The Fake Marriage: My Billionaire Vengeance

The silence after sending the text was absolute. Chloe sat by the window, watching the moon cast long shadows across the Sterling estate. She felt no fear, no regret. The bridges behind her were already ashes.

A few minutes later, her phone vibrated. A message from an unknown number. It contained a single word.

"Acknowledged."

The reply was as cold and efficient as the man himself was rumored to be. Chloe found it strangely reassuring. This was not a man who dealt in false sentiment.

A moment later, the same number was calling her.

She stood up, walking to the far end of the room to ensure Francisco's snores would not be overheard, and answered. "This is Chloe."

"Miss Kensington." The voice on the other end was deep, a low baritone that seemed to command the very air. It was devoid of warmth, a precisely calibrated instrument of business. "Damon Beaumont. I appreciate your efficiency. Let's confirm. You agree to the terms laid out by our families?"

Chloe's spine straightened. She would not be a pawn in this new game, either. "Mr. Beaumont, I agree to the alliance. The specific terms, however, are open for discussion. Perhaps in person."

There was a pause on the line. It wasn't a hesitation, but a moment of assessment. Then, a low sound that might have been a short, humorless chuckle.

"Interesting," he said. "I'll be in New York next week. My assistant will contact you."

The line went dead.

Chloe lowered the phone, a sliver of respect cutting through her anger. Damon Beaumont was direct. He would be a powerful ally, but a dangerous one to cross.

The next morning, the atmosphere at the breakfast table was thick with tension. Kasey was there, seated beside Francisco, playing the part of the lady of the manor with a nauseating sweetness. Leo was in a high chair, happily smearing jam on the antique mahogany table.

"Francisco, darling," Kasey said, her voice dripping with manufactured concern. "Leo missed you so much last night. Can you promise to be home early to play with us?"

Chloe, who had been silently sipping her coffee, looked up. She smiled, a bright, socialite's smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"He certainly should come home early," she said, her tone light and conversational. "Managing such a large project must be exhausting, Kasey. Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot. You're just 'assisting', aren't you?"

Kasey's face froze, a flush creeping up her neck. Francisco shifted uncomfortably in his chair, opening his mouth to placate, to smooth things over as he always did.

But before he could speak, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, and his entire demeanor changed. He sat up straighter, his expression becoming one of deep respect, almost reverence. He excused himself and walked into the hall to take the call.

Chloe watched him go, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. Whoever was on that phone held significant power over him.

When he returned, his face was a mask of complicated emotions. He looked at Chloe, avoiding her eyes.

"There's an important gala tonight," he announced to the room, though his words were directed at her. "You need to come with me."

Chloe stirred her coffee, feigning casual interest. "Is it? Anyone important?"

Francisco took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "It's being hosted by Damon Beaumont."

Chloe's heart gave a single, hard thud. She kept her expression placid, even allowing a flicker of well-feigned confusion to cross her face. "Beaumont? The one from Beaumont Enterprises? I thought he never made public appearances."

Her performance was flawless. Francisco's shoulders relaxed slightly, his suspicion allayed. He clearly saw nothing more than his dutiful, slightly naive wife.

That afternoon, while getting ready, Chloe put the next phase of her plan into motion. She called Francisco's direct line at the office.

"Darling," she purred into the phone, her voice a perfect imitation of a needy, slightly spoiled wife. "I'm in such a state. I simply can't decide what to wear tonight. That white Chanel you love so much, or the new Dior?"

As she spoke, she moved the phone closer to the open door of her room, where the sound of Leo's cartoons and Kasey's cooing voice from downstairs could be faintly, but clearly, heard in the background. She knew Kasey would be hovering near Francisco's office, a permanent fixture.

There was a flustered pause on the other end. "The... the white Chanel is fine, Chloe. It always looks good on you." His voice was strained.

Chloe let out a soft, breathy laugh. A laugh that was sharp as broken glass.

"White?" she mused, her tone turning instantly from sweet to glacial. "A bit too symbolic for a gala, don't you think? Maybe I'll wear something that better fits my mood."

She heard his sharp intake of breath. She could almost picture the scene: Francisco frozen at his desk, Kasey standing nearby, her face paling as she understood the insinuation.

Before he could respond, Chloe's voice became syrupy sweet again. "Oh, I'm just teasing, darling. But you really should do something about the soundproofing in your office. I can always hear children in the background. It must be so distracting for your work."

It was a direct hit. A verbal bomb dropped with a sweet smile.

She hung up before he could form a reply, a grimly satisfied look on her face as she met her own cold eyes in the mirror.

Let them panic. Let them wonder how much she knew.