My Fake Bankrupt Husband Is A Tycoon

Two patrol cars screech to a halt outside the shattered storefront. Four officers, body cameras blinking red, pour out of the vehicles.

Lead Detective Gale Henderson draws his baton. "Philadelphia Police! Everyone freeze and put your hands where I can see them!"

The two Vaughan cousins drop the broken shelves and immediately drop to their knees, lacing their fingers behind their heads.

Doris lets go of my hair. Her face transforms instantly. She forces tears into her eyes and throws herself toward Gale.

"Officer! Thank god you're here!" Doris wails, grabbing Gale's uniform sleeve. "My daughter is out of control! She attacked me!"

Gale steps back, peeling her hands off his uniform with a look of utter disgust. His sharp eyes scan the devastation of the flower shop. He takes in the overturned tables, the crushed flowers, and the shattered glass.

Then, his eyes land on me.

I am huddled in the corner, clutching the succulents. Blood is streaming down the back of my hand, soaking into the sleeve of my cheap sweater.

Gale's expression softens. He gestures for his officers to secure Doris and the men. He walks over to me, crouching down to my level.

"Ma'am, do you need an ambulance?" Gale asks gently.

I shake my head. I grab a wad of paper towels from the counter and press it hard against my bleeding hand. The sting makes me wince.

"No," I say, my voice surprisingly steady. "I want to press charges. Destruction of property, trespassing, and assault."

Doris screams from across the room. "It's a family dispute! I'm her mother! I can do whatever I want to her property!"

"It's my property," I say coldly. "And she is not my family anymore. I am married."

My good hand reaches into my bag. I pull out the crumpled marriage license and hand it to the detective.

Gale takes the paper. He scans it, a routine procedure. His eyes drift to the 'Husband' section.

Gale stops breathing.

His pupils dilate. He stares at the name. Ethan Patterson. He stares at the signature. The aggressive, sharp strokes of the pen.

Gale's brain short-circuits. He knows that signature. He lived in the same dorm room as that signature for four years at Columbia University. That is the signature of the most ruthless billionaire in New York.

Gale slowly raises his head. He looks at me. He takes in my bloodstained sweater, my pale face, and the cheap plastic ring on my finger.

The richest man in America married this girl? Today?

Gale clears his throat, fighting to keep his face neutral. He hands the paper back to me with a newfound, profound respect. "Understood, Mrs. Patterson."

Gale turns on his heel. He walks out of the shop, stepping behind the patrol car, completely out of my line of sight.

He pulls out his personal cell phone and dials a number that only five people in the world have.

Ethan picks up on the second ring. "What."

"Are you out of your mind?" Gale hisses, keeping his voice low.

In the back of the Maybach, Ethan frowns. "What are you talking about, Henderson?"

Gale lets out a breathless laugh. "I'm standing in a destroyed flower shop in Old City. Your new little wife is bleeding from the hand, and her mother just tried to extort her. Did you really get married?"

Silence. Dead, heavy silence on the other end of the line.

Then, the sound of a leather portfolio being slammed shut.

"Address," Ethan says. His voice is a weapon.

Gale gives him the address and hangs up. He walks back into the shop. "Cuff the mother," he orders his officers.

Doris realizes he is serious. She throws herself onto the floor, kicking and screaming like a toddler. "You can't arrest me! I know my rights!"

As the officers struggle to lift her, the sound of tires grinding against the curb echoes through the open door.

The sleek, black Maybach screeches to a halt.

The rear door flies open. Ethan steps out. The air around him seems to drop ten degrees. His face is a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.

I look up. When I see his tall, broad frame stride past the police tape, the wall I've built around my emotions cracks. My throat tightens.

Ethan ignores the police. He ignores Doris. He walks straight to me.

His dark eyes lock onto the blood soaking through the paper towels on my hand. The muscle in his jaw flexes so hard it looks like it might snap.