Married to the Cold Billionaire

Chapter 6

Travis’s brow furrowed as he pulled his gaze away from his monitor. The intercom buzzed, cutting through the silence of his office. He let it ring for a beat before picking up.

"What?" he answered, his voice icy.

"Sir, my apologies," his secretary, Chris, said on the other end. "But Sir Adam is outside. He’s insisting on seeing you."

The frown deepened. What was Adam doing here? As far as Travis knew, Adam was supposed to be in the countryside, trying to win back the girlfriend who had walked out on him. They had been close since their days at a prestigious university and even as billionaires with competing schedules, they still managed to hang out.

"Fine. Let him in," Travis snapped, cutting the connection.

A moment later, the heavy door opened. Adam stepped in, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"What are you doing here?" Travis asked, not bothering with a greeting.

"Well, as your friend, I thought I should come by and congratulate you," Adam said, leaning against the door frame.

Travis remained stone-faced. "Congratulate me for what?"

"Your wedding. I heard you’re a married man now."

Travis’s jaw tightened. He clenched his fists, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Adam saw the reaction and his smirk widened.

"Oh, my bad, man. Maybe congratulations wasn't the right word. Maybe I should offer my condolences instead?" Adam chuckled.

Travis didn't respond. He stood and walked over to his private bar, pouring two glasses of expensive scotch. He handed one to Adam before leaning back against the wall.

"What happened, Travis? Why did you marry Lianne’s cousin?" Adam asked, his tone turning curious.

"I got Catherine pregnant," Travis replied through gritted teeth. "By mistake."

The memory of that night, the heat, the alcohol, the way he had devoured her, thinking she was Lianne, flashed through his mind. He had been her first, a fact that still sat heavy in his gut.

"So, you’re going to be a father?" Adam mused.

Travis offered no comment. Adam pivoted. "Where’s Lianne, anyway?"

"She vanished the moment I agreed to marry Catherine," Travis said flatly. "I can’t find her, and her friends aren't talking."

Travis was supposed to marry Lianne. She was his ideal girl. She’s beautiful, kind, and she knew exactly how to take care of him. She used to bring him Red Wine Braised Short Ribs, his absolute favorite. He had fallen for her the moment he tasted that rich Cabernet reduction. He believed the old saying that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. She’d always smile and say she cooked it with love.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock. Chris entered, holding a familiar paper bag. Travis’s eyes narrowed.

"Sir, you left your lunch at home," Chris said. "Ma’am Catherine dropped it off."

"Throw it away," Travis said coldly. He hadn't "forgotten" it. He knew Catherine had cooked it, and he refused to eat anything made by her. He wanted the meal Lianne used to make, not a "copy" made by the woman who trapped him.

"S-sir?"

"Throw it out. Don't make me repeat myself."

"Wait, Chris. Don't just toss it away," Adam interrupted. "I’m starving. I rushed over here and skipped breakfast. Give it here."

Adam sat on the sofa and pulled out the container. The moment he popped the lid, the office was flooded with the aroma of slow-simmered beef, thyme, and roasted root vegetables.

Travis’s heart skipped. The scent was a physical blow. It was the exact same rich, wine-heavy fragrance that used to fill his office whenever Lianne visited.

"God! This looks incredible," Adam noted, looking at the succulent ribs resting on a bed of creamy polenta. He took a bite, and his eyes lit up. "Travis, this is the best meal I’ve ever had. Are you sure you don’t want any? Your wife is a literal chef."

Travis looked at the dark, mahogany glaze of the sauce. It looked identical to the meals Lianne had claimed to cook for him. A cold shiver of doubt traveled down his spine. He mocked his friend to hide his confusion. "Lianne’s is still better," he muttered, but his mind was racing. He knew that specific, deep reduction anywhere. It was a signature he thought belonged to his fiancee, yet here it was, coming from the hands of his wife.