My Fake Husband Is A Zillionaire

After obtaining the marriage certificate, Addie brought Hurley back to her apartment.

She had learned that he'd been sleeping in the construction crew's shared dormitory.

A cramped, noisy space with bunk beds and thin walls. The thought of it hadn't sat right with her. After everything she'd dragged him into, the least she could do was offer him a place to crash for the night.

"Go take a shower," she said as she kicked off her heels by the door, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. "There should be some clean T-shirts in the bathroom. They'll be big enough to fit you."

"Thanks." Hurley disappeared into the bathroom, and soon the sound of running water filled the apartment.

Addie sank onto the sofa, letting her head fall back against the cushions. Her feet ached. Her head throbbed. The events of the day replayed in her mind like a film reel she couldn't stop.

Her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. Laura.

"Addie." Laura's voice was tense but controlled. "Hayes Corp just sent the formal notice. They're freezing all funding, effective immediately. The bridge loan, the credit lines—everything's suspended."

Addie's jaw tightened. The bastard hadn't even waited a full day.

"Then let him do what he wants," she said, her voice clipped. "From this point forward, Hayes Corp and Sterling have no relationship whatsoever. I'll accelerate the search for new investors."

"But without their funding, our active projects will have to pause immediately. A day or two we could manage, but if this drags on..."

"I know." Addie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Give me one week. I'll give the shareholders an answer."

She ended the call and let out a long, slow breath.

One week. Could she find a new investor in one week?

She was still new to this world, new to running a company, new to the brutal politics of Chicago's business circles. She didn't have deep connections. And if Jennings used his influence to blacklist her, Sterling wouldn't stand a chance.

Over the years, Jennings had positioned himself as her company's savior. But the truth was far uglier. His "investment" had slowly, methodically turned Sterling into a subsidiary of Hayes Corp in everything but name. Now, without his funding, the company could barely function on its own.

That was why he had spoken to her with such arrogance. That was why he believed she would come crawling back.

The thought made her blood simmer. She would prove him wrong. Somehow.

Her phone rang again.

This time, the caller ID made her stomach clench. Her father.

She pressed answer. Before she could even get out a greeting, his voice exploded through the speaker.

"Adelaide!" Her father's voice was a thunderclap, even through the tiny speaker. "Look at what you've done! You went to Jennings's hotel and humiliated him in public! And then you were even seen clinging to some construction worker on the street?"

"Dad…"

"Come home tomorrow! I want you to explain yourself to Jennings in person!"

Before Addie could get another word out, the line went dead.

She stared at the phone, her grip tightening around it until her knuckles went white. Jennings had gotten to him first. Of course he had. Spinning his version, twisting the story, making himself the victim.

The bathroom door opened.

Hurley stepped out, a towel slung around his neck. He had pulled on one of her old T-shirts—soft pink, faded, with a ridiculous cartoon duck printed across the front. On him, the fabric was stretched tight across his shoulders and chest, the muscles beneath clearly outlined. The hem rode up just enough to reveal a sliver of his stomach.

Addie took one look at him, the weight of the phone call still sat heavy on her chest. The laughter died before it reached her lips.

"Hurley," she said. "Are you working tomorrow? At the construction site?"

"Do you need me for something?"

She hesitated. She barely knew this man. What she was about to ask felt absurd.

"If you're free tomorrow," she said, "I need to go to my parents' house. To tell them about us. About the marriage."

The corner of his mouth lifted. Not a trace of hesitation.

"No problem."

Addie blinked. She had braced herself for questions, for reluctance, for a negotiation. Instead, he had agreed as easily as if she'd asked him to pass the salt.

"Thank you."

One problem solved. And then, immediately, another presented itself.

Her apartment was designed for one person. One bedroom. The second bedroom had been converted into her home office months ago, filled with whiteboards, monitors, and stacks of paperwork. That left exactly one bed.

They both looked at it at the same time.

"We're married, aren't we?" Hurley said, his voice casual. He settled onto the edge of the bed and patted the mattress beside him, a slow, teasing grin spreading across his face. "Come on. What's there to be shy about? We'll end up sharing a bed eventually."

Heat crawled up Addie's neck, flooding her cheeks, spreading to the tips of her ears. She must have looked like a tomato. A fully ripened, utterly mortified tomato.

And then Hurley laughed.

"Relax." He stood up, still smiling. "I'm not going to do anything. Not without feelings behind it. Not until you actually want me to."

He turned and walked toward the door. "I'll take the sofa. You sleep in here. Properly. With the door closed."

She watched him go, her heart still hammering against her ribs for reasons she didn't want to examine too closely.

The next morning, Addie took Hurley to get a well-fitted suit, then drove toward her childhood home—the place that had never quite felt like home.

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel as the wrought-iron gates came into view.

Whatever was waiting for her behind those gates, she was ready.

She wasn't walking in alone.