All Chapters of Married To My Billionaire Nemesis: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

102 Chapters

091: Code Red

EDEN Steam is still clinging to my skin when I step out of the bathroom. My hair is damp, dripping faintly down the back of the soft robe which I tied around myself. I'm drying my hair when my phone starts ringing on the bedside table. I move over to grab it, beaming when I see who's calling. I don't hesitate to pick up the call right away. "Hi, Mum." Her voice bursts through the speaker like sunlight. "Eden! Darling, I was just thinking about you. Are you alright? You've been so quiet lately, and I—" "Mum." "Yes?" "I have something to tell you." "Oh?" I sit down on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling shy in a way I didn't expect. "I'm pregnant." For a second the line goes silent. Then my mother lets out a full-blown delighted squeal that makes me laugh. "Oh my goodness! Eden! Oh my goodness! Are you serious? Oh, sweetheart!" "Yes," I laugh, covering my mouth. "Fifteen weeks." "Oh my—oh my goodness!" she repeats breathlessly. "A baby! My baby

092: Code Red pt II

EDEN Silence fills the room as Juliet drops the bomb. Then Hayden's head dips slightly. His eyelids droop, another brutal shiver running through him. "Hayden?" Juliet says. He tries to open his eyes again, but they're unfocused. "Hey—stay with us," I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. Juliet touches his neck. Her expression turns alarmed immediately. "He's freezing." "I know,” I whimper. Another shudder rolls through him. "Eden," Juliet says urgently. “Bring more blankets." I'm already moving. By the time I'm halfway down the stairs with more blankets, Hayden's phone starts vibrating on the coffee table. Juliet glances at it. "Who is that?" She asks. Hayden lifts his head slightly, as if the sound is reaching him from far away. He blinks slowly. Then he reaches for the phone. His hand is still trembling badly. "Don't," I say quickly, rushing back into the room with the blankets. "You shouldn't—" But he already answers. "Wolfe," he mutters hoarse

093: Crash Out

EDEN The towel is already cooling again. I dip it back into the bowl of warm water and wring it carefully before bringing it back to Hayden's face. He's sitting slumped against the couch cushions now, shirtless, the blankets wrapped around his shoulders. His skin is pale. But the shaking is a little slower now. I press the warm towel gently to his forehead, and he exhales slowly, his eyes slipping closed. "Better?" I ask softly. "Mm," he hums, his voice hoarse. I move the towel down to the side of his neck, letting the warmth sink into the tense muscle there. His breathing deepens slightly. Across the room Juliet is scrolling through her phone, waiting for the messenger she sent to retrieve the journal. Every few seconds she checks the driveway through the blinds. Every few seconds, she checks her phone. Neither of us says anything about it. I slide the towel down Hayden's chest. His skin is still cold. "Hey," I whisper gently. His eyelids flutter open. The

094: Ready

HAYDEN I'm slumped over the toilet again, one arm braced on the rim, the other wrapped around my stomach. My throat burns. The third heave brings up nothing but bile and air, but my body keeps trying anyway, as if it can purge the images that crawled inside my skull the second I opened that journal. I flush, lean back against the cool wall, and let my head thud back. The room spins lazily. I close my eyes and try to breathe through my mouth, but every inhale drags Rachel's handwriting with it. "March 17, 2009. Hayden was perfect tonight. So responsive. I used the new knife. It was small and sharp, just enough sting to make him arch. He cried the whole time, big tears, the kind I like best. When I slid inside him, he sobbed and cried for his mum. He vomited too. He thinks he hates it. He doesn't. He needs it. He needs me. I'll keep reminding him until he believes it too." I gag again. My hand flies to my mouth. I bite down on the side of my palm hard. I can't let the v

095: The Tortoise And The Hare

HAYDEN "My name is Hayden Wolfe. Most of you in this room already know that. But for the last twenty-four hours my name has been attached to a lot of other words. Murderer. Psychopath. Monster. You've seen a video of a boy holding a gun. You've seen documents from a psychiatric institution. You've heard speculation about what kind of man I must be. So today I'm going to do something very simple. I'm going to tell you the truth." I pause, and everyone in the room goes completely still. "I was eight years old when the abuse started. The woman responsible was Rachel Gregory. My family's nanny. For years she drugged me, assaulted me, manipulated me and convinced the adults around me that I was unstable." My hands are shaking now, and it's getting harder to breathe, but I push through it. "When I was a child, I believed her. I believed I was broken. I believed that something inside me was wrong." A few reporters shift in their seats. I keep going. "When I was fifteen

