Lahat ng Kabanata ng My Fake Husband Wants A Threesome: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

Julian’s pov“I am sorry,” I say. “I just… I could not take it anymore.”“Take what?” Bianca snaps back. Her arms are folded so defensively across her chest I am surprised the fabric of her blouse does not protest. She is glaring at me with a look that could curdle milk.I draw a steadying breath, holding her gaze. “Watching you. You were coming apart at the seams out there, Bianca. I could not just stand by.”Her expression falters for a single, unguarded moment. I have struck a chord. “And what do you imagine you will accomplish?” she retorts. “Pulling me into a storage room is your grand solution?”“It would not be the most ill-conceived plan,” I reply, leaning my weight against the door. “This is a multi-purpose space, is it not? We might as well use it to address a personal emergency.”“My God, Julian,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes with such theatrical force I half expect them to become permanently lodged in the back of her skull. “How profoundly clever. If this is your master st

Bianca’s povI feel all the color leave my face as Brandon’s eyes slowly move to me. His expression is blank, but his stare is so cold it sends a shiver down my back. I do not look away. I will not give him that.“What the hell is this, Bianca?”I pull in a deep breath, trying to act calm even though my heart is pounding. “What does it look like?” I ask. I lean back in my seat and cross one leg over the other.Brandon’s jaw gets hard. “It looks like you have some talking to do.”“Do I?”God, I hate this. Why does everything with him have to be a show? Why does he get to be the one who is angry?Rosa, who is still holding her phone like it might explode, looks back and forth between us. I can see she is trying to find a way to calm things without getting hurt. Good luck with that.“Um, maybe we should just…” she starts.I stop her with a look. “Who sent that video, Rosa?”She pauses, her eyes going to Brandon like she wants him to save her. Of course, she does not want to say. She love

My eyes narrowed instantly.Brandon?It could not be Brandon. He had not given me flowers in years—our marriage was never the type for grand, romantic gestures. I moved closer to the enormous bouquet, a knot of dread already forming in my stomach. I pulled the small card free. The writing was clean, but I did not recognize it. My heart gave a strange, sudden leap as I read the words.*Glad we are back on, fake girlfriend. You are stuck with me now. Forever… or at least until Brandon comes to his senses.**Julian*A laugh burst from my throat, surprising me. Of course. It was Julian. Who else would be so fucking bold? I grabbed my phone from my bag and tapped his number, my fingers drumming a restless beat on the desk.He picked up after the first ring. “Good morning, Bianca.”I rolled my eyes, but I could feel a smile trying to break through. “Flowers? Really, Julian?”“You are the one who texted me. You said the deal was back on. I asked myself, what does a fake boyfriend get for his

JulianI think there is a problem with me. And that problem is a five-foot-tall brunette whose heart is owned by another man.Bianca is standing on the deck, her eyes wide and bright as she stares at my yacht. The way her mouth is slightly open, her gaze so full of wonder, it is as if she has discovered something truly magical. I find myself following her line of sight, almost expecting to find something new, something I have missed all the years I have owned the damn thing. But no, it is the same sleek, expensive boat that has been mine for a long time. Maybe she is seeing it through some kind of enchanted lens."You have truly never been on a yacht before?" I ask, leaning on the railing with my arms crossed.She turns. "Do I look like the kind of person who spends her free time on yachts?""Well, this is New York. Your husband is a billionaire. Half the billionaires here own one of these, and the other half have been on one. I am just surprised you have never had the experience.""Y

JulianI settle back into the leather chair, making a conscious effort to keep my body still. My expression is a blank wall, but deep inside, I can feel the pressure building, a hard knot forming in my jaw. The quiet in the room is heavy and long. The low sound of the air conditioner seems too loud, and each tick from the clock on the wall cracks through the silence like a shot.The sheer fucking audacity of Brandon Evans to ask me something like that. I draw a slow breath. There is no chance I am letting him watch me break. Not here.I allow my shoulders to drop, sinking into the chair’s embrace. When my voice comes, it is level. Dangerously level.“I have looked into your background, Mr. Evans,” I state. “Harvard, was it not? First in your class for Business Administration. And then, a Master’s degree in International Economics? Very impressive.” I angle my head, letting my gaze grow more intent. “Tell me, during all those expensive years of learning, which lesson covered the etique