Billionaire Husband's Replaced Wife

1. Jillian

— ? —

Jillian

The trumpet crept in first, slow and aching, and I stopped breathing.

Three and a half years. That’s how long I’d been waiting for this exact moment every single time it came around, the moment when Trevor’s hand would find the small of my back in a crowded room, when the opening notes of “The Very Thought of You” would curl through the air like smoke, and when nothing else would matter.

Not the glittering chandeliers of the Wentworth Club.

Not the roomful of people in black tie pretending they weren’t watching us.

Not his mother’s disapproval burning a hole through the back of my skull from across the room.

Just this. Just him.

“There you are,” Trevor murmured against my temple, pulling me closer as we swayed into the music. His hand splayed warm and sure across my lower back, and I let myself melt into him the way I always did when this song played. The way I had the very first time.

“I’ve been standing next to you for forty minutes,” I said, but I was smiling. I could feel it. That stupid, helpless smile I couldn’t control when he held me like this.

“You know what I mean.”

I did. God help me, I did.

The singer’s voice poured through the speakers, rich and honeyed and just a little rough around the edges, the kind of voice that made you believe every word even when you knew better.

The melody wrapped around us like a secret, all those lazy horn arrangements and that gentle piano underneath, and I let my cheek rest against Trevor’s shoulder.

This was the song that had been playing the night we met.

Right here, in this exact ballroom, at this exact gala three and a half years ago.

I’d been working the event, clipboard in hand, headset in my ear, running around like a maniac trying to make sure the ice sculpture didn’t melt before the speeches ended.

And Trevor Anderson, heir to the Anderson family fortune and the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life, had walked straight up to me, ignored the fact that I was clearly staff, and asked me to dance.

Before he asked my name. Before he asked anything at all.

“What are you thinking about?” His breath was warm against my hair.

“The night we met.”

“The ice sculpture?”

I laughed, surprised. “You remember the ice sculpture?”

“I remember everything about that night.” His hand tightened on my waist. “I remember thinking you were the most stunning woman in the room. I remember being terrified you’d say no. I remember…”

“You were not terrified. You walked up to me like you owned the place.”

“I do own the place. Part of it anyway.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, and there it was, that smile.

The one that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look like the twenty-eight-year-old I’d fallen for instead of the thirty-one-year-old who carried the weight of his family’s expectations like a physical burden. “Doesn’t mean I wasn’t terrified.”

“You hide it well.”

“I hide everything well. You know that.”

I did. That was the problem, sometimes. But not tonight. Tonight, with the music swelling and his arms around me and the whole world reduced to this single, perfect moment, I wasn’t going to think about the problems.

“Dance with me,” he said, even though we already were.

“I am dancing with you.”

“No. Really dance with me. Like that first night.”

And then he spun me, right there in the middle of the Wentworth Club ballroom, right in front of everyone, and I laughed out loud as the room blurred around me. When he pulled me back in, I was breathless and grinning and so stupidly in love with him that it hurt.

“Jillian.” His voice dropped low, serious. “I’d marry you again right now if you asked.”

My heart clenched. “Trevor…”

“I mean it. Right here. In front of all these people who don’t matter. I would marry you again in a heartbeat.”

“Your mother would have an aneurysm.”

“Another selling point.”

I snorted, which was deeply undignified for a woman in a four-thousand-dollar gown, but Trevor just grinned at me like I’d done something wonderful.

“Come here,” he said, and tugged me toward the French doors at the edge of the ballroom. “Come with me.”

“Trevor, we can’t just…”

“We can do whatever we want. That’s the whole point of being us.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to point out that there were donors to schmooze and appearances to maintain and approximately seventeen people who would notice if Trevor Anderson disappeared from his own family’s charity gala.

But he was already pulling me through the doors, out onto the balcony where the October air hit my bare shoulders like a wake-up call, and I followed him anyway.

I always followed him anyway.

The balcony was empty except for us and the faint glow of string lights wrapped around the iron railing.

Inside, the song was still playing, muffled now, but there, that plaintive trumpet reaching for notes that felt like yearning made audible.

Trevor backed me up against the railing, his hands finding my waist, my hips, the curve of my jaw.

“Hi,” he breathed.

“Hi yourself.”

“I love you.”

“You’re supposed to. You married me.”

“I love you,” he said again, and this time his voice cracked just a little, just enough to make my chest ache. “I know I don’t say it enough. I know I don’t… I know things have been…”

“Trevor.”

