Ruined by My Billionaire Husband (Billionaire Marriage in Crisis: Newport #6)

1. Charlotte

— ? —

Charlotte

My mother’s hands were shaking.

“I need you to tell me if the back is sitting right,” Bea said, adjusting the fabric at my shoulders. “I can’t tell from this angle and the seamstress left an hour ago.”

“It’s sitting fine,” I said.

“You’re not even looking,” she said.

“I don’t need to look,” I said. “I can feel it. It’s fine.”

She made a noise in her throat that meant she didn’t believe me but wasn’t going to argue. Her fingers moved across my back, tugging at seams, smoothing fabric that didn’t need smoothing. I could feel the tremble in her touch, the nervous energy she was trying to hide.

“Your father’s been on the phone all morning,” Bea said. “You know how he gets before a big event. He wants everything to run perfectly.”

“This isn’t his event,” I said. “It’s my wedding.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did,” I said.

“Charlotte.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “You’re not wrong. This is exactly what it is. A family wedding. A merger. An arrangement.”

She stepped back. I could feel her staring at the back of my head, trying to find the right words. My mother had never been good at the right words. She was good at smoothing things over, at pretending everything was fine, at serving tea while the house burned down around her.

“How long have you known?” I asked.

“Known what?” she asked.

“About the debt,” I said. “About what Dad owes the Smiths.”

The silence stretched between us. I watched her reflection in the mirror.

“Since before the engagement,” Bea said finally. “Your father told me when Baron first proposed the arrangement.”

“Proposed,” I repeated. “That’s a nice word for it.”

“Charlotte, you have to understand,” she said. “We were going to lose everything. The house, the accounts, your father’s reputation. Baron had documents that could have destroyed us. The debt wasn’t just money, it was…”

“I don’t need the details,” I said. “I heard enough at the engagement party.”

Her face went pale. “You heard?”

“I heard everything,” I said. “Baron and Dad in the garden. Discussing the terms of my sale like I was livestock.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she said, but her voice was weak, unconvincing.

“She’s the only card you have left to play,” I said. “That’s what Baron said. And Dad didn’t argue. He didn’t say I was his daughter, not a bargaining chip. He just asked what would happen if I found out.”

“He was trying to protect you,” Bea said.

“He was trying to protect himself,” I said. “And you let him. You knew what this was, and you helped him dress it up like a love story. All those dinners with Reynolds. All those conversations about what a good match he would be. You were selling me the whole time.”

“I was trying to give you a good life,” she said, and her voice cracked. “Reynolds is wealthy. He’s connected. He can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“Except a choice,” I said.

She didn’t have an answer for that.

“I remember my wedding day,” Bea said after a long moment. “I was so nervous I couldn’t eat for two days. Your grandmother had to force broth down my throat so I wouldn’t faint at the altar.”

“Were you happy?” I asked.

“I was doing what needed to be done,” she said. “That’s what women in our position do, Charlotte. We do what needs to be done, and we find happiness where we can, and we build lives that matter even when we didn’t choose them.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked.

“It’s supposed to make you feel less alone,” she said. “You’re not the first woman to walk into a marriage with her eyes open. You’re not the first woman to marry for duty instead of love. And you won’t be the last.”

She crossed to stand beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. We looked at each other in the mirror. I had her nose, her cheekbones, the same stubborn set to my jaw that she got when she was trying not to cry.

“I never wanted this for you,” she said, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “You have to know that. I never wanted you to carry our mistakes.”

“But here we are,” I said.

The door opened behind us. My father stepped in, phone still pressed to his ear, his voice low and clipped.

“I understand the timeline,” Marshall said into the phone.

“I’m telling you it’s handled. The wedding goes forward as planned.

After today, everything goes back to normal.

” He ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket, turning to face us with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “There she is. My beautiful girl.”

“Dad,” I said.

“You look incredible,” he said. “Reynolds is a lucky man.”

I watched him cross the room toward me and squeeze my shoulder, and the memory rose up like bile in my throat.

Three months ago I had stepped onto the terrace to escape the noise, to get away from Reynolds’s hand on my waist and Myra’s brittle smile and the endless stream of congratulations from people who didn’t know me at all.

Baron’s voice had drifted up from the garden below, clear and cold in the night air.

“The terms are simple, Marshall. She marries Reynolds, the debt is cleared. Your family walks away clean. No more collection calls. No more lawyers. No more threats.”

“She doesn’t know,” my father had said. “About any of it. The loans, the defaults, the gambling…”

“I don’t care what she knows,” Baron had cut him off. “I care what she does. And what she’s going to do is marry my son and give this family an heir and stop asking questions about where her father’s money went.”

“And if she finds out?” my father had asked. “If she realizes what this is?”

“Then you’d better hope she loves you enough to go through with it anyway,” Baron had said. “Because if she walks, Marshall, I take everything. She’s the only card you have left to play. I suggest you make sure she plays it.”

I had stood on that terrace with champagne going flat in my hand and listened to my father agree to sell me.

And then I had gone back inside. Smiled at Reynolds. Let him kiss me in front of the photographers. Played the part of the happy bride-to-be because my father was right about one thing.

