Despised By My Billionaire Husband
I had finished dinner, and was watching a show, when he came in.
“I saw your messages,” he said as he walked into my room. He was still in his ash-coloured jacket and white shirt, his hair neatly combed back as if he had just left the house. A few strands lay across his forehead. He slid his hands into his pockets, his face unreadable as he strode toward me in slow, calculated steps.
I still found it unbelievable that this billionaire was now my husband.
“You’re welcome. I knew you’d love it. Besides, you now carry the Ellison name— you should look the part. They’re the sort of things you signed up for.” He sat beside me on the bed, close enough that I could smell him.
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