carrying the billionaire secrets

Chapter 4 - Mrs Winslow

Monday morning arrives gray and heavy. I pack two small bags with everything that still fits. Most of my clothes already feel tight around the middle. I leave the bakery keys with Mrs. Alvarez next door and tell her I will be back in a few weeks. She does not ask questions. I am grateful for that.

At exactly eight a black car pulls up in front of the shop. The driver opens the door without a word. I slide into the back seat and watch the familiar street disappear behind the tinted glass.

We drive for almost an hour. The city gives way to quieter roads lined with tall trees and high walls. Finally the car turns through a pair of iron gates and stops in front of a modern house that looks more like a glass fortress than a home.

Theo is waiting at the top of the steps. He wears a dark suit and no smile. His eyes move over me once, quick and assessing, then he turns and walks inside.

I follow.

The interior is all clean lines and cold surfaces. No photographs. No soft edges. A woman in a navy dress introduces herself as the housekeeper and shows me to a guest suite on the second floor. The room is larger than my entire apartment above the bakery. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out over a private garden.

“Mr. Winslow will expect you downstairs at eleven for the ceremony,” she says. Then she leaves.

I sit on the edge of the bed and press both hands to my stomach. The baby is still too small to feel, but I know it is there. Growing. Waiting.

At eleven I walk down the stairs in the same black dress I wore the night I met him. A lawyer and a justice of the peace stand in the living room. Theo waits near the windows, hands in his pockets.

The ceremony lasts seven minutes.

I say the words. He says the words. We sign the papers. The justice of the peace congratulates us in a flat voice and leaves with the lawyer.

Just like that, I am Mrs. Winslow.

Theo turns to me. “You have the rest of the day free. Dinner is at seven. Do not be late.”

He walks out of the room without another glance.

I stand alone in the silent house and listen to the sound of my own breathing. The wedding band on my finger feels heavier than it should. Cool metal. No warmth.

I climb the stairs back to the guest suite and close the door. My bags sit untouched on the floor. I unpack slowly, hanging dresses that no longer feel like mine.

When I finally look in the mirror, the woman staring back at me is married to a stranger who once made her come so hard she forgot her own name.

And he still has no idea.

Tonight we will sit across from each other at dinner. I will smile. I will answer his questions. I will keep the secret locked behind my teeth.

But the clock is already ticking.

Because secrets this big never stay quiet for long.