The Billionaire's Stand-In Wife Is A Genius

She moved with efficient, brutal speed. She bypassed the Chanel suits and the Dior gowns Chadwick had bought her for galas. Instead, she reached for the back of the drawers, pulling out soft cotton t-shirts, worn denim jeans, and thick wool sweaters. These were the clothes she had brought with her from her life before the Dyers. They smelled like lavender sachets and her old life.

In twenty minutes, her side of the closet was half-empty. The gaps between the hangers looked like missing teeth.

A low rumble vibrated through the floorboards. The distinct growl of a sports car engine.

Johnna froze, a sweater halfway folded in her hands. He wasn't supposed to be back until evening. Panic flared in her chest-not fear of him, but fear of her own resolve cracking if she had to face him again. She shoved the sweater into the suitcase and zipped it shut.

She was wheeling the case into the foyer when the front door swung open.

Chadwick stood there, looking winded, his tie slightly askew. He saw the suitcase. He saw her coat buttoned up to her chin. His eyes widened, and his jaw tightened.

"You're fast," he said. It sounded like an accusation.

"You said as soon as possible," Johnna replied, her voice steady. She didn't stop moving. She gripped the handle of her suitcase, her knuckles pale.

Chadwick stepped into her path. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a rectangular slip of paper. He held it out to her.

"This is for you," he said. "It's separate from the prenup. Call it a settlement for... displacement."

Johnna looked down. It was a personal check. The logo was Chase Private Client. The handwriting was sharp and jagged. The amount made her breath hitch in her throat. It was enough to buy a house. A big house. It was enough to never work again.

She looked from the check to his face. He looked smug, in a pained sort of way. He thought this fixed it. He thought he was being generous.

She felt a wave of nausea. He was paying her off like a prostitute he had kept on retainer for three years.

"I don't want it," she said.

She tried to step around him, but he side-stepped, blocking her way. The check fluttered in his hand.

"Take it, Johnna. Don't be dramatic. You have nothing."

"I have everything I came with," she said.

His eyes narrowed. The rejection seemed to sting him more than her leaving. A dark flush crept up his neck.

"Is it not enough?" he sneered, his voice dropping an octave. "Not enough for you and that 'Jay' to live happily ever after?"

The name hit her like a physical blow. Johnna's entire body went rigid. The air left her lungs. Her eyes snapped to his, wide with shock.

"What?" she breathed.

"Don't pretend," Chadwick spat. "I've heard you. In your sleep. You call for him. You cry for him." He took a step closer, looming over her, the scent of his expensive cologne suffocating her. "Is he waiting for you? Is that why you're running out the door so fast?"

Johnna stared at him, horror dawning on her. He thought she was cheating. He thought she was leaving him for another man.

She opened her mouth to scream the truth. He's dead, you idiot. He drowned. He's at the bottom of the Atlantic.

But the words died on her tongue. She looked at the contempt in Chadwick's eyes. He had already decided who she was. He had decided she was a gold digger, a cheater, a fake. If she told him Jay was dead, he would probably think she was lying to gain sympathy.

What was the point? They were over. The ink on the marriage certificate meant nothing against the ink on the divorce papers.

"It's none of your business, Mr. Dyer," she said. The formality was a blade, sharp and cold.

Chadwick flinched. The name sounded like a slap.

He grabbed her purse, which was hanging from her shoulder, and shoved the check inside. "Take the damn money."

Johnna didn't fight him. She adjusted the strap of her bag, her dignity wrapping around her like armor. She walked past him, the wheels of her suitcase clicking rhythmically on the marble floor.

At the console table by the door, she stopped.

She raised her left hand. The diamond on her ring finger caught the light, heavy and cold. It was a beautiful ring. A Dyer family heirloom. It had never really fit her; it was always a little too loose, always threatening to slip off.

She pulled it off.

She placed it on the marble surface. The metal made a sharp clack that echoed in the high ceilings of the foyer.

She didn't look back. She opened the heavy oak door and stepped out into the hallway.

Chadwick stood alone in the center of the foyer. The silence of the apartment was absolute. He stared at the ring sitting on the table. It looked small. Insignificant. He waited for the rush of relief, the feeling of freedom he had been promising himself for months.

It didn't come. Instead, a hollow ache opened up in his chest, vast and echoing.

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