SECRETS OF A BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND

For seven hundred and thirty days, Rivera Royce lived in a sun-drenched villa in Tuscany with a man she believed was her husband. She knew his coffee order, black, two sugars. She knew the rhythm of his footsteps in the hallway. She knew the scent of his cologne, a mix of sandalwood and sea salt that clung to the sheets. But she didn't know his name. Her real husband, the real Reagan Royce was in prison. The handsome man she shared a home with was none other than Reagan's best friend, Luke Ivan. The Tuscan sun that morning when Luke told her the truth was a cruel witness to the shattering of Rivera's life. It was a Tuesday morning at the Villa d'Oro, the kind of morning that usually felt like a shimmering dream. The scent of blooming lemon trees wafted through the open windows, and the distant, sapphire shimmer of the Mediterranean promised a day of quiet luxury. She looked like a woman who had everything. In reality, she felt like a woman waiting for her life to finally begin. Behind her, the man she had called her husband for seven hundred and thirty days stood by the balcony. He was a statue of a man; beautiful, cold, and meticulously distant. "The two years are up," he repeated calmly, far too calmly. "The real Reagan Royce was released from prison three hours ago." The world didn't stop, but Rivera's heart seemed to. "What... what kind of joke is this?" she whispered, her laughter sounded like breaking glass. It was a laughter of disbelief. "You're Reagan. We've been married for two years. We moved here together after the wedding." "You exchanged vows over a phone line, Rivera. You signed a marriage certificate that he already signed, and the groom was absent at the ceremony. You're married indeed, but not to me." He stepped toward her, but he didn't reach out. "I am your husband's lawyer and his best friend." Rivera sank to the edge of the bed. Every memory of her "marriage" flashed before her eyes like a sickening montage. The way he always slept in the guest wing, claiming "late-night calls with the States." The way he never kissed her, only offering a respectful nod or a brief touch on the shoulder. She had spent two years blaming herself, thinking she wasn't sophisticated enough, pretty enough, desirable enough for him. She had been trying to win the heart of a man who had been pretending to be her husband. "Is it really all fake?" She looked up at him, her vision blurring with hot, stinging tears. "I've been living with my husband's best friend?" She repeated his words to affirm the reality of her situation. He nodded. "He was released today. He'll leave first. We'll return to New York tomorrow morning. He has instructed that I bring you to him. I have already bought the tickets. I'll pick you up at six." "I'm not going anywhere," she snapped, the shock finally giving way to a white-hot spark of rage. "I want a divorce. I want to see my father." A good amount of rage was directed at her father because he was the one who deceived her and gave her to complete strangers who had just played with her intelligence and emotions for two years. Rivera Royce was born Rivera Banks to Robert and Sue Banks, a once-wealthy family living in the hills of California. During her teenage years, her father's company collapsed. Bankruptcy followed, along with crushing debt. Creditors harassed them endlessly that they lived in constant fear for their lives. Eventually, they fled to the countryside in Arizona. Around the same time, her mother left and remarried. Years later, a perfect opportunity to pay off their debts came. An old powerful friend of her father, Stanton Royce promised to pay off their debts if Rivera married his son, Reagan Royce. It was a deal that sounded like a miracle. Rivera wasn't sure how this benefited the Royce family. She had heard rumors about Reagan. He's a powerful and popular billionaire, he is currently the most eligible bachelor in the world. Rivera was hesitant about marrying a man she had never met, but her father convinced her that it was the only way that they could survive. Stanton also promised to let her divorce him after two years if she wasn't happy. Everything felt strange to Rivera, but she was happy that she had at least saved her father. She joined her husband in Italy shortly after. It was part of the agreement. She would live with him there for two years before returning to the United States. Rivera never once suspected that the man she shared a home with was not her husband. She felt utterly ridiculed and devastated. "You'll go," Luke said. "If you want a divorce, you can tell him yourself." Then he turned to leave. Only then did Rivera realize something terrifying. She didn't even know his name. "Wait," she called to stop him in his tracks. "What's your name?" He stopped, turned and looked at her in surprise. "Luke," he simply said. Once the door closed behind him, Rivera curled up on the floor and cried until she was exhausted. She felt dirty, used, and utterly ridiculous. 'Two years of my life... was any of it real?' she wondered bitterly. ___ They flew on a Royce private jet. She wore her most beautiful dress and put on makeup, not because she was thrilled at this situation but because she didn't want to appear like an easy target. She didn't know what to expect, what kind of man Reagan was or what crime had sent him to prison. But she needed answers. Luke sat across from her, his eyes fixed on his laptop. He was no longer the "husband" who asked how her day was. She saw him now as nothing more than her husband's shadow. When they landed at JFK, a black SUV was already there to pick them up. As it sped through the canyons of Manhattan, she saw him. Reagan Royce was everywhere. His face was plastered on giant digital billboards in Times Square. The headlines were deafening: 'THE KING RETURNS.' 'ROYCE EMPIRE STABILIZES AS REAGAN TAKES THE HELM.' The man in the photos was devastatingly handsome, sharper, darker, and infinitely more intimidating than Luke. He looked like a man who could crush an empire with a single word. "He must be incredibly wealthy," she murmured. She knew that the whole city couldn't be obsessed with this man solely for his good looks. "Wealth is the least of it. In this city, he's the law." Rivera glanced at Luke. Despite the lies, she felt a pang of abandonment. The anger was still there, but he was the only familiar thing she had in this terrifying new reality. However, right now, she was more curious about her husband. "What is he like?" she asked Luke. "I mean what kind of person is he?" "That is for you to decide after you meet him." "What was he in prison for?" "I cannot tell you that. You can ask him yourself and see if he tells you." "You cannot tell me or will you not tell me?" she continued to press him, but he simply didn't budge. "Fine then, at least tell me about yourself." The car turned into a secluded, high-walled estate in a quiet, wealthy corner of the city. The gates were massive wrought iron, embossed with the Royce crest. "We're here," he told her. He finally looked at her. "Listen carefully. You'll meet the real Reagan Royce in less than an hour. You must be courteous around him. He has a temper. Don't ask any questions yet. Settle in, I'll come see you tomorrow." Rivera simply nodded to hide the rebellion going on in her mind. She knew that she would do everything but what he had just told her. She was done taking orders from men. She had one plan: walk in, look the devil in the eye, and demand a divorce.