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The Billionaire's Secret Paper Wife Novel Cover

The Billionaire's Secret Paper Wife

Chantal Lewis's family legacy was twenty-four hours away from a fifty-million-dollar foreclosure. Desperate to save her parents, she sold her soul, offering herself as a paper wife to Dell Valdez, a ruthless Wall Street billionaire needing a quick PR fix. But Dell didn't just buy her; he trapped her in a living nightmare. He forced her into a brutal three-year repayment plan she could never afford, treated her like a disposable prop, and deliberately leaked a scandalous paparazzi photo to destroy her hard-earned professional credibility. Worst of all, the first time his calloused hand touched hers, a violent, terrifying flashback assaulted her brain. The scorching heat of his palms and the distinct, dark scent of his cedarwood cologne perfectly matched the repressed memory of a pitch-black room where she was pinned to a mattress against her will. Chantal didn't understand why her cold-blooded fake husband felt exactly like the monster from her unspoken trauma. She understood even less why, after months of ignoring her, he was suddenly acting violently jealous and possessive when she merely smiled at another man! Why did his scent match her attacker, and what was he truly planning? Furious, she called him to threaten a divorce, only for his voice to drop into a lethal whisper. "Try it. See what happens." Before she could process his deadly threat, her office phone rang. "Ms. Lewis," her receptionist trembled. "Your brother is in the lobby. He owes money to some very bad people, and they are coming here right now."
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Chapter 8

The silence in the backseat of the Rolls-Royce is a living, breathing thing.

Chantal sits pressed against the car door, as far away from Dell as physically possible. She rubs her wrist where his grip had bruised her skin. She stares out the window, her chest heaving with unspent anger.

Dell sits in the opposite corner. His arms are crossed over his chest. His eyes are closed, but the rigid line of his jaw shows he is still furious.

The car pulls into the Upper East Side townhouse.

The second the tires stop moving, Chantal shoves the door open. She practically jumps out of the car.

She storms into the house, throws her heavy black coat at Reginald, and marches up the stairs.

Dell follows her, his heavy footsteps echoing on the marble floor. He watches her flee to her bedroom like he is a monster.

Chantal slams her bedroom door. She kicks off the painful heels. She unzips the suffocating red dress and lets it fall to the floor. She digs through her drawers and pulls out the ugliest, thickest flannel pajamas she owns.

She pulls them on. Her stomach lets out a loud, painful rumble.

She realizes she hasn't eaten a single thing since lunch. The stress of the night has hollowed her out.

She grabs her phone, opens a delivery app, and orders a massive portion of Pad Thai from a local place. She selects the highest spice level available.

Forty minutes later, the security buzzer rings.

Chantal creeps out of her room. The house is completely dark and silent.

She walks down the stairs, takes the greasy paper bag from the security guard at the front door, and heads into the massive, marble-covered kitchen.

She sets the plastic container on the kitchen island and pops the lid. The sharp, stinging smell of chili oil and garlic fills the air.

She turns around to open the refrigerator to grab a bottle of ice water.

Suddenly, the overhead kitchen lights snap on, blinding her.

Chantal gasps and spins around.

Dell is standing in the doorway. He is wearing a dark gray silk pajama shirt and matching pants. His hair is slightly messy.

He walks into the kitchen and pulls out a barstool at the island. He sits down directly in front of her food.

"What are you doing down here?" Chantal snaps, clutching the cold water bottle to her chest.

Dell doesn't answer. He looks down at the plastic container of noodles.

He picks up the cheap plastic fork lying on the counter. He twirls a massive bite of the red, oil-soaked noodles and shoves it into his mouth.

Chantal's eyes widen in horror. "Are you insane? That's mine!"

She lunges forward to grab the container.

Dell easily lifts the plastic bowl high into the air, completely out of her reach.

He chews the noodles. The extreme spice detonates on his tongue, a brutal assault his palate is entirely unprepared for. A fire spreads down his throat, but he forces himself to swallow, his jaw tight, refusing to show any weakness.

His eyebrows pull together. The corners of his eyes instantly turn red.

He swallows it down, refusing to cough. He looks at her, his eyes watering, but his face locked in an arrogant smirk.

"Why are you eating my garbage food?" Chantal yells, furious and utterly confused by his bizarre behavior.

"Consider it a penalty," Dell says, his voice slightly hoarse from the chili oil burning his throat. "For flirting with another man in front of me."

Chantal lets out a loud, incredulous laugh. "You are a child! A petty, tyrannical child!"

She points her finger directly at his face.

Dell slams the plastic container down on the marble counter. He reaches out and grabs her pointing finger, pulling her violently forward.

Chantal's stomach hits the edge of the marble island. She is suddenly inches from his face.

His chest is rising and falling rapidly. The heat radiating from him is overwhelming. The air between them crackles with a sudden, dangerous electricity.

Dell stares at her mouth. He lets out a harsh breath.

He releases her hand, grabs the bottle of ice water from her grip, and downs half of it in three massive gulps.

He slams the bottle down, turns, and walks out of the kitchen, leaving Chantal staring after him, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

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