My Husband, The Billionaire Killer

If her mother were here, she’d probably cry at the sight of her daughter in lace and love. But her mother wasn’t here. And Naomi wasn’t sure if what she felt was excitement… or something else. Damien’s arm slipped gently around her waist as they stood before the officiant. Naomi gripped her bouquet tighter—not to stop herself from tripping, but to anchor herself to reality. This was real. She was married. Her heart thudded beneath layers of satin and lace, catching in her throat when the officiant’s voice rang out, "You may now kiss the bride." Damien turned toward her, brushing her cheek before leaning in. His lips were warm, patient, and sure. The room erupted in applause, but Naomi barely heard it. The world hushed, just for a heartbeat. Just the two of them. "You’re doing great, Mrs. Everhart," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. She smiled, her cheeks blooming with warmth. "You make that sound like you’ve been waiting forever to say it." "I have," he said. That grin—crooked and devastating—slid into place. And she believed him. He had a way of saying things that made her feel... like she was the only person that mattered. Petals floated down from the ceiling, a blur of soft color. Naomi’s smile widened—then faltered just slightly. The empty seat beside her father. It shouldn’t have been empty. It should’ve been her mother's. Naomi blinked hard, looking away. You’re not allowed to cry today, she told herself. Her mother would’ve wanted her happy. She would’ve been the loudest one clapping. The first one crying. “Your wedding day should feel like the start of your forever, not the end of anything else.” Her mother’s voice echoed in her memory, soft and bittersweet. Naomi exhaled slowly and focused on Damien, who was already guiding her toward the reception hall. Focus on now, she told herself. Focus on this. --- Naomi’s heels clicked softly as they stepped into the golden-lit reception hall. Music floated through the air like silk, and the scent of roses clung to everything. People turned, clapping again, raising glasses. Naomi smiled and waved politely, but it didn’t feel real. Not yet. She caught Rachel’s eye from across the room. Her best friend was in a satin sage-green dress that hugged her curves perfectly, a color Naomi had insisted on, even when the wedding planner pushed for something more “timeless.” Rachel had rolled her eyes at the planner and whispered, “Timeless is code for boring.” God, she was glad Rachel was here. Rachel had been there for every meltdown—every time Naomi questioned if she was ready for marriage, if Damien was too good to be true, if her dress made her look like an overpriced cupcake. Rachel had answered every spiral with a wine glass, a sarcastic joke, and the kind of loyalty you couldn’t buy. Naomi remembered one night, a few months back, when she and Rachel had been curled up on the couch in their pajamas, wine bottles on the floor and popcorn in their laps. Naomi had confessed she was scared. Scared that marrying someone so perfect would make her realize how imperfect she was. Rachel didn’t even flinch. “If he’s perfect, it’s because he picked you,” she had said. “So clearly, the guy’s got excellent taste.” Naomi smiled at the memory. "Everything okay?" Damien whispered as they made their way to the head table. "Yeah," she nodded. "Just thinking." "Still?" he teased. "You’ve officially been a wife for forty-five minutes. Are you already questioning your choices?" She laughed and bumped her shoulder into his. "No. I’m just... grateful. That’s all." "Good." He kissed her cheek. "I plan to keep you in that state permanently." She didn’t doubt it. Damien had a way of making big promises sound like facts. --- The reception was a blur of champagne bubbles, clinking glasses, and camera flashes. Naomi caught glimpses of Rachel—her best friend—flitting through the crowd like a butterfly in heels. And then there was her father. Sitting stiffly at the family table, like he hadn’t ghosted them both after her mother’s funeral. Naomi forced herself not to scowl. She needed someone to walk her down the aisle. She just hadn’t wanted it to be him. "You look like you’re thinking again," Damien murmured as they danced, his hand pressed gently to the small of her back. "I always think," she teased. "Someone’s gotta overthink us into forever." He grinned. "Just don’t overthink tonight. Let it be perfect." "Perfect might be too much to ask for." "Then let’s make it unforgettable." And for a while... it was. Between the soft kisses, the whispered jokes, and the quiet looks that said everything words couldn’t, Naomi felt like she was floating. Like nothing could touch them. --- Later, Rachel found her by the bar with a drink half-forgotten in her hand and a dreamy haze in her eyes. "You, Mrs. Everhart," Rachel said, dramatically dragging out the name, "look like you just stepped out of a fantasy." Naomi laughed. "I feel like I fought the fantasy and barely survived." Rachel leaned in with a wicked grin. "Private billionaire getaway, huh? I expect a full report. And by full, I mean scandalous." Naomi choked on a laugh. "It’s just a little trip—" "Mmhmm," Rachel cut in, wagging her brows. "You better come back walking straight, girl." Naomi’s cheeks flamed. "Rachel!" But before she could say more, a familiar chuckle sounded behind her. Damien. He slid his arm around her waist with practiced ease. "Don’t worry, Rachel. I intend to keep her very, very busy." Rachel laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. Naomi covered her face in mortification. "Come on, Mrs. Everhart," Damien murmured against her temple. "Let’s not waste any more time." Her heart pounded as he led her toward the exit, his touch firm, claiming. But just as they passed one of the side tables, Damien paused. "Hold on," he said. A small white envelope sat alone on the linen. No name. No markings. He picked it up, brow furrowed slightly. "No name," he said again, mostly to himself. Then, with a shrug, he slid it into his pocket. "We’ll check it later." He smiled at Naomi again and laced his fingers through hers. She was too lost in him to think twice. If only he hadn’t picked it up. If only they had left it behind. Because the real honeymoon? Was about to end before it even began.