A Wife For The Billionaire

Chapter One

Eight Months Later

The sleek, black SUV rolled to a stop, its tires crunching against the gravel driveway, and Alex Bannerman stepped out of the car.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that did little to soften the ruggedness of his frame. He had the kind of presence that made people instinctively step aside. His dark brown curls were cut short, tamed, and the faint but unmistakable scar that broke his left brow caught the light. Pale skin stretched over high cheekbones and a jaw carved from stone. He scanned the crowd with the precision of a sniper.

The press was already waiting at the gates of the manor, and at the sight of him, they surged forward, cameras flashing. They fired questions at him like bullets.

Did you know about your father's illness before the funeral?

Do you honestly believe your father died of natural causes or is there more to the story?

Mr Bannerman, are you still under investigation for the recent fires in New York?

Do you deny involvement in the arson cases? How do you respond to being called ‘The Australian Ashmaker’?

What’s your relationship with Jessica Aubrey, the model? Aren't you worried about history repeating itself?

Is your appointment as CEO of Bannerman Industries an attempt to clean up your image?

But Alex did not flinch. Journalists and reporters were like buzzing insects. Annoying and insistent, but with enough experience, he knew just how to deal with them. Alex had grown accustomed to it by now. The flash of cameras. Journalists buzzing with questions. Finding himself on the cover of yet another magazine, the photograph vivid but taken at an odd angle.

It would have been odd if he was not accustomed to it. Being the son of a billionaire like Alistair Bannerman who controlled a quarter of the country's economy came with its perks, but it also had downsides, like being trailed by the paparazzi whenever he showed his face in public. Then, there was the issue of Ashleigh.

Scenes from that faithful night flashed across Alex's eyes. Loud screaming. Fire burning the ceiling. Fire surrounding him. Fire everywhere.

Alex shook the thoughts away and kept walking. His driver and bodyguard cut a path through the chaos until the only thing ahead of him was the house he’d sworn never to return to.

Redcliffe.

The manor loomed above him like an ancient castle untouched by time. For a very brief moment, the ice around his heart cracked. He remembered climbing the fig tree by the stables, racing Troy across the paddocks, sneaking into the kitchen for Ma’s lemon slice. Soft memories. Gentle ones.

But they didn’t last.

Memories of Ashleigh flooded him again. Or at least what was left of her after the fire. He remembered it all like a bad dream that kept recurring. The fire that swallowed her home in a roar of orange and black. He remembered screaming her name into the smoke. He remembered the horrible moment when he realized that if she was still inside, she was gone, and if he didn’t turn back, he would be too.

Alex clenched his fists. The scar above his brow throbbed painfully. It was a short walk to the door, but with the journalists swarming him and shouting, it felt as though the walk took forever.

Inside the manor, warmth greeted him in the form of Narelle Bannerman, his and Troy's mother.

“Ma.” he said, as she hugged him.

She was growing old. There were streaks of silver in her hair where there only used to be black. But she smelled of eucalyptus and rosewater, just as he remembered.

“You’re too thin,” she murmured, pinching his cheek when she finally pulled away. “And too pale. You need food and sunlight, Alex.”

He scoffed. “I am not one of your plants, mother. What I want is peace and quiet.”

His father's funeral was slated for the next morning, but he wanted to be there a day earlier. Now, free of his mother's arms, Alex examined the manor. The grand foyer was just as he remembered it. The coffered ceiling was adorned by a single chandelier. The floor was polished marble. Towering white columns framed the space like sentinels, while a sweeping staircase curved upward with quiet grace, as if it was inviting guests to ascend.

Alex's gaze was drawn to the figure staring at him from the foot of the staircase.

Troy. His twin brother.

“Troy," Alex called out.

Troy had crossed his arms across his chest and he glared at Alex with judgement in his eyes. Blue eyes, just like Alex's.

Troy was taller than Alex remembered. Broader, harder. The boy who used to trail after him with scraped knees and endless questions was gone. Troy had grown into the kind of man the outback demanded for. And Alex had grown away from it.

In a few strides, Troy was in front of him. “Alex,” he said, extending his hand for a handshake. “The prodigal son returns."

The brothers sized each other up. Silence thick enough to choke on clogged the air between them. Before the tension could snap, a voice interrupted their staring match.

“Alex Bannerman, as I live and breathe.”

He turned. A woman was striding toward them. It took Alex a few seconds to recognize her, but he did eventually. Becca Thorne.

Becca was no longer the girl with braces and oversized glasses that grew up with him and Troy, running amok on Redcliffe grounds. Like Troy, she had changed. She was a woman now, all smooth lines and sudden curves under her black dress. She had dark olive skin and a cascade of curly hair, and she moved with a grace that made his throat tighten. She didn't look like little Becca.

She hugged him gently, and Alex stiffened at her touch. She didn't feel little either.

“Becca,” Alex said.

At the sight of her, Troy smiled. “He's all yours, Becs," he told her, then stalked off. Alex sensed that their conversation was not nearly over. Ma was already walking away, directing the house staff to take Alex's luggage to his old bedroom.

He turned his attention to Becca.

“I’m sorry about your father, Alex. I came as soon as I heard.”

Alex grunted in answer. He didn't trust himself with this new Becca.

"Thank you." He managed.

“You were going to avoid me the whole day if you could, weren’t you?” she teased, stepping closer. “I saw you with the journalists outside. If I didn't know better, I would say you were trying to disappear into the manor like a ghost.”

“I don’t do ghosts,” Alex replied, amused. It was always this way with Becca. Her teasing him, him letting it happen. At least that part has remained blissfully the same.

Becca tilted her head. “You used to. Remember the time you told me I was haunting you?”

He smirked. “You were sixteen. You said you were in love with me.”

“And you said you were taken,” she snorted.

“I was. I had just met Ashleigh.”

The name hung between them like smoke.

Becca’s smile faltered. “I heard what happened to Ashleigh. I'm sorry, Alex. I know how much she meant to you. I'm sorry I couldn't be at her funeral.”

Alex nodded. Becca had left Redcliffe a few months before the fire, claiming that she needed to set out on her own. Put her college degree to good use. Their father was eager to help her as always, put in a good word for her in the right places. But she refused his help. Alex had always suspected it had something to do with him getting engagex to his fiancee. The last he heard of her, she was working at a paper called Harbour &Vine.

Thoughts of Ashleigh and his dead father threatened to overwhelm him. Alex shook them away. This was not the time.

“There wasn't much left to bury,” Alex deadpanned. “Are you here to cover the funeral?"

"Yes.”

“I suspected so."

"I'm also here for personal reasons.” She told him.

Their eyes locked, and the air between them thickened. History, grief, desire. It all felt tangled up between them. Impossible to pick apart neatly.

Becca broke the silence with a teasing smile. “Don’t worry, Bannerman. I’m not here to haunt you. I'm just here to write about you.”

He raised a brow. “In my experience, that is far worse.”

She winked. “Depends on the story.”

She turned and walked away, leaving him to watch her go. Alex's pulse thrummed.

No, she was nothing like she used to be. Redcliffe had changed. And so had she. Seeing her ignited an primeval fire inside him that he thought he had stamped out long ago. And if

there was one thing Alex knew about fire, it was that they came for everything and left you with nothing.