My Billionaire Husband's Dark Secret

I stared at myself in the mirror, drowning in a hundred-thousand-dollar wedding dress that felt more like a costume than something I'd chosen.

"Sophia, you look beautiful today." Dad appeared behind me, his hand shaking as he touched my veil. "You're everything I could have hoped for in a daughter."

I caught his reflection in the mirror. Those eyes that had guided me through calculus homework and college applications were now filled with tears. In twenty-four years, I'd never seen this brilliant professor look so broken.

"Dad, what's wrong?" I turned around, my stomach twisting. "You should be happy today."

He couldn't meet my eyes. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. This is bigger than us. It's about something more important."

More important? I went cold. "What are you talking about? What's more important than your daughter's happiness?"

"You'll understand someday." He kissed my forehead like he used to when I was little. "Just know that I love you more than anything."

Someday? I'm twenty-four, not fourteen. But the pain in his voice stopped me from pushing further.

The butler knocked. "Miss, it's time."

I followed Dad toward the estate lawn where five hundred of the city's most powerful people waited. Politicians, CEOs, old money families—everyone who mattered was here. Camera flashes went off like fireworks, and suddenly I felt like I was walking into a zoo exhibit.

Ethan stood at the altar in a perfect black tux, looking like every woman's dream. But when our eyes met, his were ice-cold and distant.

No warmth. No love. Nothing.

The wedding march started, and I walked down the aisle feeling like I was heading to my execution. The guests smiled their practiced society smiles, but I caught their whispers:

"Political marriage, obviously."

"She looks terrified."

"The Blackstones finally bought themselves some respectability."

I plastered on a smile and told myself it would get better. Maybe Ethan was just nervous. Maybe we could learn to love each other.

The minister started the ceremony. Everything was going perfectly.

Until the ring exchange.

Just as Ethan reached for my hand, someone gasped from the crowd.

"Oh!" A soft voice cried out. "I can't... I can't breathe..."

Every head turned. A stunning brunette was clutching her chest, her face white as paper as she collapsed into her chair.

Isabella.

I barely knew her name, but I watched Ethan drop my ring like it was on fire.

It hit the grass with a tiny thud that somehow echoed through my entire body.

"Isabella!" Ethan forgot I existed and rushed to her side.

He scooped her up like she weighed nothing, like he'd done it a thousand times before. The way he looked at her—desperate, tender, completely devoted—made my chest ache.

"Get a doctor!" he shouted, then carried her away from our wedding.

I stood at the altar watching them disappear, feeling like the world's biggest fool.

Five hundred guests, dozens of cameras, and not one person seemed to care about the bride left standing alone.

The officiant cleared his throat awkwardly. "Perhaps we should... take a brief intermission."

"This is insane."

"Poor girl."

"What the hell just happened?"

The crowd buzzed with gossip, but no one came to check on me. I stood there like a discarded mannequin, completely lost.

Finally, Dad appeared at my side. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's go inside."

He sounded defeated.

The evening reception went on like nothing had happened.

Isabella held court from a wheelchair, playing the tragic heroine perfectly. She looked fragile but radiant, graciously accepting everyone's concern.

"I feel terrible about ruining Sophia's special day," she said, glancing at me with doe eyes. "I've had a weak heart since I was little. My doctors say stress can trigger episodes. Ethan's always been so protective of me."

Her voice was soft, but it carried to every corner of the room.

Always been protective.

Weak heart.

Every word was a reminder that she and Ethan had a history I could never touch.

"How long have you two known each other?" someone asked.

"Sixteen years," Isabella smiled sweetly. "I nearly died when I was six. Ethan saved my life. He's been taking care of me ever since."

Sixteen years.

I'd known Ethan for three months.

"So you and he are...?" another woman looked between Isabella and me meaningfully.

"We're family," Isabella said quietly, but everyone heard. "Some connections go beyond words."

I gripped my champagne glass so hard I thought it might shatter. She was brilliant—saying everything without saying anything, making it clear that she was the real woman in Ethan's life.

Ethan knelt beside her wheelchair. "How are you feeling? Any chest pain?"

"Much better now." Isabella reached up to touch his face. "You worry too much about me."

That gentle caress made me want to disappear.

All night, Ethan stayed glued to Isabella's side—bringing her water, checking her pulse, whispering in her ear. And me? The actual bride? I might as well have been invisible.

Around midnight, after the last guests left, I changed out of my wedding dress and waited in our bedroom.

It's our wedding night. Surely he'll come talk to me.

The door opened and Ethan walked in. He'd changed into jeans and a t-shirt, looking more relaxed than he had all day.

"Thanks for today," he said, like I'd done him a small favor.

"That's it?" I stared at him. "That's all you have to say on our wedding night?"

He sat in a chair across the room, keeping his distance.

"We both know what this marriage is," his voice was eerily calm. "You're smart enough to understand the rules."

Rules.

That's what our marriage was to him.

"So this is my life now?" I stood up, meeting his eyes. "Being your fake wife while you play house with Isabella?"

"Isabella is sick. She needs me," he cut me off, his tone final. "That's not going to change."

I laughed, but it came out broken.

"Right," I wiped my eyes before any tears could fall. "Well, congratulations, Ethan. You've got it all figured out. A respectable wife for show and your real love on the side."

Something flickered across his face. "Sophia..."

"But here's the thing," I walked closer until I could see the guilt he was trying to hide. "I'm not some wind-up doll you can put on a shelf. If this is just business, then let's treat it like business. You have your boundaries? Fine. I have mine too."

I headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

I looked back with the coldest smile I could manage. "The guest room. I need to learn my place, right?"

I closed the door behind me and finally let myself fall apart.

This was my wedding night.

No love. No respect. Not even basic human decency.

I'm only twenty-four. Is this really how I'm going to spend the rest of my life?