The Marriage He Priced (Billionaire's Neglected Wives #7)

1. Josie

JOSIE

I stood near the bar with a glass of champagne I hadn't touched, watching the crowd.

Everyone here looked like they belonged in a room like this — tailored suits, dresses that probably cost more than I made in a month, shoes I could never walk in.

The kind of people who didn't think twice about writing a check with five zeros on it.

I smoothed my hand down the front of my dress, black and simple, and tried not to feel like an imposter.

Vince was still at the podium, wrapping up his speech. Even from across the room I could see how comfortable he was up there, how easy it all looked. His voice carried over the murmur of conversation, confident and warm, and I watched the donors lean in.

He knew exactly what to say to them. He always did.

God, he was handsome in that suit.

A woman beside me turned, smiling. "Your husband is quite the speaker."

"Thank you." I returned the smile, the one I'd been wearing all night.

"Does he always give speeches like this?" another donor asked. He was older, silver-haired, holding a tumbler of something amber.

"When the occasion calls for it."

"Well, he's convincing," the first woman said. She laughed lightly, adjusting the bracelet on her wrist. "I think half the room just decided to double their donations."

I nodded and took a tiny sip of champagne. It was too sweet. "He believes in what he's doing."

The man leaned in slightly. "And you? Do you work with him?"

"No." I kept my voice pleasant. "I have my own business."

"Oh?" The woman's eyebrows lifted, curious but polite. "What do you do?"

"I make jewelry. By hand, one piece at a time."

"How lovely," she said, and I couldn't tell if she meant it or if that was just something people said when they didn't know what else to say. Her gaze drifted to the diamond on my finger, and I resisted the urge to curl my hand into a fist.

The applause started then, and I looked up.

Vince was stepping down from the podium, shaking hands as he moved through the crowd.

He was good at this part, too — the handshakes, the small talk, the way he made everyone feel like they were the only person in the room.

I watched him and waited, hoping he'd make his way over.

I wanted him to stand beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through his jacket, close enough that I wouldn't feel so alone in a room full of strangers.

But he didn't come.

Not yet.

The donors were still talking, something about property values and rezoning, and I smiled and nodded and said the right things.

I was good at this, too, even if I hated it.

I'd learned how to charm people who didn't care about me, how to make myself small and polite and easy to be around. It was exhausting.

I glanced toward Vince again. He was still surrounded, still shaking hands, still smiling. My chest tightened. He didn't even look my way.

"Josie."

I turned, and there he was. Finally. Vince stepped into our little circle, his hand settling briefly on my lower back, and I felt myself relax just a fraction. He was here. He'd come.

But then I saw Harlow.

She was right beside him, perfectly poised in a charcoal dress that probably cost more than my rent used to be, back when I had rent. Her smile was bright and professional as she nodded to the donors, and then her eyes landed on me.

"Josie," she said warmly. Too warmly. "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank you." I kept my voice even.

Harlow turned to the woman beside me. "Have you met Josie? She's Vince's wife."

"We were just talking," the woman said, smiling. "She was telling us about her jewelry business."

"Oh, yes." Harlow's smile didn't falter, but something in her tone shifted. "Josie runs a little shop on the south side. Very hands-on."

Little shop. I felt the sting of it, the way she made it sound quaint and insignificant, like a hobby I'd picked up to pass the time. My jaw tightened, but I didn't let it show.

"It's been in my family for years," I said, meeting her gaze.

"Of course." Harlow tilted her head, still smiling. "It's admirable, really. Most people in your position wouldn't bother with something so . . . modest."

There it was. The blade underneath the silk. I wanted to snap at her, to tell her that my shop mattered more than anything in this room, but I couldn't. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

The silver-haired donor cleared his throat. "South side, you said? That area's been in the news a lot lately."

Harlow didn't miss a beat. "It has. The neighborhood's been struggling for years — high crime, low property values.

Honestly, I'm surprised anyone still tries to run a business there.

" She glanced at me, her expression sympathetic in a way that made my skin crawl.

"It's a liability, really. No matter how much effort you put in, the location drags everything down. "

My throat went tight. She'd just called my corner — my father's corner, the place I grew up — a liability. In front of everyone. And she'd said it like she was stating a fact, like it was something we all understood.

I waited for Vince to say something. To step in. To tell her she was wrong, or at least to change the subject. He knew what that shop meant to me. He knew.

But he didn't.

He just stood there, his hand still resting lightly on my back, and said nothing. His gaze was already shifting toward the mayor's table across the room, like Harlow hadn't said anything that needed answering at all.

My stomach dropped. He wasn't going to defend me.

"It's not a liability, Harlow," I said, and my voice came out sharper than I meant it to. Everyone turned to look at me. I forced myself to meet Harlow's eyes. "The shop supports four families. It's been there for thirty years, and it's not going anywhere."

Harlow's smile tightened just a fraction. "Of course. I didn't mean to offend, Josie. I'm only speaking from a financial perspective."

