The Billionaires Secret Marriage

Chapter 2

Ashley

The visceral reaction I had toward that man—Henry—is absurd. It was like my whole body was on fire, every nerve ending buzzing with an intensity I can’t explain. My heartbeat spiked like a schoolgirl with a crush, which is ridiculous.

I’m not the kind of woman who blushes over a stranger. I’ve spent over five years raising two kids on my own, scraping by and doing everything I can to build a stable life for us. I’ve been too busy for daydreams or romantic notions. But something about him… even now, the memory of his voice sends a strange shiver through me.

It wasn’t just that he seemed familiar. It was the way his gaze lingered on me, like he was seeing a ghost. Or like he knew me in a way I couldn’t possibly understand.

I shake my head, trying to banish the thought as we near the taxi waiting for us.

"I'm so sorry I was late," I say to my kids, trying to keep my voice low as we settle into the backseat of the taxi and the driver starts the car. "It's okay maa," Ellie says, immediately nestling into my side and wrapping her arms around my waist as though to anchor me. Luke sits close to my left, quiet as always, his fingers absently tracing the seams of his pants.

My heart on the other hand is still racing from the moment I got Ellie’s call earlier from an unknown contact. I’d begged my immediate supervisor for permission to leave work and pleaded with the taxi driver who took me to the shop to wait for me, while I ran half a block to get to them.

"It's really really fine, Mom. We had so much fun today. Uncle Henry was good to us, and so were the triplets," Ellie says brightly again when she notices from my reaction that I'm not convinced, her voice a soothing contrast to my frazzled nerves.

"Yeah!" Luke chimes in, his voice is soft but enthusiastic. "They defended us from the bullies."

I turn sharply, the muscles in my neck protesting. "What bullies?"

Ellie hesitates, glancing at Luke, who looks down at his hands. My stomach clenches. They recount the story of what happened, and I can feel my anger rising with each word and controlling my words so they don't notice.

"I'm reporting what happened and those kids tomorrow when I drop you off at school," I say firmly. I can't believe they were bullied in a school that claims to be the best in the city. I guess elite children are a mess too. I don't know what I expected.

"It's fine," Luke says quietly, but I know my son well enough to see he’s just trying to avoid conflict.

Luke has always been my sensitive one, my boy who took longer to talk and prefers observing over speaking. He started speaking when he was four years old. He’s nothing like Ellie, who could chat with anyone and never hesitates to speak her mind. She started speaking earlier and loves to speak. Even now, she’s about to say something when I glance at her, and she clamps her mouth shut.

I glance out the window, letting the hum of the taxi soothe me, but my mind drifts to six years ago. Waking up in that hospital bed, groggy and disoriented, to find out I had no memory of who I was or how I got there.

The memory of lying in the hospital flashes through my mind—sterile white walls, endless tests, and doctors’ questions. The panic of not being able to answer is something I still find baffling. They told me I’d been in a car crash and was lucky to be alive. I woke up surrounded by machines and unfamiliar faces.

They also told me I was four and a half months pregnant and that the stress could have caused complications, even a miscarriage. But somehow, my babies survived. The news should have been a comfort, but I felt untethered, floating in a life that no longer felt like mine. I didn’t even know my own name or age until they found my ID card in my purse. Without it, I wouldn’t have had anything; no name, no history, no identity.

It’s a miracle, the doctor had said, his voice kind but clinical.

I didn’t feel miraculous. I felt empty.

Ashley.

That’s who I was supposed to be. It felt foreign at the time, like trying on clothes that didn’t quite fit.

The ring mark on my finger and the tattoo on my thigh were the only clues that tied me to something—or someone. I remember staring at the ring, wondering if I was married. Engaged. Or if I just liked wearing rings.

Even now, the question haunts me. Did I lose someone in that crash? Was someone looking for me while I struggled to piece my life back together?

"Maa, Do you know Uncle Henry?" Luke asks suddenly. His soft voice broke through my thoughts and I wouldn’t have heard him if he weren’t sitting so close. The question catches me off guard. I look at him, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"Why are you asking, honey?"

Luke hesitates, his little brow furrowing in thought. "He seemed to know you."

I’d felt like I knew him from somewhere too when I saw him. His piercing gray eyes were so familiar but that’s impossible. "I don’t think so, baby. Maybe I saw him in passing like he s." I say while shaking my head. Ellie perks up, always ready to break the stillness. "It's possible if you knew him before the accident," she says matter-of-factly, causing my chest to clench.

"eerm maybe... maybe not," I say, my tone light, but my thoughts are spinning. Luke shifts beside me, leaning his head on my arm.

