SECRETS OF A BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND

The news of Reagan Royce's return had ignited the city like wildfire. But what fascinated the public even more than his return was his marriage. A wife no one knew about. She had become a subject of interest in the entire country's media. 'A mystery bride.' 'The woman who stole the most unattainable bachelor in the country.' 'Who is she?' Rivera sat in the breakfast nook, a cup of coffee cooling between her hands, while the television on the wall dissected her life. The anchor's voice buzzed with forced excitement. "Sources say Mrs. Royce arrived just yesterday. Insiders claim she is young, stunning, and completely unknown to the social elite circle. Everyone is eager to finally meet the woman who finally took the world's most unattainable bachelor off the market. And find out why she has been kept in the shadows for two years?" Rivera muted the screen. Her stomach churned anxiously. She hadn't asked for this attention. She hadn't even wanted the marriage. Yet somehow, overnight, she had become an object of curiosity, envy, and speculation. But while the world was looking at her, she was looking for someone else: her father. Her father, Robert Banks, had been missing. She hadn't seen or heard from him since her marriage. When she was in Italy, her intel told her that he hadn't been at their home either. She had searched for him for two years with no success. Robert had always been fragile, always in need of care. After his business collapsed, he turned to drinking and gambling. Rivera had been responsible for his care. Now that she was back in the States, she realized Reagan was her only real chance. He had the resources and the power. And, as his wife, she felt she had the right to ask. She found him in his study, buried deep in work. When she walked in, he barely noticed her presence, or so she thought. "I'm afraid you'll stare a hole in my head if you keep that up," he spoke without looking up. She blushed in embarrassment. "And it would appear you have another pair of eyes on your forehead," she retorted, crossing her arms. He finally looked up, leaning back on his leather chair. "Feisty, huh? Has anyone told you, you have a way of amusing people?" Rivera wasn't sure if that was a compliment or sarcasm, since he didn't look amused, he looked tired. "I need to ask you for something," she said. "Yes? What is it?" "I want permission and a little support to find my father. He's gone completely off the grid." The effect was immediate. Reagan's expression changed so fast it startled her. The calm vanished, replaced by something dark and violent. "What did you just say?" His voice felt like a warning. "My father," Rivera repeated, confused by the sudden tension. "I haven't heard from him in years. He's not well and I need to find out where he is." "Stop. I don't want to hear his name again. Not in this house, not anywhere." "What? Why? He's my father. I'm only asking you to..." "You will not look for him," he cut in sharply. "You will not ask about him. You will not mention him. Did I make myself clear?" He slammed his fist on the table. The sound made her flinch. She stared at him, stunned. "Reagan, I don't understand. What is this about?" "You don't need to understand. You only need to obey." Her chest tightened in rage and regret. "This isn't about money or your precious reputation. This is my father we're talking about, not some beggar on the streets. I thought..." Her voice faltered. "I thought you wouldn't refuse something like this." "He is not your concern anymore." His voice was so emotionless that it enraged her more. "That doesn't make any sense. He's been missing since I married you. Do you know where he is?" "I said enough!" he roared, and Rivera stumbled back instinctively. "You will forget he exists. If you value your peace and your life, you will never bring him up again." "Why are you acting like this? What did he do to you? What are you so afraid of?" Reagan turned away abruptly, his fists clenched. "Leave." "Reagan please." "Get out!" he thundered. Rivera hesitated, then slowly stepped backward. This side of him terrified her. Just as she reached the door, she turned one last time. "You can't erase him from my life no matter how powerful you think you are." Reagan didn't respond. ___ Back in her room, Rivera lay on her bed thinking. None of this made sense. Why would the mention of her father enrage him like that? She wouldn't just sit around and do nothing. She would look for answers. That night, she waited until the estate had gone silent. Reagan was out, so the servers retired early. She slipped out of bed and made her way toward the study. When she reached the study door, she turned the handle. It opened. He didn't lock it. 'That was lucky,' she thought. She shut the door behind her and moved quickly. She checked the desk first, there was nothing but schedules and merger agreements. She moved to the drawers. They were filled with files, mostly financial. But in the very back of the bottom drawer, tucked inside a plain manila folder, she found a single, creased sheet of paper. It was a hand-drawn link chart. Names were connected by jagged lines and locations. At the top, written in thick, dark ink, was the name: ROBERT BANKS. Below her father's name, connected by a dotted line, was a name she didn't recognize: JORDAN. The line extended further down the page, ending at a single word written in red ink: PALERMO in Italy. Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone and took a photo of the chart. Italy again. None of this was a coincidence. Reagan's imprisonment, the two years she spent in Tuscany with Luke, and her father's disappearance. They were all connected to Italy and Jordan was the key to finding out why. She didn't know who Jordan was, but she knew who would. She needed to find Luke.