The Billionaire’s Fake Wife

CHAPTER 4

Later that afternoon, Elena pushed open the imposing front doors of the Hale villa, the steady click of her heels echoing across the expansive marble foyer. The residence, once bustling with activity, felt unusually quiet, its silence almost unsettling.

Hearing her arrival, Linda, the longtime housekeeper, emerged from the corridor. She quickly wiped her hands against her neatly pressed apron before offering Elena a respectful smile, though there was an unmistakable trace of unease in her expression.

“Welcome home, Madam.”

She stepped forward, intending to take Elena’s coat.

“Mr. Marcus left early this morning with Young Master Liam and Miss Sophie. They drove out of town to visit a newly opened aquarium exhibition. Young Master Liam was apparently very excited after hearing about one of the featured attractions, and Miss Sophie had already promised to take him there. Since the drive is rather long, Mr. Marcus decided to accompany them. They mentioned they probably won’t be returning for another few days.”

For the briefest moment, Elena simply stood there.

Then the corners of her lips lifted into the faintest smile.

A smile entirely devoid of warmth.

Of course.

Without saying another word, she reached into her handbag, retrieved her phone, and unlocked the screen.

Several missed calls from Marcus appeared immediately.

Beneath them sat a single unread message.

Marcus:

Liam wouldn’t stop talking about the new aquarium exhibition in Atlanta after Sophie told him about it. She’d already promised to take him, and since it’s such a long drive, I figured I’d come along too. Don’t worry about us. We’ll probably be back in a couple of days.

A “family day trip.” Complete with a thoughtful note left on the kitchen island—something cutesy about making memories. Technically, they were the perfect little unit: husband, son, and the woman who had quietly taken her place. It should have stung. Instead, a quiet sense of relief settled over her. This made everything easier.

She summoned two of the household staff with a calm nod. “Pack my essential belongings—clothes, documents, the black leather suitcase in the master closet. Discreetly. I’ll be leaving shortly.”

One of the younger maids hesitated, eyes widening as she watched Elena gather passports and important papers from the study drawer. “Madam… are you going on a trip as well?”

Elena didn’t look up. “Yes. And there’s no need to mention this to my husband. He’s been quite… occupied lately. I wouldn’t want to distract him.”

The maid nodded quickly, sensing the finality in her tone. Busy indeed. Busy playing house with another woman while his wife quietly dismantled the illusion.

The following morning, pale sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse.

Elena sat alone at the breakfast counter with a cup of green tea when her phone lit up.

Marcus.

She answered after the second ring.

“Elena?” His voice came through accompanied by the hum of traffic. “Did you see my message yesterday?”

“I did.”

She stirred her tea absentmindedly.

The spoon tapped softly against the ceramic cup.

A brief silence followed.

“Sorry I didn’t discuss it with you beforehand,” Marcus said. “Everything happened quickly. Liam was excited, Sophia had already made plans with him, and I couldn’t exactly let her drive out there alone.”

“No explanation needed.”

Elena’s gaze drifted toward the skyline beyond the glass.

“It makes sense that you’d go with them.”

Marcus seemed momentarily thrown by her response.

“You’re not upset?”

“Should I be?”

“No, I just…” He paused. “I thought you might be.”

“I was busy yesterday. Barely had a moment to check my phone.” The lie slipped out effortlessly.

“I knew it—you work too hard,” he said, warmth creeping into his voice. “Don’t push yourself, okay? I worry about you.”

Elena’s stomach twisted with disgust. The words felt like cheap perfume—cloying and false. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

“I have to go. I’m driving,” Marcus added quickly.

“Of course. Safe travels.”

She ended the call without waiting for a reply. There were more important things now.

Ashford had confirmed it earlier: dinner with Damien Caldwell tonight. Her first meeting with the man who could become her shield. She intended to walk in looking like someone who belonged at his side—not the discarded wife she’d been pretending to be.

That afternoon, she stepped into one of the city’s most exclusive boutiques.

After trying several options, she chose a silky, elegant red lace gown that clung to her figure like liquid fire. The intricate lace overlay traced delicate patterns across the bodice and sleeves, sheer enough to hint at skin without revealing too much, while the smooth satin lining beneath skimmed her curves down to a graceful, floor-length hem with a subtle slit that revealed a flash of leg when she moved. It was bold, sophisticated, and unapologetically feminine.

In the mirror, Elena barely recognized herself. For the first time in years, she remembered the breathtaking woman she had once been—before Marcus, before the lies, before she had dimmed herself to survive.

“Oh my God, madam,” the sales associate gushed, clasping her hands together. “You rock that dress. You should be on a runway. It’s like it was made specifically for you.”