"Maybe he’s our dad," he murmurs and I freeze, my heart skipping a beat.

"Luke!" Ellie snaps, glaring at him. "Don’t say stuff like that."

Before I can respond, the taxi pulls up in front of our apartment building. The kids scramble out as I pay the driver, their little

legs carrying them to the mat where the spare key is hidden.

"I’ll open it!" Ellie says, snatching the key from Luke. He pouts but doesn’t argue, his ever-easygoing nature showing once again. I smile despite myself, my heart warming at their antics. But as I follow them into the apartment, Luke’s quiet remark lingers in my mind.

Could he really be their father? I mean he’s not the only person with grey eyes and copper-brown hair in the world, right?

The thought feels absurd, but also... not. Something about Henry had unsettled me—his piercing gaze, the way he’d hesitated when I thanked him like he was holding something back.

Once inside, I hang up my coat and head to the kitchen, where Luke is rummaging through the fridge. I lean against the counter, watching him for a moment.

"What made you say that?" I ask casually. Luke glances up, blinking.

"Say what?"

"In the car. About Mr. Henry being your father."

He shrugs, his small shoulders barely moving. "I don’t know. He just... looked at you like he knew you. And..." He trails

off, glancing away.

"And what?"

"And he looked like me," Luke whispers, barely audible. I nod.

"Go on," I say when I realize he wants to go about his day. Luke is so orderly I bet you wouldn't find anything disorganized should he have his own room.

Ellie sprawls across the living room floor, exercise books open and pencils scratching against paper. She hums softly to herself as she works, her legs swinging in the air behind her. I sit nearby, helping her with music exercises while Luke sits across from the couch, a science textbook propped on his lap. He’s quiet, his brows furrowed in concentration, occasionally jotting down notes in his notebook.

Our home is small but functional, the kind of space you make works when it’s all you have. The faded blue walls are chipped in places. A worn-out brown couch sits against one wall, its cushions sagging slightly in the middle. The coffee table which also works as the center table is in the center of the room and wobbles if you lean on it too hard, but it holds Ellie’s books just fine for now.

The hall doubles as a dining area, with a small wooden table and three mismatched chairs crammed into one corner.

We live in a chamber and hall, as they call it—a single-bedroom apartment with one main living area. The kids share the bedroom, with me, `their small twin beds separated by a chest of drawers that barely fit.

When the homework is finally done, I tuck them into bed, their sleepy murmurs echoing in my mind.

Later that night, after the kids go to bed, I sit by the window, sipping tea and staring out at the glittering city. It feels strange being here in AccraVille.

Last Christmas, Ellie asked me what my biggest regret would be if I died. I laughed it off, telling her it would be the unpaid loans I’d leave behind. She thought I was joking. I wasn’t.

When she pressed for something more “realistic,” which was funny because loans are realistic—I told her I wanted to recover my memories. At the time, I thought it was just idle talk, the kind of thing you say to soothe an inquisitive child. But Ellie isn’t like most kids. She’s sharp, perceptive, always watching and asking questions I sometimes don’t know how to answer.

That’s how we ended up here, in AccraVille.

The doctors had told me that when I first woke up in the hospital, disoriented and clinging to life, I kept scribbling the name of this city on scraps of paper. Over and over, like a mantra: AccraVille.

I don’t remember writing it. I don’t remember anything from before the accident. But the thought of this place haunted me so much that, when Ellie and Luke suggested we move, I couldn’t argue.

Maybe they thought it would help me recover my memories. Maybe I did too.

A loud thump from the kids’ room breaks my train of thought. I set my cup down and tiptoe to their door, pushing it open just enough to peek inside.

Ellie is sprawled out across her bed, one arm hanging off the side. Luke is curled up under his blanket, clutching the stuffed bear he’s had since he was a baby.

I smile softly, relief washing over me. They’re my everything. My anchor in a world that feels uncertain at the best of times.

Still, Luke’s words from earlier linger in my mind.

"Maybe he’s our dad."

I press a hand to my chest, feeling the steady thrum of my heart. Henry couldn’t be their father. Could he?

It doesn’t make sense. He wore a tailored dress from head to toe and even went to the Duffie Charity gala.

But then again, nothing about my life has made sense since the accident.

I close the door quietly and return to my seat by the window. Outside, the city is alive with lights and movement, but in here, it’s just me and the swirling questions I’ve been trying to avoid for years.

Who am I?

What if Henry is connected to my past?

What if he’s the key to everything I’ve lost?

And what will it mean for me—and for my children—if I find out the truth of my past?

For the first time in a long while, I feel a flicker of hope and fear.

Tomorrow, I’ll start looking for answers.