Married To The Masked Billionaire

003

ALIVIA’S POV.

It had been five years since I left Los Angeles.

Five years since my world burned in the fire of betrayal, grief, and scandal. Since I signed away everything I had built with Daniel—my late husband—to a mistress he had always loved, Eliena. Since I was claimed by his masked half-brother, Kinnaird Monroe, under the ancient custom of levirate marriage, like a pawn passed in grief’s shadow.

But I wasn’t that pawn anymore.

In my penthouse office of my Manhattan-based luxury brand, my heels clicked against marble floors as I walked past assistants with clipboards and stylists carrying swatches.

I was the founder and CEO of Alivyn, a high-end ethical fashion line that had shaken the industry within three years of launch. Vogue called me “the phoenix of fashion, Alivia Monroe.” Forbes named me one of the top under-35 entrepreneurs in luxury innovation.

Power looked good on me. A shame Daniel wasn’t here to see me flourish after stepping out from his shadow. Perhaps it was a good thing—his death. I no longer tasted the bitter flavor of resentment on my tongue whenever I recalled Daniel was six feet under.

I stepped into my office as Kayla shut the door behind me. Kayla wasn’t just an assistant, she was a friend. I wasn’t the best at management but Kayla did things in an organized manner, she’d call me out subtly if she saw anything wrong. I found comfort in her presence and power in her resilience.

“That’s your final meeting for the day,” Kayla said behind me as I settled down into my swivel chair as something caught my attention on my desk.

It sat quietly on my desk—cream with gold foil trim. Discreet. Elegant. Dangerous. An invite.

“You are cordially invited to the union of two souls…” It read. “Courtesy: The Monroes.”

Kinnaird’s call interrupted and I informed him about the wedding invitation I got.

“I’m here drowning in papers,” he said lackadaisically.

Hearing his voice brought me a different kind of peace I couldn’t explain.

“Kayla can go with you,” he added. “Or Baron, I doubt he’s busy now that I’m away from Manhattan. You can take him.”

“No, no. I’ll go alone,” I protested. I didn’t like that I was going back to L. A. without him and I could only trust Kayla to oversee Alivyn’s affair.

“That wasn’t a suggestion sweetheart,” Kinniard retorted with a chuckle and hung up to get busy again. That, or to instruct Baron to report to my house instantly.

I caught Kayla wiggling her eyebrows at me—a thing she did when she caught me daydreaming about Kinniard.

My levirate husband. The man who offered me protection when my world crumbled, and who, without promise or pressure, became my unexpected refuge. Our marriage hadn’t been conventional. It was contractual, necessary, a power move to shield me from further disgrace. At least, that’s what I told myself. What I refused to acknowledge was how deeply Kinnaird had dug into my life. And into my heart—whether I’d permitted it or not.

“What kind of a wedding invitation bears no name of the couple getting married?” Kayla asked, concern evident in her crisp tone. “Are you going?” She asked, clutching a folder of press clippings.

I didn’t look up to meet Kayla’s gaze. I just tilted the invitation toward the light as I took another glance at the invitation. It had no name but it was clear the Monroes were the ones hosting it. Whatever this invitation was, it’s clearly more. A challenge. Or a trigger.

“I think I have to.”

**************

The Monroes Estate hadn’t changed. Towering glass, imported trees—an empire of control nestled into the Hollywood hills.

But I had changed.

I braced myself for what’s to come as Baron stepped down to get the door for me. I stepped from the car elegantly, my floor-length velvet gown hugging every curve with unapologetic elegance. Camera flashes bounced off me as whispers raced through the crowd.

“That’s her. The widow.”

“No, the wife.”

“Wait, wasn’t she gone?”

I moved past them without flinching, a slight smirk dancing on my lips as I basked in their confusion.

Inside, crystal chandeliers hung like galaxies. Waitstaff shuffled in and out of a corner with flutes of champagne, and the air held nothing but power and wealth built upon unspoken truths.

“Mrs. Monroe,” a voice drawled behind me.

I turned. Dane stood there, sharp in his midnight blue suit.

Dane was my colleague from university whom I had to cut ties with, courtesy of Daniel whom—in his words, never liked him around me.

“It’s just Alivia now,” I replied, my lips curving slightly northward.

Dane’s jaw tightened. “You look…” he hesitated. “Successful.”

“Disappointed?” I asked.

“Never.” His voice dipped. “I always knew what you were capable of.”

A smile spread across his face as he mouthed a ‘see you around’ and left with a flute in his hand.

I walked away equally only to hear a sharp voice call my name from behind. I thought no one would spare my attendance the slightest bit of notice but I thought wrong.

“Alivia Monroe.” I turned to see Monica standing in front of me. My mother-in-law.

My heart sank as I recalled all the memories of her etched in my mind replay themselves in my head.

I couldn’t afford to break, I just couldn’t. I became better—stronger. Smarter. Tougher. I couldn’t lose to Monica’s pretty smile that masked nothing but the condescension she had for me.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she continued, her eyes sizing me up as she tried to hide her awe. Hatred glimmered in those brown eyes of hers but she hid it well with her sweet smile.

“I didn’t expect to be invited either.” I replied calmly, swirling the champagne in my cup. “But, I suppose old ties still count for something.” I added. Monica’s sweet smile was replied with pure hatred in her eyes as she fumed, even under layers of makeup.

Monica opened her mouth to respond, but the soft chime of a bell cut through the conversation. The music faded. Lights shifted. An announcer stepped onto the platform near the staircase.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he beamed, “please rise to welcome the groom.”

I sipped my drink, mildly disinterested.

Until I heard the name.

“Mr. Daniel Carter Monroe.”

The glass slipped from my hand and shattered against the marble floor.

The entire world narrowed.

The music turned into a hazy mess in my hear. The gasps blurred, fading away into a distant echo in my head. Time slowed into a suffocating crawl.

No.

It couldn’t be.

I stared up at the stairs as the crowd parted, revealing the man descending slowly, confidently. Alive.

Tall, composed, devastatingly familiar.

My husband.

My supposedly dead husband.

He looked older. Sharper. But it was undeniably him, and the fake beamish smile he had—it was undeniably him.

Daniel.

The man whose death certificate I signed. The man whose betrayal broke me.

Alive.

And walking into a wedding. As the groom.