My Broke Husband Is A Hidden Tycoon

Evelyn stood by the roadside, the city's hum echoing low in the sudden silence of her life. She pulled out her phone, her fingers fumbling awkwardly in the cold. As she scrolled through her contacts, a chilling, sharp panic washed over her.

She has no address. She doesn't have Aiden Downs' phone number.

Her only number was Margaret's. Was she supposed to call her new husband's grandmother to ask where she should live? It was all so absurd, it felt like she'd been punched in the stomach.

Just as she stood there in the cold wind, feeling lost and helpless, her phone lit up—a text message from an unknown number.

"Evelyn, Mr. Downs asked me to tell you that you will be staying at a residence in Brooklyn tonight. The address is below. A car will arrive at your location in twenty minutes. Please be prepared. —Margaret"

Evelyn stared at the screen, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside her. At least she wouldn't have to spend the night on the streets. She pulled up the handle of her suitcase and waited for the unknown car.

Miles away, in a penthouse apartment seemingly floating amidst the starlight of the Manhattan skyline, Aiden Downs gazed at the city below. The view before him was a tapestry woven from shimmering lights, a kingdom he had built himself. He swirled the amber liquid in his crystal glass, the ice cubes clinking softly.

His phone vibrated on the marble countertop. He glanced at the screen: Margaret.

He answered the phone, his voice brief and curt. "She's gone?"

"Yes, darling," Margaret's voice held a hint of triumphant excitement. "She just left Kowalski's house. Everything's settled."

Aiden took a slow sip of his Scotch whisky. "She's quick," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Eden, please. Don't be so prejudiced. Mr. Petrov's interpretation is perfectly clear."

A cold smile crept across his lips. "You mean that charlatan who uses crystal balls to swindle people? I can't believe you'd base your family decisions on the nonsense of someone who talks to ghosts."

He made his position crystal clear. "I agreed to this marriage for only one reason: to stop you and the board from bothering me. Your endless socialite parades are tiresome, and the old men on the board seem to think a 'stable stay-at-home dad' is better for the stock price."

Margaret sighed, her voice filled with weary frustration. "Even so, the girl needs a place to stay. You'll need to arrange that."

"It's all arranged," Aiden said smoothly.

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the car lights flowing like a river across the bridge towards Brooklyn. "I've prepared a little surprise for my bride."

"A surprise?" Margaret's tone immediately turned suspicious. "What do you mean?"

Aiden's voice hardened, the warmth of the Scotch whisky doing nothing to melt the coldness within him. "I mean, I'm not a fool, Grandmother. A woman who agrees to marry a stranger for a check is a gold digger. It's the simplest equation in the world."

He outlined his plan, his words precise and ruthless. "I'm going to test her. I've arranged a tiny two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. By our standards, it's a run-down place. One bedroom is locked and used as a storage room; there's only a bed available. I'll tell her I'm a struggling freelancer. We'll see how long she can hold out after she runs out of money."

"Aiden, that's vicious!" Margaret gasped. "You can't do this! It's deception and an insult!"

"You want me to find a genuine marriage," he retorted, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm just testing that genuineness. In my own way."

Margaret protested, insisting that Evelyn wasn't that kind of person and that she was kind-hearted. He didn't listen.

He played his last card, a threat he knew she couldn't ignore. "If you interfere, if you utter a single word to her, I'm filing for divorce tomorrow. We can have a serious talk with the board about how a two-day marriage will affect the company's reputation. We can also reassess the terms of your trust fund. Understand?"

The threat of divorce and the public scandal were Margaret's kryptonite. She fell silent.

He won. His tone softened slightly. "This was a two-year experiment. The prenuptial agreement had an exit clause. If she passed, she would have everything. If she failed, she was out."

Margaret reluctantly agreed to his terms, her voice weakened with dissatisfaction.

After hanging up the phone, Aiden sent a text message summoning his administrative assistant, Liam Hayes. When Liam arrived, impeccably dressed even at such a late hour, Aiden gave him his orders.

"That safe house in Brooklyn. I need it ready tonight. Liam, the spares for the apartment are always stored there, to make sure it looks like someone's lived there. Poverty."

Liam remained professional, simply nodding without a trace of confusion on his face. "Of course, Mr. Downs. That apartment has been 'occupied' for a long time and doesn't require any extra furnishing. I just need to confirm that the water and electricity are working. And—you're moving in yourself?"

"Yes," Aiden said briefly. "I'll arrive before midnight."

After Liam left, Aiden turned back to the window. His reflection looked back at him, a man who had everything yet trusted no one. He had seen too much greed in people's eyes, to the point that he no longer believed in fairy tales. Evelyn Kerr would be no exception.

Across the river, Evelyn's phone lit up with a text message. It was from an unfamiliar number—Liam Hayes.

The text message contained a Brooklyn address and a brief instruction: a black sedan would arrive in six minutes. License plate number NYC-7742.

She looked up at the street. A black sedan was silently gliding to the side of the road.

She took a deep breath, opened the car door, and got in.