EX-HUSBAND'S BOSS FOR VALENTINE

HOT STRANGER

MELANIA:

A boisterous laughter ripples across the room, and Brady tosses the paper away.

“Your plan all along has been to rip me off my money?” he questions, stepping close. “I know this is all just a misunderstanding, and I want you to go back to your room and meditate about it!” He grits his teeth, and I take a step back.

“I do not need your money, Brady. Put in your signature so that I can untie myself from you,” I say, and he scoffs.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Melania. How will you survive without me? I provide everything for you, down to your underwear,” he says, and a smile forms on my lips.

“Why do you care so much about that? You want to frolic around with women, so do that and leave me alone,” I say, then turn to leave. But he grabs my hand roughly, pulling me towards the table.

There, he grabs a cheque and writes an amount of money on it. Then he rips it from the bundle and hands it to me.

“Your foolishness is not appalling, but you are still my wife, and I cannot let you suffer. So here is $10,000. When you’re done being stupid, you can come back to me—but don’t be too long,” he says, putting the cheque in my hand.

I grab it from him, glance at the meager sum, laugh a bit, then hold it up with both hands before tearing it in the middle.

“Why do you care so much about her?” Portia asks, and Brady shoots her an angry look.

“If she wants to leave, then let her leave. She—”

“Shut up!” Brady scolds, and I smile at Portia, who swallows hard.

“You are being silly, Melania, and I swear if you walk out of that door, there’ll be no coming back. You’ll rot on the streets, and I won’t care.”

“My pleasure,” I say to him, turning around to leave. Then I glance back. “Enjoy him,” I say to Portia as I walk out of the room to the front door, slamming it shut.

As soon as I’m in the corridor, all the emotions I’ve been holding in spill out. My heart breaks more, and tears crawl down my face. I reach for my handbag, take out my sunglasses, and put them over my eyes, heading out of the hotel. I do not want people to see me crying or recognize me as the face of shame.

**

Shortly, I arrive at the airport and make my way to the desk to get a ticket.

“One ticket to New York, please,” I say to the lady behind the counter, who looks up at me with her brows wrinkled. She types into her computer while I reach into my bag, take out my card, and hand it to her.

She grabs the card, swipes it, and looks up at me with furrowed brows.

“Your card declined, ma’am,” she says, and I look at her with my mouth open, taking the card back and realizing I have the wrong one.

This is the card I’ve been using to fool Brady, and it’s practically empty. I left my actual card in New York at his house.

“s**t!” I curse, pulling out my phone to call my sister.

I’m about to click the call button as I search up her name when the lady behind the counter starts to yell.

“Ma’am, leave, please, if you cannot afford the tickets!” I look up at her, and she gives me a venomous stare. “I do not have the time to entertain people like you. If you do not have the money, then get out of the way!”

I open my mouth to speak when I hear a familiar voice.

“That is no way to speak to a customer!” the person yells, and I turn around to see the man who almost hit me yesterday.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the woman bows humbly.

The day is bright, so I can see his face clearly, and he is gorgeous. f**k! How did I get to ride with him in silence?

“When a customer has a problem, you solve it and not yell at them!” he continues, taking out his anger on the lady, who keeps apologizing before he turns to me. “I’m sorry for what happened,” he says, and I flash him a smile.

“Thank you,” I reply.

“How much is the ticket?” he quizzes the woman, and my eyes widen. “In fact, forget about it. Here,” he pulls out a card, handing it to her. “Two first-class tickets.”

My jaw is practically on the floor at this moment, and a thousand thoughts run through my mind. What if he knows I’m a Chestwick and is trying to use me? I shrug it off, then take off my glasses.

“What are you doing?” I ask, and he turns to face me, his eyes widening.

“You.”

My heart skips a beat when he says this. It could be “you” from last night on the front cover, being humiliated.

“You must have seen the videos,” I say, and he glares at me with a brow raised. “Or not.”

“I do not look at tabloids. They are always looking to bring people down. My assistant looks at them for me, and as long as I am not on it, I do not bother. So whatever it is, trust me, I didn’t see it,” he says. “But I recognize you from last night. The pretty lady I almost knocked over. I still apologize.”

He is so gentle, and it makes me question why I am stuck up on a lowlife like Brady.

“Here are your tickets, sir,” the lady says, handing them to him. Then he hands one to me.

“Let this be my last gesture of apology,” he says, and I flash him a warm smile, muttering a thank you. My body feels weird, and I try to shove away whatever it thinks of this man.

**

Shortly, the flight takes off, and I am sitting beside the gorgeous black-haired, honey-brown-eyed man. We sit in silence for a few minutes, and as soon as the plane levels out, he turns to me.

“The name is Royal,” he says, and I flash him a smile.

“Melania,” I reply.

“So, tell me, why is a gorgeous woman like you in distress on Valentine’s?” he asks, and I glare at him. Now that he’s mentioned it, I can’t help but think of the fact that today is Valentine’s. How would I remember while I just walked out of the devil’s tongue?

“Long story,” I say, and he looks at his watch.

“We have forty-five minutes until we might never meet again, so I’m all ears.” When he says this, I give off a sigh, and once I open my mouth, it doesn’t close. I blab about Brady and Portia, trying to keep their names discreet.

“… it’s Valentine’s, and I’m heading for divorce. It’s overwhelming.” After about ten minutes, I’m done, and I look up to see him in shock.

“I traumatized you, didn’t I? And you probably do not want me to sit next to you,” I grab a bottle of water, gulping it, and he chuckles.

“Not at all,” he says. “Your husband sounds like an asshole, and…” his phone rings mid-sentence, and he pulls it from the compartment in front, looking at it. “I’ve got to take this call,” he says.

He picks up the phone, bringing it to his ear. I can hear a lady screaming.