The Billionaire Thought I Aborted, Then He Met My Twins

The headache was a dull throb behind her eyes when she woke up. The room was dim, the curtains drawn against the morning light.

Julian was sitting in the wingback chair by the window. He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at an unlit cigar in his hand, rolling it between his fingers.

On the nightstand, next to a glass of stale water, was a thick document.

Avery sat up slowly. Her body felt heavy, like lead. She glanced at the paper. Dissolution of Marriage.

"The lawyers drafted it last night," Julian said. He didn't turn his head. "The capital injection into Sterling Group will continue until the contract term ends. You won't lose your family business."

Avery reached out and touched the paper. It was cold. Everything in this house was cold.

She thought about the shredded report in the bathroom wastebasket. She thought about the rain.

"Scarlett is back for good," Julian continued, his voice devoid of emotion. "She needs a place in society. You've been squatting in her seat for three years."

Avery picked up the pen lying on top of the document.

Julian stood up then. He walked over to the bed, looming over her. "Read it. Don't come back later asking for more alimony."

Avery didn't read it. She flipped to the last page. She found the line marked Wife.

"Okay," she said.

She signed her name. Her handwriting was steady, elegant. Avery Sterling Vanderbilt.

Julian froze. He stared at her signature, the ink still wet. His jaw clenched, a muscle feathering under the skin. He had prepared for a war. He had expected her to scream, to cry, to leverage his grandmother, Lady Eleanor. He had an entire arsenal of counter-arguments ready.

Her immediate compliance didn't feel like a victory. It felt like she was cutting a string he wasn't ready to let go of. It felt like a slap in the face.

"Okay?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. "That's it? Just 'okay'?"

"It's what you want," Avery said. She put the cap back on the pen. "I'll move out as soon as possible."

Julian snatched the papers from the nightstand. He gripped them so hard the pages crinkled. A vein ticked in his jaw. He looked at her, searching for the crack in her mask, searching for the pain he wanted to inflict.

There was nothing. Just a hollow exhaustion.

"You aren't going anywhere," he snapped. "You promised Grandmother you'd attend the family gala next month. You will stay here and play the part of the happy wife until then."

"I understand," Avery said. She turned her back to him, pulling the duvet up. "I'll cooperate."

Julian stood there for a long moment, his chest heaving with an anger he couldn't name. Then he turned and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the crystal perfume bottles on the vanity rattled.

Avery waited until his footsteps faded. She slid out of bed and went to the bathroom. She emptied the wastebasket into the larger bin, watching the tiny paper strips disappear into the darkness.

Then she went to her jewelry box. Inside a hidden compartment lay an old, water-damaged photograph. It was a blurry shot of a teenage girl pulling a boy out of the surf. Her back was to the camera.

Everyone said it was Scarlett.

Avery took the photo to the fireplace in the master suite. She stared at it, and a sharp, blinding pain shot through her temples. It was the same pain she felt whenever she tried to remember that day. The ocean. The salt. The screaming.

She couldn't breathe. The photo felt like it was burning her fingers.

"Make it stop," she whispered.

She struck a match. She watched the flame curl the edges of the photo, turning the memory to ash not to hide the truth, but to silence the noise in her head.

Let it die, she thought. If he wants her to be the hero, let her be the hero.