The Cruel Billionaire's Unwanted Perfect Wife

Ellery set her heavy silver fork down on the porcelain plate. A sharp cramp seized her stomach.

She sat at the long mahogany dining table inside the Sutton family's Long Island estate. The room smelled of roasted lamb and old money.

Goldia sat at the head of the table. She tapped her manicured fingernail against the rim of her crystal water glass.

"Well?" Goldia demanded. Her eyes were fixed on Ellery's flat stomach. "Are you pregnant yet?"

Ellery kept her eyes on her half-eaten food. "I am following the doctor's instructions, Goldia. We are trying."

Goldia scoffed. She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She slammed it onto the table.

"This is a new schedule from the fertility clinic," Goldia said. "You need to quit that little dressmaking hobby of yours. You need to stay home and focus on giving this family an heir."

Ellery's head snapped up. Her heart hammered against her ribs. "My studio is not a hobby. I have clients. I am not quitting my job."

The silence in the dining room became deafening. Goldia's face turned a dangerous shade of red. She opened her mouth to scream.

Holland suddenly pushed his chair back. The wooden legs scraped loudly against the marble floor.

He grabbed Ellery's wool coat from the back of her chair. "We are leaving."

Goldia glared at him. "Sit down, Holland. I am not finished speaking to my daughter-in-law."

"We are leaving," Holland said. His voice left no room for argument. "This conversation is over." He grabbed Ellery's upper arm and pulled her out of her chair.

He dragged her toward the front doors.

"Holland!" Goldia shrieked from the dining room. "You come back here!"

Holland ignored her. He pushed the heavy oak doors open and shoved Ellery outside.

The freezing night wind whipped across Ellery's face. Holland practically threw her into the passenger seat of his black Maybach.

He slammed the door shut, walked around the hood, and got into the driver's seat. The doors locked with a sharp click.

Holland slammed his foot on the gas pedal. The tires screeched against the gravel driveway. The car shot out into the dark night.

The interior of the car was dead silent. Ellery turned her head and stared out the window. The bare trees blurred together in the darkness.

Holland gripped the steering wheel. His knuckles were stark white. He yanked the wheel hard, merging onto the highway toward Manhattan.

Thirty minutes later, the Maybach pulled into the private underground garage of their penthouse building.

They rode the private elevator up to the top floor in silence. The doors slid open. Holland immediately reached up and ripped his silk tie from his neck.

Ellery kicked off her heels. Her feet ached. She turned her body toward the guest bedroom hallway.

Holland stepped in front of her. He held a crystal glass filled with amber whiskey. He had poured it the second they walked in.

He reached out and pinched her chin between his thumb and index finger. He forced her to look up at him.

"Why were you acting like a mute tonight?" Holland demanded.

Ellery let out a dry, humorless laugh. "I was just playing the part. Isn't that what your mother wants? A silent, perfect breeding machine?"

Holland's eyes darkened. The muscle in his jaw ticked violently.

He slammed the whiskey glass down onto the marble bar counter. The glass didn't break, but the loud thud made Ellery jump.

He bent down and scooped her up into his arms.

"Put me down!" Ellery yelled, kicking her legs.

Holland ignored her. He carried her down the hall and kicked the master bedroom door open. He threw her down onto the center of the massive king-sized bed.

Ellery scrambled backward, but Holland was faster. He climbed over her, pinning her wrists to the mattress above her head. His eyes were completely black with rage.

The air in the room grew heavy. The sound of their ragged breathing filled the space.

When it was over, Holland rolled off her. He stood up and pulled his bathrobe on, tying it tightly at his waist.

He stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at her. Ellery pulled the thick duvet up to her chin, curling her knees to her chest.

"You lie there like a dead fish," Holland sneered. His voice was cruel and detached. "It completely ruins the mood."

Ellery bit her bottom lip so hard she tasted copper. She refused to let the tears fall. She stared at the wall, staying completely silent.

Holland walked to the bedroom door. He placed his hand on the knob and stopped.

"Be at my office tomorrow morning at nine sharp," he ordered without turning around.

The door clicked shut.

Ellery lay in the dark. A wave of intense nausea washed over her. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, feeling completely disgusted with herself.