Elena allowed a small, satisfied smile. “I’ll take it.”

At the counter, she reached for her card, but the associate shook her head with a knowing smile. ““There’s no need, Ms. Elena,” she said. “The gown has already been paid for. The shoes, evening bag, and matching jewelry were included as well. Everything was charged to the Caldwell account.”

Elena’s heart gave a single, heavy thud. She stood there for a moment, fingers still hovering near her wallet. Only hours earlier, Reginald had described Damien Caldwell as distant, demanding, and notoriously difficult—a man who kept people at arm’s length and rarely considered anyone’s feelings.

Yet before they had even been introduced, he had quietly arranged for every detail to be taken care of.

No discussion.

No expectations.

No opportunity for her to refuse.

Elena glanced down at the carefully wrapped purchases.

The gesture was undeniably considerate.

Which made it all the more unsettling.

Why would a man she had never met go to such lengths?

Was it simply another form of control, executed with perfect sophistication?

Elena returned to the penthouse. Touching up her makeup and slipping into the lace gown. She paired it with heels and understated gold jewelry.

At precisely 7:00 PM, she stepped out of the penthouse. The same matte black Tesla from earlier waited at the curb. Her personal driver from earlier —held the door open. Elena slid inside, clutching the black card like a talisman, and gave him the address Ashford had texted her.

The drive wound through the city’s glittering skyline before climbing toward one of Silverton’s most exclusive districts. The restaurant, Elysium, occupied the entire top floor of a sleek glass-and-steel tower.

Its rooftop terrace was legendary among the elite—a members-only sanctuary suspended above the city. Reservations here were nearly impossible; entire evenings were rumored to cost more than most people earned in a year.

The car stopped at the private elevator entrance. As Elena stepped out, the cool evening breeze tugged gently at the hem of her gown. A tall, sharply dressed man in his early thirties approached, flanked by two discreet security personnel.

“Miss Langford.”

The man inclined his head respectfully.

“My name is Kade. I serve as Mr. Caldwell’s executive assistant. He’s been informed of your arrival.”

Elena offered a measured smile, her pulse quickening despite her composure. As they walked toward the entrance, she decided to ask the question that had been lingering in her mind. “Kade,” she said, “why would Mr. Caldwell agree to a marriage arrangement with someone he’s never met?”

Kade’s lips curved into a slight smile. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”

He pressed the elevator button.

“Mr. Caldwell doesn’t typically discuss the reasoning behind his personal decisions. In fact, he rarely explains his decisions to anyone at all.”

She nodded, unsurprised but still unsettled by the answer. It fit the profile Reginald had painted.

“This is a members-only club,” Kade added as they reached the entrance. “Mr. Caldwell reserved the entire venue for tonight.”

“The entire rooftop?”

Kade simply nodded, as though such arrangements were perfectly ordinary.

A few moments later, he led her through an elegant dining space where the usual sounds of conversation were conspicuously absent.

The rooftop section had been transformed into an intimate private venue.

Floor-to-ceiling glass panels surrounded the space, offering an uninterrupted view of the glittering city below. Thousands of lights stretched across the skyline like a field of stars. Soft ambient lighting cast a warm glow over crisp white table linens, polished crystal, and fresh floral arrangements.

At the center of it all stood a single table.

Set for two.

Elena slowed her steps.

As they entered, a man standing near the railing turned slowly. Elena froze for a heartbeat longer than politeness allowed.

The man seated across from her bore little resemblance to the picture Elena had constructed from other people’s descriptions.

He was tall—easily over six feet—with the kind of commanding presence that drew attention without effort. His dark suit fit impeccably, emphasizing broad shoulders and a lean, powerful build. Sharp features gave his face a striking quality: a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a hint of stubble that softened what might otherwise have been an intimidating appearance. But it was his eyes that held her attention—cool gray, steady, and unnervingly perceptive.

He looked less like a businessman and more like a man accustomed to being obeyed.

“Have a seat,” he said.

His tone was calm and controlled, neither warm nor cold.

Elena realized she had been staring.

Recovering quickly, she offered a polite nod.

“Thank you.”

She crossed the private dining area and settled into the chair opposite him, carefully arranging the crimson fabric of her dress.

She made her way to the table and settled gracefully into the chair opposite him, smoothing the scarlet lace of her dress over her knees. Damien lingered on his feet for a moment, his gaze fixed on her with disconcerting intensity. At last, he took his seat and casually loosened his suit jacket.

One dark eyebrow lifted.

“Is there a problem?” he asked evenly. “Or perhaps, have I failed to live up to whatever expectations you had?”