Betrayed by My Boyfriend, I Married a CEO in a Flash

Theodore paused, his long fingers brushing the watch face on his wrist. His expression gave nothing away.

Willow blinked. As she waited for his answer, her gaze drifted back to his face.

His features were too striking—every glance made her want another.

As if noticing her little move, the corner of his mouth barely lifted. "Miss Sullivan doesn't need to feel too much pressure. Between us, it's just cooperation."

She froze. "Cooperation?"

She couldn't figure out what she possibly had worth "plotting against."

The Mason family's business had been doing well, and she'd managed to squeeze into Harbor City's upper-class circle, but compared to a top-tier old-money family like the Farleys—one that rarely showed their faces—people like them, second-generation kids who only knew nightlife, weren't worth mentioning. Not to mention the Farley patriarch, a figure who existed only in other people's fantasies.

What could someone like that possibly want from her?

Theodore nodded, his dark eyes calm and unreadable.

"I need a wife."

A long silence followed.

Willow: "……"

That was like saying something and also saying nothing!

In the lobby of City Hall, bright red slogans scrolled back and forth on the screen.

In less than twenty minutes, a fresh, still-warm marriage certificate was placed in Willow's hands.

Outside, the sunlight was blazing. Dappled shadows fell across the document. For some reason, she let out a breath of relief.

A strange feeling.

Theodore descended the stairs and walked up to her. He lowered his head. The noon sun fell on him, tinting his dark eyes with a layer of warmth, softening some of the sharpness and indifference.

"My flight to Harbor City is at two this afternoon. My return date is uncertain. I'll have my assistant take you home first."

Willow looked up at him blankly, suddenly having the illusion that a boyfriend was checking in with his girlfriend.

"Okay."

She watched his tall, straight figure disappear, then lowered her eyes to the certificate in her hand.

The glaring red cover opened to reveal their photo—her and Theodore, side by side.

Handsome man, beautiful woman. They actually looked pretty well-matched.

Before she could be amused by the thought, a woman in professional attire approached.

She raised a hand and pushed the gold-rimmed glasses on her nose, smiling appropriately. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Mr. Farley's assistant, Harper Simmons."

The woman had neat short hair. She looked capable, and her manner was comfortable, the kind that made people let down their guard.

The people around Theodore were indeed not simple.

On the way back, Willow watched the increasingly unfamiliar streets. "Where are we going?"

Theodore had said he'd have his assistant take her home, but this road wasn't the way back to Mason Villa.

Harper kept her eyes on the road. "Mr. Farley has already purchased the Harbor Villa on Coastal Road as the marital home for the two of you. We're heading there now."

Coastal Road. Harbor Villa.

A location where every inch of land was worth a fortune—Harbor City's number-one villa district, so expensive that even the air seemed to come with a price tag.

When the electric gate slid open, Willow looked at the grand scene before her and thought of Victor.

Back then, Victor had wanted to buy a place here. He'd put in a lot of effort, but in the end, he couldn't even get through the gate.

She still remembered his expression when the agent told him his status didn't qualify—furious, yet still forcing composure.

Pretty interesting.

The car stopped in the parking area. Harper got out and opened Willow's door. Her tone was strictly businesslike.

"Mr. Farley said the door code is your birthday. This is my business card. If you have any needs, call me anytime."

After the assistant left, Willow stood under the porch, staring at the high-end electronic lock.

Why was the door code her birthday?

And how did Theodore know it?

She entered the numbers. The moment the door opened, she understood.

Someone like Theodore wouldn't marry by randomly picking someone. The information on her ancestors for eighteen generations was probably sitting in a drawer in his office.

The villa's decor was minimalist, but the kitchen, dining room, and bedroom had everything they needed.

In the walk-in closet, men's and women's clothes hung neatly in a row—all the newest styles.

Willow lay on the soft bed. She'd planned to sleep, but the moment she closed her eyes, her phone rang.

An unfamiliar number.

She hesitated, then hung up.

The next second, it rang again.

Frowning, she answered.

"Where are you? I have something to see you about."

Even without a saved contact, she recognized Victor's voice immediately.

She hung up without thinking.

Since she'd decided to start a new life, the people and things from before needed to stay far away.

She turned over to go back to sleep, but her phone rang again.

Before she could hang up, a text appeared: You wouldn't want me to visit your uncle and aunt for a nice long chat, would you?

Willow's expression turned cold. Her finger paused on the screen. Another message followed: Answer the phone!

She connected. Victor's voice came through, softer this time.

"Where are you? I'll come pick you up."

Her tone was flat. "I think I made myself clear last time. How about we don't contact each other anymore?"

Silence on the other end. As if suppressing his anger.

After all, Willow had chased him for eight years. Eight years of coming when called and leaving when dismissed. This time, Victor had given her plenty of face, and she was putting on airs instead.

"Willow Sullivan, are you serious?"

She curled her lips. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

He hung up abruptly.

This time, she didn't hesitate. She blocked the number.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, dark clouds spread across the sky, and the sea churned.

Looked like a storm was coming.

Willow took a deep breath, her mind drifting to the absurd eight years past.

Eight years so humble she'd been in the dust.

To prevent Victor from actually going to her uncle and aunt with nonsense, she took a cab back to the Mason residence.

Half an hour later, the moment the taxi stopped at Mason Villa, distant thunder rumbled. Fat raindrops connected into lines, crackling against the glass.

Willow's heart sank. Chaotic images flashed before her eyes.

She took a deep breath, paid quickly, and pushed the door open.

The downpour drenched her instantly. Just as she ran toward the villa, a pair of hands gripped her wrist and yanked her into an embrace.