“Let me say this.” His thumb traced my cheekbone, feather-light. “I know this year has been hard. I know my mother makes it harder. I know I don’t always stand up the way I should, and I know you deserve better than…”

I kissed him.

I kissed him because I couldn’t stand to hear him apologize anymore, and because I loved him, and because sometimes the only way to survive the hard parts of a marriage is to remember why you signed up for the hard parts in the first place.

His hands tightened on my waist and he kissed me back, really kissed me, the kind of kiss that made my knees weak and my thoughts scatter and my whole body lean into him like he was the only solid thing in the world.

When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, he pressed his forehead against mine.

“I fought for this,” I whispered. “For us. I fought so hard, Trevor.”

“I know.”

“Your mother told me I wasn’t good enough. Your aunts told me I was after your money. Half your friends told me I was making a mistake marrying into this family, and I fought through all of it because I believed, because I knew…”

“Jillian.” He drew back, his eyes dark and serious in the low light. “You were right. You are right. This, us, it’s the only thing I’ve ever been sure about.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly it was a physical ache in my chest.

“Then prove it,” I said, and I meant it to sound teasing, but it came out raw instead. Honest. “Keep proving it.”

“Every day. I swear.”

The French doors opened behind us, and I felt Trevor stiffen before I even turned around.

“Trevor, darling.” Margot’s voice cut through the moment like a knife through silk, elegant and devastating. “The Hendersons are asking for you. It’s about the Foundation grant.”

I stepped back from my husband, smoothing down the front of my dress, trying to compose myself into a presentable version of myself.

When I turned, Margot was standing in the doorway, backlit by the ballroom’s golden glow, her silver gown catching the light like armor.

She was smiling, but her eyes were fixed on Trevor.

She didn’t look at me. She never looked at me if she could help it.

“Mother.” Trevor’s voice had gone formal. Careful. The voice he used when he was trying to manage her. “We’re in the middle of a conversation.”

“The Hendersons won’t wait, I’m afraid. You know how Robert gets when he’s been drinking. We need to secure that commitment tonight.” She tilted her head, still not acknowledging my existence. “I’m sure Jillian understands.”

I understood. I understood that I was being dismissed.

I understood that in Margot’s world, I was an inconvenience to be managed, not a daughter-in-law to be welcomed.

I understood that after three years of trying, I was still standing on the outside of this family with my nose pressed against the glass.

“Go,” I said to Trevor, and I was proud of how steady my voice sounded. “I’ll be fine.”

He hesitated. For one beautiful, heartbreaking moment, I thought he might tell his mother no. I thought he might choose me, right there, right then, in front of her.

Then he squeezed my hand. “Save the last dance for me too?”

“Always.”

He kissed my cheek, quick, chaste, appropriate, and followed his mother back inside.

I stood on the balcony for a long moment, letting the cold air settle into my bones, listening to the muffled sounds of the gala carrying on without me.

The song had ended. I could hear a different tune playing now, uptempo and forgettable, and the magic of the moment had evaporated like it had never existed at all.

When I finally went back inside, I avoided the cluster of people around Trevor and his mother and the Hendersons. I found a quiet corner near the bar instead, checking my phone for a reason to keep my hands busy.

One new text. From the estate’s household manager.

Mrs. Anderson - wanted to give you advance notice. Guest arriving Monday to stay at the main house for an extended visit. Chloe Williams. Mrs. Anderson Sr. has requested the blue suite be prepared. Should I coordinate any welcome arrangements through you?

Chloe Williams.

I stared at the name, trying to place it. The Andersons had an endless parade of family friends, distant cousins, society connections who floated in and out of the estate like ghosts. But this name didn’t ring any bells. No Christmas card. No gala guest list. No hushed mention at family dinners.

Who was Chloe Williams, and why was she important enough to warrant the blue suite?

I was still staring at my phone, still trying to make the name mean anything at all, when someone stepped up beside me. The scent hit me first, Margot’s signature perfume, that French and expensive thing I’d never been able to identify.

I looked up. Margot was reading my screen over my shoulder, not even pretending to hide it. And for the first time all evening, the first time in months, maybe, she was smiling at me. Really smiling. The kind of smile that showed teeth.

“Oh, wonderful,” she said, her voice warm in a way I’d never heard directed at me. “Chloe’s finally coming home.”