Breaking The Script: My Billionaire Husband

The interior of the black SUV was completely silent. The heavy doors blocked out the noise of the Los Angeles traffic. The only sound was the low, steady hum of the engine as they merged onto the Pacific Coast Highway.

A small, fixed camera was mounted on the dashboard, pointing directly at the back seat. It streamed their every move to the millions of viewers who refused to look away.

Augustine sat on the left side of the spacious back seat. He had his head resting against the leather headrest, his eyes closed. His chest rose and fell in a slow, controlled rhythm. He looked completely detached from the world.

Justina sat on the right side. She stared out the tinted window at the passing palm trees.

The silence was thick. It felt heavy in her lungs. She could feel the heat radiating from his body across the center console. The internet was watching them with a microscope, analyzing the distance between their shoulders, the direction of their feet.

She hated the quiet. It made her hyper-aware of her own racing heartbeat.

She decided to break the tension. She needed to regain control of the narrative, to prove to the audience-and to herself-that she was not affected by his stupid chivalrous door-holding trick.

She turned her head. She reached her hand across the empty space and poked his arm. Her finger pressed into the expensive, dark fabric of his suit sleeve.

Augustine's eyes snapped open.

The icy blue irises locked onto her face. He did not move his head. He just stared at her, his brow furrowing in deep, silent irritation at being touched.

Justina did not flinch. She let a slow, cunning smile spread across her lips.

"Mr. Hutchinson," she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

Augustine did not answer. He just waited.

"Outside the car, I played along with your little 'protective gentleman' act for the cameras," she said, leaning slightly closer. "It was a great performance. Very convincing. But since we are business partners, I believe I am owed a performance fee for my cooperation."

The live chat, which had been quietly watching them sit in silence, suddenly flared to life.

"LMAO she is asking him for money!"

"She is so shameless, I love it."

"Get paid, queen!"

Augustine stared at her for a long moment. His jaw tightened. He looked at her as if she were a particularly annoying insect buzzing around his head.

He did not argue. He did not roll his eyes.

He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a sleek, black iPhone.

He held the phone in his right hand. His thumb moved quickly across the screen. He did not look at her. He did not say a word. He just tapped the glass a few times.

A second later, a sharp, cheerful ding echoed in the quiet car.

It came from Justina's phone, which was resting on her lap.

She looked down. The screen lit up with a push notification.

A notification from AmEx popped up on her screen: A $5,000 credit has been applied to your account by Augustine Hutchinson.

Justina's breath hitched. Her eyes widened behind her sunglasses. She stared at the numbers. Five thousand dollars. For a ten-second interaction by a car door.

The dashboard camera caught the reflection of the bright screen on her sunglasses. The internet sleuths immediately zoomed in.

"HOLY SHIT DID HE JUST SEND HER 5K?!"

"FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR OPENING A DOOR?!"

"I will open every door in his house for the rest of his life for that kind of money."

Justina felt a rush of adrenaline. She looked up at Augustine. He was putting his phone back into his pocket, his face completely bored.

She felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to show off. She wanted to prove that his money meant nothing to her, that she was in total control of this game.

She picked up her phone. She turned the screen around, holding it up so the dashboard camera could see it clearly.

"Well," she said, her voice loud and bright. "Since my husband is feeling so incredibly generous today, I think it would be selfish to keep this all to myself."

She looked directly into the camera lens.

"Listen up, live stream," she said, grinning widely. "Take a screenshot of this moment. I am going to randomly select ten people from the chat right now. We are splitting this five thousand dollars. Consider it a welcome gift from the Hutchinson family."

The internet completely broke.

The viewer count spiked so hard the video feed stuttered. Millions of comments flooded the screen in a blur of text.

"ME ME ME!"

"SHE IS GIVING AWAY HIS MONEY I AM DEAD!"

"Robin Hood of Beverly Hills! We stan a generous queen!"

The hashtag JustinaGiveaway instantly took over the entire Twitter platform. Her public approval rating, which had been in the gutter an hour ago, was now shooting toward the stars.

Justina lowered the phone. She felt a massive wave of triumph. She had taken his arrogant display of wealth and turned it into a massive PR victory for herself.

She turned her head to look at Augustine, expecting to see him scowling in defeat.

She flashed him a brilliant, victorious smile.

Augustine was looking out the window. His face was turned away from the camera.

But as Justina watched him, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

It was a microscopic movement. A tiny, almost invisible curve of his lips.

He was smiling.

It was not a smile of defeat. It was a dark, knowing, deeply amused smirk. It was the look of a predator watching a mouse walk willingly into a trap.

Justina's victorious smile faltered. A cold drop of unease hit the bottom of her stomach.

Why was he smiling?