He Let His Intern Replace Me, So I Married a Billionaire

“As for Marjorie Walker.”

John Henson turned to look at me：

“Your position, as of right now, officially passes to Kayla.”

I stared at him, unable to believe it.

He frowned.

Something close to reluctance crossed his brow.

It vanished just as fast.

He said：

“Marjorie, don't push your luck.”

Lesley Henson beamed：

“There now, Kayla. From here on, she answers to you.”

Kayla Fox looked down at the bracelet, back on her own wrist.

Her cheeks flushed.

She glanced at me, the corner of her mouth curling into a smugness she barely bothered to hide.

I watched the three of them put on their little show right in front of me.

And all at once I felt ridiculous.

I looked at John：

“Fine, Mr. Henson. As it happens, I no longer want this director's chair anyway.”

With that, I brushed past him.

Down in the underground parking garage, I had just unlocked my car door.

A hand caught me from behind.

“In a little while I'll move you under me as vice president. Kayla will still report to you, so don't read too much into this.

“Mother adores her. In a moment like that, I couldn't make her lose face.”

It was always like this.

After every fight.

He could always win back my forgiveness with a few explanations and a little softening.

I clenched my teeth.

And shook off his hand.

With him frozen there, watching, I got in the car and drove straight out.

Back home.

I found that John had already sent me a dozen messages.

The first ones were still explanations.

But the last one, against all odds, was a travel booking.

Seaside Bay.

A trip to the ocean.

【Marjorie, don't worry. While you're off after losing your post, I'll take time off too.

【That ocean you've always wanted to see, I'll take you. Call it our honeymoon.】

I couldn't even imagine it.

Once upon a time.

Reading a line like that.

How thrilled I would have been.

But this time, I replied with one simple line：

【No need.】

He answered right away：

【Be good, don't be angry. I've already booked the eight a.m. tickets for tomorrow. Tonight I'll work late and clear everything off my plate. Don't wait up for dinner.】

He tacked on a 【heart】 emoji.

I frowned.

Set down the phone.

Let it go.

Better to wait until he came back and say it all plainly.

I had already agreed to the matchmaking setup my family arranged.

This boyfriend.

I didn't want this anymore.

But the wait stretched the whole night.

By the time day broke.

He came back, faintly drunk.

And eight o'clock had long since passed.

“Didn't you say eight o'clock tickets, that we were going to Seaside Bay?”

I couldn't help saying it.

He narrowed his eyes.

Remembering something.

He smiled：

“Oh, I refunded those. Took Kayla instead.”

I went still.

“It's not like you haven't seen the ocean. You've seen it how many times now.”

He slumped onto the couch, plainly having gone a night without sleep：

“After I finished work last night, I meant to come home and pack with you.

“But Kayla had just been promoted, and the people at the office threw her a celebration. I had a few too many.

“She said she'd never seen the ocean.

“So I changed the plans on the spot.”

I held no hope.

And yet, in that moment.

I still couldn't stop myself：

“You promised me yourself.”

The alcohol slowed him down for a beat.

He smiled.

A smile that couldn't have cared less：

“Marjorie, how long have we been together? Almost ten years. We're an old married couple by now.

“Why are you hung up on a little thing like this?

“Besides, you've been to the beach three times already. Don't be greedy.”

When he finished talking, he leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes.

I watched him.

Something heavy lodged in my chest.

I had planned that ocean trip three times.

But I never made it. Not once.

The first time, the night before we were supposed to leave, John spiked a fever. I stood up my best friend and stayed by his side for three days, nursing him back to health.

The second time, he had a critical bid coming up. So I returned the tickets again and stayed up rewriting the proposal, draft after draft.

The third time, his schedule fell apart and there was no one to host an important client. I cancelled the trip the way I'd done it twice before, slipped on my heels, and went to meet the client.

Three times.

And not once did I actually leave.

Yet all he remembered was that I'd booked tickets three times.

I nudged his arm.

"Then I'll go with someone else."