SECRETS OF A BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND

Reagan didn't come home that night. Rivera found out where he was the same way the rest of New York did: through the morning tabloids. THE BILLIONAIRE BAD BOY IS BACK, the headline screamed. The photo was grainy but unmistakable. Reagan, looking devastatingly handsome in a half-unbuttoned shirt, sat in the VIP booth of an exclusive club. He was holding a glass of amber liquid in one hand, while his other arm was draped carelessly over the back of a sofa, surrounded by a harem of hot, half-naked women. Rivera swiped the tablet screen off, tossing it onto the duvet. She felt a sting of humiliation, but beneath it, a sense of relief. If he was busy acting out the role of the playboy, he wasn't watching her. And she had work to do. She sent Luke an invitation to talk, and he honored it. When Luke arrived that afternoon, Reagan still hadn't returned. "How are you settling in?" he asked as they sat across from each other in the sunroom. "Is that what we're calling this now? Settling in?" "Did he hurt you?" Rivera hesitated. "Not physically." "He can be intense. Let me know if you need anything. Reagan asked me to move into one of the mansions. He and I will be working closely, so we'll be seeing each other more often." "Work?" He nodded. "I'll be around to make sure he doesn't cross any lines with you." Protect her from Reagan? That unsettled her more than it comforted her. "That's rich, Luke, considering you're the one who handed me over to him. You've never cared what happens to me. You won't take my calls, and now you're here, you still won't look at me. Yet you show up pretending to care?" "You shouldn't bring that up." "That's what you said in Italy too every time I ask you anything real. Two years, Luke. We lived together for two years. You can't pretend that place doesn't exist." "It doesn't matter anymore," he said and looked away. "It does to me. Because that's where everything went wrong." "I'm trying to keep you safe here." "By lying?" "Yes, because if you knew..." he stopped himself, realizing he'd said too much. "If I knew what?" But he said nothing. "It's Italy, isn't it? Whatever you're hiding, it started there." His silence confirmed it. "Was it about my father? Back then, every time I mention him, you go quiet." "Stop River," Luke's voice softened. He always called her River whenever he was trying to pacify her. "No, you don't get to tell me to stop anymore. Not after two years of silence." Luke finally met her eyes. "There are some tales that are better left untold." "Did something happen there?" "Yes," he admitted. "What?" "I can't tell you," Luke sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Why? Because of Reagan? He doesn't want me asking questions. He went mad when I mentioned my father." "He's trying to protect you." "From what?!" Rivera shouted, her frustration boiling over. "From the truth and from your father." Rivera blinked, stepping back as if slapped. "My father wouldn't hurt anyone. He's a victim. He lost everything," she said weakly. Luke looked at her with an expression that terrified her. It was pity. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "That silence? That's your answer, isn't it?" She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. "You said you came to check if I need anything. I do need something." He looked at her curiously. She unlocked the screen and shoved the phone toward him. It was a photo of the document she had found in Reagan's study. "I found that in his study. A chart, hand-drawn. My father's name was on it. And another name, Jordan. And look," she pointed to the jagged line drawn in ink. "It connects them both to Palermo." In a swift movement, Luke grabbed her wrist, pushing the phone down. "Delete that. Now." Rivera yanked her hand back. "No! My father is missing, yet you expect me to just sit here and play the trophy wife while he's out there." "You shouldn't be looking into this. It's not safe." "Safe?" she scoffed. "I'm locked in a mansion with a man who thinks he owns me, and you're telling me this is where the danger is?" Luke stood as well and stepped closer. "Rivera, listen to me. Some things are buried for a reason." "My father isn't a thing," she snapped. "He's a person. And he wouldn't just disappear." "You don't know him the way you think you do." Rivera stared at him. 'What do these strangers think they know about my father more than I who have lived with him all my life,' she wondered. "What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded. "He's not the man you remember. And if you keep digging, you'll wish you hadn't." "You're protecting Reagan, aren't you?" she accused. "I'm protecting you." "From my own father? That's insane." "You need to trust me. Stop asking about Jordan. Stop looking for your father. I'll find him for you and make sure he's fine." A knock sounded at the door. They both turned. Isabel came in. "Mr. Royce has returned. He's asking for his wife." Rivera nodded and she left. Luke came even closer to Rivera. "Promise me something River," he said quickly. "What?" "After I find Robert, you won't meet him. And if Reagan asks what you know about Jordan, tell him nothing." Before she could ask another question, the door opened again. This time, it was Reagan. He stood in the doorway. He was still wearing the clothes from the paparazzi photos, rumpled and smelling faintly of expensive scotch and smoke. He glared at them as he took in the scene. They were standing too close to each other and, strangely, that bothered him more than it should. Then his eyes dropped to Rivera's phone still in her hand. On the screen was the photo of the link chart. "Luke," he said calmly, far too calmly, "leave us." Rivera's heart beat so loudly that she feared they could hear it. Luke didn't move. "That wasn't a request," Reagan emphasized. Luke deliberately stepped even closer to Rivera. "You don't get to isolate her," Luke replied. "This doesn't concern you anymore," Reagan warned him. "It does if she's involved." Reagan exhaled slowly, the way a man does when he's choosing restraint. "Leave," he said again. "There's a thin line between protection and imprisonment. You don't own her just because you took the fall for her once. If you hurt her, I won't stay still." The silence that followed was deafening. Reagan's face was stone. Luke held his gaze for another second, long enough for the warning to land, then he walked out, closing the door softly behind him. Reagan didn't watch him go. His eyes were locked on Rivera. He walked toward her, until he was looming over her. His eyes dropped to her phone, then back to her face. "How long," he whispered, "have you been looking into things that will get you killed?" Rivera ignored the threat. Her mind was reeling from Luke's parting words. "What did Luke mean when he said you took the fall for me?"