I did love him enough to go through with it.

I just wasn’t sure I would ever forgive him for making me.

“Charlotte?” My father’s voice pulled me back. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” he asked.

“About how lucky Reynolds is,” I said, and I watched him flinch. “Isn’t that what you said? That he’s lucky?”

“He is,” my father said carefully. “Any man would be lucky to have you.”

“Any man with enough money to clear your gambling debts,” I said.

The color drained from his face. My mother let out a small sob beside me.

“Charlotte,” Bea whispered. “Please. Not today.”

“When, then?” I asked. “When should we talk about it? After the ceremony? After the honeymoon? After I’ve given Baron the grandchild he’s expecting?”

“Charlotte, please,” he said, and he reached for my hand.

I stepped back. “Don’t touch me.”

He froze, his hand hanging in the air between us. I had never spoken to him like that before.

“I’m going through with it,” I said. “Because walking away now would mean starting over with nothing, and I’m not naive enough to think that’s a better option than this.”

“Charlotte…” he started.

“But I need you to know that I know,” I said. “I need you to understand that every time you look at me from now on, I’ll be looking back at the man who sold his daughter to save himself.”

His eyes filled with tears. I felt nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Charlotte, I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are,” I said. “That doesn’t change anything.”

The door opened, and Myra swept in with the kind of smile that made my skin crawl.

“Marshall, Beatrice,” she said, nodding at my parents. “Would you give us a moment? I’d like to speak with my future daughter-in-law alone.”

My parents left without argument. The Smiths gave the orders, and the Walthams obeyed.

“You’ve been crying,” Myra said, studying my face. “You’ll need to fix your makeup before the ceremony.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I said.

“See that you do,” she said. She circled me slowly, examining me from every angle. “The dress is acceptable. Better than I expected, given your budget constraints.”

“Thank you,” I said flatly.

“Reynolds tells me you’ve been distant this week,” she said.

“I’m here, aren’t I? In the dress. Ready to walk down the aisle.”

“Being here isn’t the same as being committed,” Myra said. “I’ve seen women go through the motions before. They say the vows, they smile for the pictures, and then six months later they’re filing for divorce and trying to take half of everything my family built.”

“I’m not going to take half of everything,” I said.

“No,” she agreed. “You’re not. Because you signed the prenup, and you’re going to honor the terms of this arrangement, and you’re going to give my son the life he deserves. A wife who supports him. Children who carry on his name. A home that reflects his status.”

“I know the terms,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “Then we understand each other.”

She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume, close enough that I had nowhere to retreat.

“I know what your family owes mine,” Myra said quietly.

“I know why you’re here. And I want you to understand that I will be watching you, Charlotte.

Every day. Every decision. Every mistake.

If you embarrass my son, if you fail to meet your obligations, if you give me any reason to doubt your commitment to this family, I will make your life very difficult. ”

“Is that a threat?” I asked.

“It’s a promise,” she said. “But it doesn’t have to be adversarial. You could be happy here. Reynolds is a good man. He’ll give you everything you need. Security. Status. A beautiful home. Children. All you have to do is stop fighting it.”

“I’m not fighting anything,” I said.

She smiled, and the warmth never reached her eyes. “This is the best you’re ever going to do, Charlotte. I suggest you accept it gracefully.”

She left before I could respond.

I stood alone in the silence and counted my breaths until my hands stopped shaking.

I needed a minute. Just one minute alone to breathe, to think, to remember who I was before I became someone else’s possession.

“I need a minute,” I said to the empty room.

My phone was in my hand. I didn’t remember picking it up.

I opened my contacts and scrolled to his name.

I had tried to delete his number a hundred times. My thumb would hover over the button, and then I would think about the way he used to say my name. The way his hands felt on my skin. The way I had loved him completely, recklessly, with every part of myself.

I had divorced him because staying married was killing me. Because he was never cruel, only absent.

He hadn’t fought me. When I told him I wanted out, he had just looked at me with those dark eyes and signed the papers when they came.

He had let me go, and he had never come after me.

And now I was standing here in a wedding dress, about to marry a man I didn’t love, and the only person I wanted to tell was my ex-husband, the one who had already proven he didn’t want me.

I typed the message before I could talk myself out of it.

Me: I’m getting married today and I can’t do it. I’ve been standing here waiting for you. If any part of you still wants me, come get me. Please.

I stared at the screen. My thumb hovered over the send button.

This was stupid. He wasn’t going to respond. He hadn’t reached out once since the divorce. He had moved on, forgotten me, built a life that didn’t include me at all.

But I needed to know. I needed to give him one last chance to prove me wrong.

I hit send.

The message sat there on the screen, delivered, waiting. I watched it for thirty seconds. A minute. Two minutes.

No response. No typing indicator. Nothing.

Of course. Of course he wasn’t going to answer. That was who he had always been. I had sent him a lifeline, and he had let it sink.

A knock at the door made me flinch.

“Char?” my mother’s voice called through. “It’s time, sweetheart. Everyone’s waiting.”

I looked at my phone one last time. The screen stayed dark.

“Coming.”