All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Wife Does Not Exist: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

I stared at the ring for a moment longer than I meant to, that plain scratched band that had apparently never left his hand, and felt two things at once that had no business sitting together. Some part of me wanted proof that our marriage had mattered to him. Now that I had it, the proof hurt almost as much as the betrayal did."Why?" I asked.He looked at me, not quite understanding."Why keep wearing it? Everyone believed Camille was your wife. You could have taken it off. No one would have questioned it.""Taking it off would have been another lie," he said simply. "I'd already told enough of those."I looked down at the ring again, noticing how worn it was, the metal thinned in places from years against his skin. This wasn't something he'd slipped back on for my benefit. He had genuinely kept wearing it, through every dinner, every event, every camera that photographed him standing beside my sister.I remembered choosing these bands with him, years ago, in a small shop two streets

I'd ask you to come home with me instead. The words stayed with me the rest of the day, no matter how many times I reminded myself that home wasn't Hartwell House anymore. He'd denied me there. Camille had worn my title there. My life had been erased there while he decided what I was allowed to know.Still, the word followed me straight through to that evening.I almost reached for his jacket before leaving, caught myself, and left it folded on the chair instead. I wasn't going to dinner to punish anyone. I was going to find out whether I could exist as something other than Roman Ashbourne's hidden wife.Adrian was easy company, the way he'd always been, asking about my work before anything else, offering me the letters commission along with something he was developing for the following spring. For the first time since the gala, I felt like a restorer again instead of a scandal with a face.Then, gently, he asked, "You called him your old husband this morning. I'm guessing 'old' wasn'

He stopped and turned back down the hall."May I come in?"That was strange to hear, in the doorway of a room that used to be his without question. He waited until I said yes before crossing the threshold, and he didn't move toward the bed, choosing the chair by the window instead, like someone visiting rather than someone who lived here."You can sit on the bed, Roman. I'm angry with you, not contagious.""The bed is more dangerous."I almost laughed, and after a moment he crossed the room and sat on the far edge, keeping enough distance between us that it felt deliberate rather than accidental."Do you still work until ridiculous hours?" I asked."Do you still steal every blanket in the house?""You used to claim I kicked you in my sleep.""You did. Repeatedly. With purpose."I laughed for real this time, and for a few minutes we just talked, easy and unguarded, the way we used to before any of this happened. No Camille. No Chairman. No trust. Just two people who used to know each o

I couldn't concentrate at the studio. The kiss kept surfacing in fragments, Roman waiting for me to move first, his hand finding my waist the way it always had, the way he'd let go the instant I stopped without a single word of protest. I was irritated with myself, mostly because it had felt so frighteningly natural, like no time had passed at all.Wanting Roman again had never really been the question. Trusting him still was.Adrian's message came midmorning, asking if I wanted to see the rest of the collection that afternoon. I said yes, and not to prove anything to Roman. Adrian had known me as a restorer before any of this happened, and he still saw me that way now, which was worth more to me than I wanted to admit.He arrived with another damaged piece from the collection, trusting me with it the way he always had, and we fell into an easy rhythm that had nothing complicated underneath it. At some point he noticed I wasn't fully present."Did the complicated husband situation get

For one dangerous second, I let myself imagine it. Roman standing beside me in front of cameras instead of denying me. My ring back on my hand. My own name spoken out loud where the whole world could hear it. No Camille. No hiding. Everything the ballroom had taken, reversed."Marry me?" I asked."Yes."I pulled slightly away from him. "I'm already married to you."He looked confused, started to explain that he meant publicly, properly, something the manipulated records couldn't touch."No," I said. "You don't get to give me a second wedding because your family stole the first one."I wasn't rejecting him. I was rejecting the substitute."I don't want another beautiful ceremony pretending the last seven years can just be restarted," I told him. "I want my original marriage acknowledged. The original date. The original certificate. The years I actually spent as your wife." I met his eyes. "I don't want you to marry me again so everyone thinks you finally chose me. I want them to know y