"Right." I could feel the heat rising in my face, the flush creeping up my neck. God, I hated this. I hated her. I hated that Vince was still standing there like nothing had happened, like I hadn't just had to defend myself in front of a room full of strangers because he wouldn't.

I reached for his hand, needing the reassurance, needing him to tell me without words that we were still on the same side.

He didn't take it.

His attention was on Harlow now, his expression shifting into something business-like and distant. "We should speak with the mayor," he said. "He'll want to talk about the timeline."

Harlow nodded, already turning. "Absolutely. He's been asking for you all night."

And just like that, they were moving away. Vince's hand slipped from my back, and I stood there, watching him go, my hand still half-raised like an idiot. He didn't look back.

"Josie."

I turned. Gideon was standing beside me, his expression carefully neutral. I hadn't even noticed him approach.

"I'm sorry about that," he said quietly.

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. My throat felt too tight, my chest too full of something I couldn't name. Anger, maybe. Humiliation. I didn't know.

Gideon shifted his weight, uncomfortable. "Vince didn't mean — he's just focused on the deal right now. The mayor's been difficult, and Harlow's the only one who can manage him, so —"

"I don't want to hear it," I said, cutting him off. My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn't care. I didn't want his excuses. I didn't want to hear about how Vince was busy, or how Harlow was important, or how I just needed to understand that this was how things worked.

Gideon opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, then closed it. He nodded once, his jaw tight, and stepped back.

I turned away, gripping my champagne glass so hard I thought it might shatter.

The car ride home was silent at first. Vince sat beside me in the back seat, scrolling through something on his phone, the glow of the screen casting shadows across his face. I stared out the window at the city lights blurring past, trying to decide if I should say something or just let it go.

I couldn't let it go.

"Vince."

He glanced up, distracted. "Mm?"

"Can we talk?" My voice sounded small, even to my own ears. "I feel like we never talk anymore. You're always working, and I —"

"Josie." He set his phone down, but his expression was already closing off. "I know you're upset about tonight, but it's not what you think."

"What do I think?"

"You're tired, and you're taking a remark about a building personally."

I stared at him. "She called my shop a liability. In front of everyone."

"She was talking about the neighborhood," Vince said, his tone maddeningly calm. "It wasn't personal."

"It felt personal."

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "Harlow doesn't have anything against you. She's just doing her job."

"And you didn't say anything," I said, my voice rising despite myself. "You just stood there."

"What was I supposed to say?" He turned to face me fully now, his jaw tight. "She was talking about market conditions, Josie. Crime's up, property values are down — those are just the numbers."

My chest tightened. "That's my corner, Vince. My father's corner."

"I know that." His voice softened, but only barely. "And I've made sure it's protected. There's a camera on every corner of that building and a man on the door every Friday night. I pay for both. You have never once had to ask me for either."

I looked away, blinking hard. He didn't understand. He didn't want to understand.

"I'm worried about Harlow," I said quietly.

Vince went still. "What?"

"I don't like how much time you spend with her."

"Josie." He said my name like a warning. "She's my liaison to the mayor's office. Of course I spend time with her. This is work."

"It doesn't feel like work," I said, and I hated how pathetic I sounded. "It feels like —"

"Like what?" His voice was sharp now, impatient. "Like I'm cheating on you? Is that what you think?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." He shook his head, his expression hardening. "I can't believe we're even having this conversation."

"Vince —"

"I replaced that ring with something worth insuring," he said, his voice cutting through mine. "You still keep the old one in a drawer like I handed you a bottle cap."

The words hit me like a slap. I felt my face go hot, my throat closing up. I couldn't look at him.

He wasn't done.

"And I came tonight," he continued, his tone clipped and controlled. "I stood in that room for three hours. I did every single thing that was on the list. I gave that speech, I shook every hand, I smiled at people I can't stand. For you. Because you asked me to."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because he was right, and he was wrong, and I didn't know how to explain the difference.

The car pulled up to the building, and Vince was out before I could say anything else. I followed him into the lobby, into the elevator, into the penthouse, and the silence between us felt like a living thing, heavy and suffocating.

I changed in the bathroom, washing my face and brushing my teeth on autopilot. When I came out, Vince was already in bed, still scrolling through his phone. I slid in beside him, the mattress dipping under my weight, and pulled the covers up to my chin.

He didn't look at me.

I stared at the ceiling, my chest aching. We were lying six inches apart, and I'd never felt more alone in my life.

I reached for him. My hand found his arm, my fingers curling lightly around his wrist. Please. Just look at me. Just see me.

His phone lit up on the nightstand. The screen glowed bright in the dark room, and I saw the name before he did.

Harlow.

Vince sat up immediately, reaching for it. "I need to take this."

"Now?" My voice cracked.

He was already standing, the phone pressed to his ear. "Harlow. Yeah, I saw your message."

I watched him walk out of the bedroom, his voice fading as he moved down the hall. The door clicked shut behind him.

I lay there in the dark, my hand still resting on the empty space where he'd been, and tried to remember the last time he'd chosen me over the work.

I couldn't.