THE BILLIONARE SECRET WIFE

A TOUCH TOO REAL

The next morning arrived with a storm. Rain drummed against the massive windows as thunder rumbled low in the distance. Ayana sat curled on the edge of the master bed, a robe wrapped around her like armor, the events of the past days pressing heavy on her chest.

Pretending to be Ethan Carter’s wife was starting to feel like drowning in silk—beautiful but suffocating.

Ethan knocked once before entering, holding two steaming mugs. “Figured you might need coffee.”

She accepted it with a quiet “thanks.”

“Rough night?”

“Like every other lately,” she murmured.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “The lawyer said everything’s in motion. The media’s quiet for now, and no one’s questioned our marriage. We’re doing fine.”

Ayana looked up, meeting his gaze. “You mean you’re doing fine. I’m still trying to breathe.”

There was silence between them.

“I know this isn’t easy,” he said finally. “But you’re handling it better than most would.”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t know how.

Later that day, Ethan invited her to a charity gala public appearance clause, he’d reminded her. She wore a borrowed silver gown that shimmered against her dark skin, her curls pinned up by the in-house stylist. For the first time, Ayana didn’t recognize herself in the mirror.

“You look…” Ethan paused, visibly taken aback when he saw her descend the staircase. “...stunning.”

Her cheeks warmed. “This gown could make anyone look stunning.”

“No,” he said softly, stepping closer. “It’s you.”

At the event, flashbulbs exploded the moment they stepped out of the car. Ethan held her hand tightly, fingers brushing hers like he didn’t want to let go.

They posed, smiled, acted like the perfect newlyweds. But somewhere between the champagne and whispered congratulations, Ayana realized something terrifying she was beginning to enjoy being near him.

After their third dance, she whispered, “People are watching. We should slow down.”

He looked into her eyes. “Do you want to slow down?”

She didn’t answer.

That night, after they returned home, Ayana stepped out onto the balcony once more. The rain had stopped, but the wind was still heavy with something unspoken.

Ethan joined her, a glass of wine in his hand. “You were incredible tonight.”

“I was pretending.”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice low. “But not everything felt fake.”

Ayana turned to face him. “Ethan”

He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “We don’t have to cross any lines. But if pretending is starting to feel real… I’m not going to lie and say I don’t feel it too.”

Her breath hitched. “But you’re still engaged. Or were.”

“That part of my life is over. You” he paused. “You walked into it and changed everything.”

Ayana pulled back slightly. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“I’m not.”

Their eyes locked for a long moment. His hand lingered near hers but he didn’t touch her again. Instead, he whispered, “Goodnight, Ayana,” and walked away.

She stood frozen, heart thudding in her chest.

What was she doing?

What was this becoming?

The line between truth and lies was no longer blurred it was disappearing.