoulder, their bodies close. Too close. The way they moved together looked natural, like they’d done it a thousand times before.In another photo, she was smiling up at him. Beautiful, elegant, perfect. Everything I wasn’t.I wondered if this was what regret felt like. Real, bone-deep regret.Why had I agreed to marry Eden? The question played over and over in my mind like a broken record. But looking at these photos, feeling this pain in my chest, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe I could still leave. Get a divorce, disappear, start over somewhere far away where no one knew who I was