My Stranger Husband Is A Hidden Zillionaire

The elevator chimed. Julian led her down a quiet hallway and unlocked a door at the end. Brook stepped inside and stopped dead in her tracks. The apartment was immaculate. Hardwood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and minimalist grey furniture. It looked like a showroom. She looked down at her scuffed sneakers. She was terrified to take a step and ruin the pristine floors. Julian walked to a closet, pulled out a pair of brand-new, plush grey slippers, and dropped them at her feet. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, his tone flat. "Master bedroom is mine. The guest room down the hall is yours." Brook slipped off her shoes and pushed her feet into the slippers. They felt like warm clouds. Julian walked into the open-concept kitchen. He opened a drawer, pulled out a sleek but entirely standard navy-blue Visa card, and slid it across the marble island. "This is for household expenses," Julian said. "Groceries, clothes, whatever you need. Use it." Brook stared at the navy plastic. Her stomach twisted. Money always came with strings. Bobbi had taught her that lesson with bruises. "I don't want your money," Brook said. Her voice was quiet, but her chin tilted up defiantly. "I'll buy my own things. If I use your food, I'll keep a ledger and pay you back." Julian's hand paused on the marble. He looked at her, really looked at her. Her jaw was set. Her eyes were hard. He didn't argue. He turned to the stainless-steel fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and set it on the counter. "Suit yourself," he said. "There's food in the fridge." He walked into a room down the hall and shut the door with a soft click. Brook let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She pulled out her phone and immediately downloaded a budgeting app. Hours later, the apartment was pitch black. Brook tossed and turned in the guest bed. Her throat was parched. She threw off the covers. She was wearing an old, oversized t-shirt that barely covered the tops of her thighs. She tiptoed down the dark hallway into the kitchen. The only light came from the digital clock on the oven. She grabbed a glass and filled it from the fridge dispenser. Footsteps padded softly against the hardwood. Brook spun around. She slammed directly into a solid wall of hot, wet muscle. Her glass shattered on the floor. Julian had just stepped out of the shower. He was wearing nothing but a white towel slung low on his hips. Water dripped from his dark hair, trailing down the deep grooves of his chest and abs. Brook gasped, stumbling backward. Her bare heel slipped on a puddle of spilled water. She fell. Julian's hand shot out. His large, damp fingers clamped around her bare waist, jerking her forward to stop her fall. Brook crashed against his bare chest. The heat radiating from his skin burned through the thin cotton of her t-shirt. Julian's breath hitched. The soft, warm curve of her waist under his palm sent a violent jolt of electricity straight to his groin. His jaw locked instantly. "Careful," Julian rasped. His voice was an octave lower than normal, rough and strained. Brook's face flooded with boiling heat. She shoved her hands against his chest, breaking the contact, and scrambled backward like a terrified animal. She didn't say a word. She just turned and bolted down the dark hallway, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard she thought it might crack them.