My Husband Cheated — So I Kissed His Secret Billionaire Heir

The Wife Damien Blackwood Forgot

The second I got home, I walked straight into my closet and realized something

horrifying.

Every dress looked like Damien chose it.

White.

Safe.

Elegant in a painfully expensive way.

The kind of dresses rich men liked putting on wives they didn’t actually love.

I stared at the rows of pale fabric for a long moment.

Then started throwing them onto the floor.

One after another.

Silk.

Satin.

Designer labels worth more than most people’s rent.

Didn’t care.

By the fifth dress, my housekeeper rushed into the room looking panicked.

“Mrs. Blackwood—”

“No,” I corrected, yanking another gown off a hanger.

“Tonight I’m being Celeste.”

The poor woman looked terrified.

Fair.

So was I a little.

Because I suddenly realized something embarrassing:

I couldn’t remember the last time I dressed for myself.

Not Damien.

Not his mother.

Not Manhattan society.

Me.

Then I saw it.

Hidden all the way in the back of the closet beneath garment bags and forgotten

fabric.

The red dress.

Deep crimson silk.

Backless.

High slit.

Completely inappropriate for a respectable billionaire wife.

Which explained why Damien hated it.

I bought it two years ago.

He looked at it once and said:

“You look like trouble in that dress.”

So I never wore it.

Tonight felt like the perfect time to become a problem.

An hour later, I walked down the staircase of Blackwood Mansion in red heels and

enough confidence to ruin lives.

The entire foyer went silent.

Staff stopped moving.

A waiter nearly dropped champagne.

Even Mrs. Blackwood looked personally offended by my existence.

Good.

Damien stepped out of the study at exactly the wrong moment.

And froze.

Interesting.

His eyes moved slowly over the dress.

The slit.

The bare skin of my back.

Then his jaw tightened.

“You’re wearing that?”

I smiled.

“Congratulations. Your eyesight still works.”

Vivienne descended the staircase behind him wearing silver couture and the

expression of a woman who thought she already won.

Then she saw me.

And stopped smiling.

Even better.

Mrs. Blackwood recovered first.

“Celeste,” she said sharply, “go upstairs and change immediately.”

I picked up a champagne glass from a passing tray.

“No.”

The single word hit the room harder than shouting.

Damien walked toward me slowly.

“You made your point earlier.”

“Oh, I haven’t started making points yet.”

His gaze dropped briefly to my exposed leg.

Then snapped back to my face.

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

I laughed softly.

“That’s rich coming from the man bringing his mistress to a charity gala.”

Vivienne crossed her arms.

“At least Damien won’t spend the entire night babysitting me.”

I looked at her calmly.

“Sweetheart, if Damien wanted someone classy on his arm, he wouldn’t be dating his

rebound.”

The silence afterward tasted expensive.

Vivienne’s face darkened instantly.

Damien exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Enough.”

“No,” I replied lightly. “You lost the right to tell me what to do around the same time

you started sleeping with her on office furniture.”

One of the maids physically turned around to hide laughter.

Honestly?

Iconic behavior.

Mrs. Blackwood looked horrified.

“Celeste! There are staff members present!”

I took a sip of champagne.

“Perfect. Saves me the trouble of spreading the gossip myself.”

Damien stepped closer suddenly, lowering his voice.

“What exactly are you trying to do tonight?”

Interesting question.

Because two hours ago, I would’ve answered:

Hurt you.

Now?

I looked directly at him.

“I’m trying to remember who I was before marrying you.”

That shut him up.

Completely.

For a second, something strange crossed Damien’s face.

Regret.

Tiny.

Gone immediately.

Then the front doors opened.

Alexander Sterling walked in.

Black suit.

Black gloves.

Black tie.

God.

The man looked like he had several international arrest warrants.

His gaze swept across the foyer lazily—

then landed on me.

And stopped.

Not dramatically.

But long enough for Damien to notice.

Oops.

Alexander removed his gloves slowly.

For the first time since I met him, the man actually looked caught off guard.

His eyes moved over the dress once more before he said calmly:

“You changed.”

I leaned against the staircase railing.

“So did my personality.”

A faint smile pulled briefly at the corner of his mouth.

Vivienne noticed immediately.

Women always notice those things.

Especially women losing attention.

Damien’s expression darkened again.

“Alexander,” he said sharply.

Wrong move.

The second Damien used that tone, half the room looked toward Alexander instead.

And suddenly—

something shifted.

Because Alexander didn’t react like an employee being addressed by his boss.

He reacted like a man being interrupted.

Very interesting.

Alexander’s eyes stayed on me.

“You shouldn’t wear red around men like Damien.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Why?”

His gaze flicked briefly toward Damien.

“They start confusing possession with love.”

Dead silence.

Even the grandfather clock seemed uncomfortable.

Vivienne laughed awkwardly.

“That’s inappropriate.”

Alexander finally looked at her.

“Yes.”

“So is sleeping with engaged men, but apparently we’re ignoring social rules tonight.”

Jesus Christ.

I almost choked on champagne.

Damien looked seconds away from killing someone.

Probably Alexander.

Possibly me.

Maybe everyone.

And somehow—

that only made the night more entertaining.

A butler entered the foyer carefully.

“The cars are ready.”

Damien immediately held out his arm toward Vivienne.

Vivienne smirked at me while slipping her hand through his arm.

Poor decision.

Because instead of getting upset—

I laughed.

Then I looked directly at Alexander.

“Do you know what’s funny?”

His brows lifted slightly.

“What?”

“I think my husband accidentally brought me to the gala looking like this…”

I glanced at Vivienne’s silver gown.

“…while escorting the less attractive woman.”

Silence.

Then Alexander looked down briefly.

Hiding a smile.

And Damien Blackwood finally realized something terrifying:

The more confident I became—

the less control he had over me.