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

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

For eight years, Willow Sullivan gave everything to Victor Henson. She cooked for his weak stomach, packed his bags, and drank herself sick for his clients. So when Victor demands she deliver his medicine in a torrential downpour, promising they will finally be together, she runs to him. But outside his door, she overhears the devastating truth. To Victor, she is nothing but a soulless, boring doormat—a dog to be trained for his amusement. Her devotion is shattered in an instant.
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Chapter 8

After a long silence, Theodore slowly opened his eyes, a trace of sharpness flashing in them. "How did you know?"

His tone was calm, but it carried an invisible pressure that made Harper's heart tremble.

"I was worried about Madam, and I was thinking—"

"Next time you do something this unnecessary, just get out."

He didn't give her a chance to explain and hung up.

The car had stopped at some point. The driver quickly got out and opened the door.

The estate halfway up the hill was packed with well-dressed young men and women dripping in jewelry. The moment Theodore appeared, he drew immediate attention.

The butler hurried to the poolside and said a few words to the man splashing around with a beautiful woman. He immediately climbed out, wrapped a towel around himself, and headed upstairs.

"Why are you only getting here now? Being late isn't your style."

Theodore ignored him. He sent the text message he'd already drafted first, then spoke. "Where is he?"

The man smiled and leaned in. "What's the rush? Since you're here, play a little first. He's not going to run away."

Theodore lifted his head and glanced at him, saying nothing.

The man squirmed under that gaze and raised his hands in surrender. "I'll have someone bring him over later. But aren't there any good composers in Harbor City? You had to come here? And the one you're looking for is some third-rate composer drowning in gambling debt."

Theodore idly spun the phone in his hand. His lowered eyes were flat, emotionless.

"Probably."

The man frowned, then seemed to remember something and leaned in again. "Oh right, my mom wants you to come for dinner tomorrow. There'll be a surprise."

The moment Theodore saw his smug look, he understood what kind of surprise he meant. "Not convenient."

The man blinked. "What's not convenient? My mom said you've already turned her down several times. It makes her lose face in front of her friends, so this time, no matter what, you have to go."

Theodore raised his eyes. "I already have a family. Thank my aunt for her kindness."

"…"

The man shot up like he'd been struck by lightning. "Since when?"

"Six hours ago."

"…"

The room fell into deathly silence.

A few seconds later, a notification broke the deadlock. A photo appeared—a man and woman embracing in heavy rain.

Harper's message popped up: Mr. Farley, I just didn't want you to be fooled.

The faces in the photo weren't clear, but the clothes the woman was wearing looked very familiar.

His Adam's apple bobbed. Theodore replied: You're fired.

"Cousin, what are you looking at? A photo of my sister-in-law? Let me see!" The man pounced over, face full of gossip.

Theodore pocketed his phone, eyes dark. "If I were you, I wouldn't be so happy."

The man immediately understood, threw his head back, and let out a long howl. "Oh no! Looks like I need to flee abroad for a few days. Hey, Cousin, how about I go to Harbor City with you? Perfect timing to meet my new sister-in-law."

Theodore looked him up and down, his gaze finally landing on that head of hair—white bleeding into purple, purple bleeding into red. "Your new sister-in-law may not want to see you."

At that moment, a certain new sister-in-law sneezed. Looking at the text from an unfamiliar number, she was confused: Already landed in Harbor City!

She read it over and over, and her mind drifted back to what Theodore had said when he left.

She hesitated, then silently put the phone down.

She didn't know how to reply. Or what to reply.

After dinner, the rain that had raged all day finally stopped.

A gentle evening breeze, wrapped with moisture, rose and fell in the air. Willow curled up on the terrace sofa, looking at the pitch-black sky. She picked up the beer beside her and took a sip.

Her mind replayed everything that had happened these past few days, over and over.

The phone screen on the table lit up. A message popped up—news about what she'd asked a friend to look into.

After she replied, she vaguely remembered she still had one message left unanswered.

She opened the chat again. Looking at those brief five words, she typed back: Okay.

A little over ten seconds later, the sender called.

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