The Marriage He Neglected (Groveling Billionaire's Redemption #8)

Chapter 1

SADIE

My fake smile was well-practiced for these types of events.

I needed to appear happy and interested, even when I barely understood what the event was or why Patrick and I were there.

Such was the life for Sadie Holbrook, wife of the CEO of Holbrook Aviation.

But not tonight. My smile was completely genuine as I moved through the gala celebrating the unveiling of my Eco-Turbine. This was my night.

I took a sip of champagne, letting the effervescence match the hum of adrenaline in my veins.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the ballroom, the glittering Seattle skyline reflected against the dark waters of Puget Sound.

It was a perfect, sprawling backdrop for the pinnacle of my career.

Years of grease-stained hands, endless late nights over CAD blueprints, and fighting for every ounce of aerodynamic and mechanical efficiency had all led to this single room.

Beside me, Patrick looked like a modern-day god forged in bespoke Armani. His hand rested warmly on the small of my back, a solid, grounding weight that made my chest tighten with a familiar surge of devotion. He leaned down, the scent of cedar and expensive bergamot washing over me.

This was so different from where I started.

I had always felt overlooked. I had been the shy engineer working in a male-dominated field, trying to bring my ideas to the forefront, but always getting drowned out.

No matter how I tried to prove myself or show how brilliant my ideas were, no one listened. No one except Patrick.

He had attended a conference I was giving a talk at, presenting ideas that apparently no one wanted to hear.

Patrick walked into the wrong conference room, finding me at a podium and in front of a large screen displaying my PowerPoint presentation and speaking to a nearly empty room.

But my ideas caught his attention. He approached me afterward, offering me a job to develop what became the Eco-Turbine. Falling in love came later.

Now I split time between my engineering work, playing wife to a wealthy and influential CEO, and managing a vintage aviation museum.

It was the wife part that I still sometimes struggled with, especially at high-society events.

I had the fake smile down, but it always felt so draining.

I wasn’t born or raised for this life. Even my beautiful gown felt foreign as it wrapped around my body.

“You did this, Sadie,” Patrick said, his thumb brushing reverently over the silk of my gown. “Every investor in this room is eating out of the palm of your hand. I couldn’t be prouder.”

For a fleeting, flawless second, everything in my world was aligned. The husband I adored and the machine I had poured my soul into, both right here.

Then, the air in the room shifted.

“Patrick! Thank god I found you.”

The voice was breathless, pitched to a frequency of delicate panic that sliced right through the sophisticated murmur of the gala, a familiar disruption I’d come to dread.

I didn’t need to turn to know it was Alyssa, whose crises always managed to surface at the most inconvenient moments, demanding Patrick’s undivided attention with an urgency she alone seemed capable of creating.

My stepsister materialized through the crowd, her crimson designer gown acting like a warning flag amidst the sea of black tuxedos.

She had her smartphone clutched to her chest as if it were a ticking bomb, her eyes wide with manufactured terror.

As usual, she didn’t so much as glance at me.

Her entire focus locked onto my husband like a heat-seeking missile.

“Alyssa, what is it?” Patrick’s hand dropped from my back.

The loss of his touch was immediate, a cold draft rushing in to fill the space where his warmth and protection had just been.

My skin tingled where his fingers had rested, the imprint of his hand still burning like a ghost sensation against the silk of my gown.

That spot on my back suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable, as if a protective shield had been violently torn away.

The fine hairs on my arms stood up despite the warmth of the crowded ballroom, a physiological betrayal of the sudden emptiness spreading through my chest. The champagne in my glass suddenly felt heavy, condensation dripping down my fingers like the cold seeping into my bones.

“It’s a disaster,” she whispered loudly, her words perfectly calibrated for Patrick alone while the rest of the room remained blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding. “I’ve been trying to fix it, but they’re already upset.”

“What’s wrong?” Patrick moved closer to her, concern etched between his brows.

His attention, once exclusively mine on what should have been our triumphant evening, had evaporated in the presence of my stepsister’s sudden distress.

The energy around us shifted subtly, the space between Patrick and I suddenly feeling miles wide even as we stood mere feet apart.

It was as if the champagne I was holding had turned to lead in my hand, the bubbles no longer popping with celebration but with something far more bitter.

I stood frozen, the celebratory buzz of the night souring into something sharp and acidic in my throat, coating it with the bitter taste of inevitability.

The empty champagne flute felt heavier in my grip, the condensation now cold against my skin as reality set in, droplets tracing paths down my fingers like tears I refused to shed.

Around me, the gala continued in its sparkling rhythm, but the music had become a distant drone, the laughter of guests a hollow echo.

There was always another crisis, another moment stolen by Alyssa, like a thief who returned nightly to take one more cherished possession until nothing remained but hollow spaces where joy once lived.

She played this role to perfection. The helpless damsel in distress, her voice trembling just enough to convey urgency without raising actual alarm.

I’d watched this same performance unfold countless times before, with the precision of a seasoned actress who knew exactly which subtle gestures would captivate her intended audience.

Her eyes would widen at just the right moment, her perfectly manicured hand would flutter to her chest as if her heart were genuinely racing, and her lips would part slightly as if gasping for air she desperately needed to deliver her urgent news.

Every detail was calculated, every movement rehearsed until it appeared as natural as breathing.

The way she angled her body toward Patrick, creating a bubble of intimacy that excluded me completely, was a familiar dance step in their choreographed routine of manufactured emergencies.

Around us, the glittering gala continued its oblivious celebration, the champagne flutes still clinking, the laughter still echoing, all unaware that yet another piece of my spotlight was being stolen by my stepsister’s never-ending drama.

Alyssa’s eyes flickered briefly in my direction, just long enough for me to register the slight curl of satisfaction at the corner of her lips before she redirected her attention back to Patrick.

It was that micro-expression, the almost imperceptible look of triumph, that made me question everything about her intentions.

She always seemed to materialize exactly when I was about to achieve something meaningful, her drama conveniently timed to divert attention and resources away from me.

It didn’t matter that I had practically begged Patrick to hire her.

When Alyssa had been struggling financially, claiming the restaurant she was managing was failing, I’d convinced Patrick she could help with Holbrook Aviation’s public image.

She had been working in corporate PR before taking the restaurant job, I argued.

We were growing rapidly, expanding into defense contracts.

Someone with her background would be valuable.

Patrick, with his characteristic generosity and trust in my judgment, had agreed without question.

I never could have predicted how perfectly positioned that would make her to intercept these moments of my professional success.

The Eco-Turbine presentation was just the latest example.

I had been preparing for weeks, working with the marketing team to create visuals that would explain the complex engineering in a way that would excite potential investors.

It was supposed to be my moment to finally step out from behind my CAD station and claim recognition for my work.

But as Alyssa spoke to Patrick in urgent tones, her hand now resting lightly on his arm, I saw my carefully prepared presentation materials being casually dismissed by someone whose only qualification was her relationship to me and her ability to create compelling narratives about everything except the actual technology that had made tonight possible.

My moment in the spotlight seemed to be dimming before it had even begun.

“Listen,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that nonetheless carried the weight of absolute certainty, “the defense contractors were asking about the production timeline, but it’s coming across as weak.

” Her manicured nail tapped pointedly on the screen of her phone, as if she had the entire presentation already planned out in her mind.

“They want something sleeker, something that shows confidence. Not all that...” She made a dismissive gesture in my direction without looking at me, “...technical jargon. They don’t care about the inner workings.

They want to see the future, not the nuts and bolts that get us there. ”