All Chapters of SECRETS OF A BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND: Chapter 41 - Chapter 49

Rivera spent most of the morning in the garden. By the time the sun climbed higher in the sky, Rivera's fingers were lightly dusted with soil and her clothes carried faint green stains from brushing against leaves and stems, but she did not mind.Back home, gardening had been something she did whenever she felt restless. It was one of the few habits that had followed her everywhere without question.She crouched beside a small row of flowers she discovered behind a cluster of hedges and began brushing loose soil around the base of the plant.“You’re doing it wrong.” His voice came from behind her. When she turned, Reagan was standing a few feet away with his hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his dark trousers. As always, his expression was unreadable.Rivera blinked at him. “Excuse me?” she said.Reagan nodded toward the plant she had been working on. “You’re pressing the soil too tight. The roots need air.”Rivera stared at him for a moment. Then she looked down at the flower,

Monday did not arrive gently. If Rivera had guessed how the day would turn out, she would have feigned illness and stayed in bed.Right from when she woke up, there was a weight in her chest she could not name, something that lingered from the night before and had been overwhelming enough to follow her into the morning.She lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, her thoughts moving slowly, deliberately, circling the same point without quite landing on it.Reagan. Or rather, his silence. It had not been the usual kind. Not the detached indifference she had already begun to understand, to work around, even to challenge in her own way. This was different, it was like he had deliberately chosen it to punish her or worse, push her away.Rivera exhaled softly, pushing herself upright. There was no point dwelling on it. If there was one thing she had learned about Reagan Royce, it was that he rarely did anything without intention. And whatever yesterday had been, it had meant som

Rivera had not realized how much she needed something light until she stepped into the evening air and felt the weight of the day loosen just slightly from her shoulders.It wasn’t gone. His silence lingered, stubborn and quiet, but it wasn’t suffocating anymore. Not with the restless anticipation building inside her.She adjusted her grip on her bag as she stepped out of the car, her gaze lifting toward the glowing entrance of the High Street VIP Bar. The building stood polished, its glass exterior reflecting the last stretch of daylight while warm lights flickered to life inside.For a brief second, she hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to go in, but because of everything waiting on the other side: Luke, her father, the truth.The inside was alive. Low music hummed beneath the sound of laughter and conversation. The space was designed to impress. It had sleek finishes, warm lighting, and an effortless kind of luxury that didn’t need to announce itself loudly to be noticed.Rive

“Or are you looking for an excuse to go back to him?”Rivera did not answer immediately. She simply looked at him. Her gaze held his as though she was trying to understand not just the question, but the intention behind it.There was something in his expression she had seen before, but never like this, and not this direct or intense.This was his possessive side, and she knew that for men like Reagan, owning someone completely and not having to share them with anyone else mattered a lot for their ego.For a moment, it almost felt like she had misheard him, not because the words were unclear, but because of how naturally they had come from him, as though he had every right to ask such a question.“What does that mean?” she asked finally.“It means exactly what it sounds like,” he replied after a moment.Rivera let out a small laugh, but there was no amusement in it. “No,” she said, shaking her head faintly. “It doesn’t. Because you’re implying something, and I’d rather you say it clear

The room was deliberately plain. A single table stood at the center, its surface clean and unmarked. Two chairs faced each other across it. The overhead light was not harsh, but it was focused enough to leave the corners of the room in a quiet, watchful dimness.Reagan preferred it that way. No noise, no clutter, and definitely no unnecessary details. Just truth or whatever version of it a man could be pressed into giving.He stood near the far wall, his hands resting loosely in his pockets, his gaze settled on the man seated across the table.Robert Banks did not look like a man who had just been chased and captured. There was no visible panic in him, no restless shifting, no immediate attempt to speak his way out of the situation. He sat with a kind of worn stillness, his shoulders slightly hunched, his hands resting against his knees.Age had touched him, but not gently. There were lines carved into his face that spoke less of time and more of consequence. His hair had thinned and