The Billionaire's Invisible Secret Wife

Back in the Rolls-Royce, the silence was even heavier than before. Seraphina gazed out the window; the city lights blurred into a meaningless blur.

In this city, countless eyes are speculating about what kind of stunning or breathtakingly beautiful bride the rebellious Montgomery heir will marry.

Nobody knows, but the answer lies in this back seat—a woman whose name doesn't even deserve to appear in the headlines.

Her thoughts drifted back to that unassuming city hall. There were no flashing lights, no audience seats, only two cold chairs and a confidentiality agreement tucked away at the bottom. The elderly clerk in charge of registration didn't even dare to look her in the eye before leaving, mechanically signing and stamping the documents.

When Julian suggested keeping things simple, she foolishly mistook his aloofness for pragmatism. She agreed, thinking it reflected his decisive nature.

Eighteen months. Enough to grind down any sliver of hope she had ever held into fine ashes. She had naively believed that with enough perseverance, she could warm a stone.

She remembered their "wedding night" vividly. They stood in the living room of their now-shared, spacious penthouse—though separated in different areas. He didn't touch her. Instead, he handed her a leather folder. A postnuptial agreement.

“Seraphina,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “Our marriage is a business partnership. I will provide you with the status and wealth of Mrs. Montgomery. In return, you will give me freedom. We will not interfere in each other's lives.”

She smiled as she signed the documents, a silent vow echoing in her heart: I will make you fall in love with me.

Looking back now, she could see a hint of mocking amusement in his eyes. He had seen right through her.

The car smoothly pulled into the private underground parking garage of the Manhattan penthouse. Julian got out first, not even glancing at her, and strode towards the elevator. It was his habit—never waiting, as if she were merely an insignificant appendage in his vast estate.

Watching his departing figure, a reckless impulse mixed with despair and anger surged into my heart.

“Julian!” she called out, her voice barely audible in the vast concrete space.

He stopped, turned around, his expression inscrutable, but his eyes flashed with a familiar, impatient light.

She walked towards him, her heart pounding in her ribs. She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. "Tonight...can you stay?"

A slow, cold smile spread across his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Oh? Is this a clause I forgot in our agreement?"

His words were like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing the little courage she had just mustered. The humiliation was so intense that she felt a wave of heat wash over her cheeks.

He took a step closer, his tall frame completely enveloping her, trapping her in his shadow. His powerful aura was suffocating.

“Are you proposing to fulfill your wifely duties?” he murmured, his voice low and menacing. “Are you sure? This isn’t a business deal, Seraphina. This is going to be a very… physical transaction.”

She recoiled as if burned, her face now a deep crimson. Shame and anger battled within her, leaving her speechless. She knew countless women in this city would fight tooth and nail to get into his bed. And she, his legal wife, was being made to feel like a prostitute begging for his attention.

This is her marriage. A pathetic joke.

All she wanted was a semblance of normalcy, a hint of a genuine relationship. But he reminded her in the cruelest way that it was nothing more than a transaction. He never considered her feelings. He only cared about whether his rules were followed. Her attempts to establish contact were, in his eyes, nothing more than annoying breaches of contract.

She bit her lip hard, forcing herself to lift her head, her eyes flashing with a stubborn light.

Julian seemed drawn to the interplay of unshed tears and defiance in her eyes.

“I just thought…we could at least try to be friends,” she said, her voice trembling but clear.

They stared at each other for a long time, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Finally, he looked away and turned to walk towards the elevator. "I don't need friends."

“Julian!” she cried again, her voice tinged with despair. This was the first time she had rebelled like this. She hated her own weakness, and she hated his indifference even more.

The elevator doors slid open. He paused at the doorway, but didn't turn around, as if giving her one last chance to speak.

The words of protest and pleading stuck in her throat. "I... goodnight," she finally managed to say, her voice choked with emotion, utterly defeated.

He didn't respond. He stepped into the elevator, and the polished steel doors slowly closed, erasing him from her sight.

In the cold, silent garage, she was utterly alone. Meanwhile, in some corner of the city, a gossip columnist was going crazy trying to find any clues about Montgomery's marriage. They would never know that the truth about this marriage was more shameful than any fabricated scandal.