096: When The Predator Becomes Prey

RACHEL (Moments before) The wine glass shatters against the marble countertop with a satisfying crack, shards exploding outwards. Red liquid splatters across the white surface in violent arcs. I stare at the mess for a moment, my chest heaving. Then I hurl another bottle across the floor with all of my strength. This time I don't even bother aiming. I just sweep my arm across the shelf. Three more glasses hit the floor in quick succession, crystal raining down, the sound thunderous. My reflection fractures in every piece. I let out a delirious laugh, swaying as the alcohol in my veins buzzes through my system. Then the laughter dies in my throat. My phone has been vibrating nonstop for the last forty-seven minutes. Notifications are stacked to the brim. New York State Board of Nursing: License Suspension – Immediate Effect. American Nurses Credentialing Center: Certification Revoked International Council of Nurses: Membership Terminated Barclays Private Ba

097: The Problem

EDEN It's been a week since the arrest warrant was issued for Rachel Gregory. There have been seven days of silence. There has been no new information from the network of informants Hayden's team has scattered across the continents. She vanished like smoke, apparently. The quiet is worse than noise. Hayden's nightmares have gotten worse. Every night now, sometimes twice, I wake up to him thrashing, soaked in sweat, whispering, "No, no, no." He wakes up gasping, his eyes wide and glassy, reaching for me. I hold him until the shaking stops. I whisper the same things over and over. He nods. He kisses my forehead. He says, "I'm okay." But he's not. He's barely eating. He throws up almost every morning, sometimes just bile, sometimes nothing at all. He blames it on stress, on the press conference fallout, on the board meetings that keep getting pushed because half the shareholders are still uneasy. He laughs it off. He kisses me and says, "I'm fine, squirrel." But

098: Failure

TW: Mentions of blood and gore. If you’re squeamish, skip the flashback. HAYDEN For a second, my brain nearly does exactly what it has been trained to do for years. Lie. "No," I almost say. The word rises to the back of my throat automatically, the same way I've lied to investors, reporters, board members, and enemies a thousand times before. But this is Eden. And she's looking at me like she already knows. My back is still to her but I can feel her eyes on me. I haven't moved since she asked the question. Behind my ribs, my heart starts beating harder, like a fist against bone. If I turn around, I'll have to look at her face. And if I look at her face, I might see the disappointment and the fear. I drag a hand through my hair and stare at the wall. Say no. It would be easy. Rachel Gregory is a ghost to the rest of the world right now. Interpol is looking for her in Geneva. Authorities think she's slipping between safe houses and burner phones. Nobody knows

099: Let Him Grieve

EDEN My beloved is standing near the vanity now, one hand braced against the wood. His shoulders are rigid, the muscles in his back coiled tight. My heart starts beating faster as I watch him. "Hayden." He inhales slowly. I slide off the bed and walk towards him, my bare feet silent on the floor. When I reach him, I stop a step away, close enough to see the way his throat moves when he swallows hard. "Please," I whisper. "Don't lie to me again." He squeezes his eyes shut. Then his shoulders sag. “Yes." For a second I don't move. I think that part of me hoped I was wrong. That I'd misread the tension in his voice earlier. That the dark suspicion curling in my chest was just fear talking. But it wasn't. I let out a slow breath. "Where?" He rubs a hand over his face. "One of my properties." "How long?" "Seven days." My stomach drops. "Hayden..." He finally looks at me then. And the expression on his face almost shatters me. There's no anger there.

100: Peace Like No Other

EDEN My baby bump at eight months feels like I’m carrying a watermelon strapped to my front with a duct tape. Every step I take is a negotiation with gravity. My own center of gravity has officially betrayed me, my lower back is staging a permanent protest, and the baby has decided that my bladder is her personal trampoline. I'm sweaty, swollen, and somehow still horny as hell, which is deeply unfair. Hayden is across from me in black sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips, and no shirt. No. Shirt. He's doing pull-ups on the bar. Every rep makes the muscles in his back and arms ripple, showcasing his shoulders, lats, biceps, and the deep V that disappears into those sweatpants. His hair is damp from the warm-up run we did earlier, sticking to his forehead in dark strands. He looks... obscene. Something about therapy, regular sleep, actual meals, and the crushing weight of revenge finally lifting off his shoulders has apparently turned my husband into

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