The Double Life of My Billionaire Husband

Later that day, Kevin made his way toward Henry's office, his excitement palpable. Inside the elevator, he couldn't help but fidget, his anticipation growing with each passing floor. He had just received Lucille's background report and was eager to present it to Henry.

And why wouldn't he be? This was the first time in his career that his boss had shown an interest in a woman. As soon as Henry had given him the task, Kevin devoted himself to being the best wingman. He had delved into Lucille's background, tirelessly gathering every information he could find. He had compiled a comprehensive dossier on Lucille in hours, covering her life from childhood to adulthood.

However, as he read through the report, Kevin couldn't help but feel a tinge of dissatisfaction with what he had discovered. It turned out that Lucille had recently been involved in a murder case. Nevertheless, since she was the woman who had captured Henry's interest, he decided to keep his reservations to himself. As long as her presence could quash the rumors about Henry's involvement with other men, Kevin was willing to overlook any flaws she might have.

With a proud smile, Kevin held up the tablet, thrilled about his boss's blossoming romance, and stepped out of the elevator into Henry's office.

"President Moore, here's the information you requested," Kevin announced, presenting the iPad as a precious treasure. He looked at Henry expectantly, silently seeking approval. However, Henry simply accepted the device without saying a word.

As Henry scrolled through the information, his brows furrowed, and his expression quickly turned cold. In an instant, the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees, and Kevin couldn't help but wonder if there had been a mistake in the report.

Henry's lips turned downward, and the icy look in his eyes sent a shiver down Kevin's spine. His natural coldness and aloofness amplified whenever he wore that expression. Kevin often felt like he was playing a game of charades, trying to decipher Henry's thoughts. He knew that when something upset the boss, it could have severe consequences—people fainting or even having heart attacks. Right now, Kevin feared he might pass out from the tension in the room.

Meanwhile, at the police station, Lucille remained silent, unresponsive to the officers' questions and statements. Her gaze was vacant as if their words couldn't penetrate her mind. After a considerable amount of time trying to extract information from her in vain, the police decided to lock her in a cell.

It was well past midnight when Lucille was confined in a dark and damp room, sending chills down her spine. Huddled in a corner, she held onto her knees, trembling from the cold. Until that moment, she had refused to accept what had transpired.

Just yesterday, she had been the respected young lady of the Reed family, attending her beloved Grandpa Ricky's funeral. But now, everything had crumbled, and she had been swiftly convicted of murder. How could she come to terms with such a life-altering turn of events?

Desperation and dread coursed through Lucille's veins, suffocating her. She covered her ears as Lucas' accusatory words echoed in her mind, repeating like a relentless curse.

"I didn't do it," she murmured, shivering in denial. Yet, no matter how desperately she tried to convince herself otherwise, the damning video evidence captured her committing the act. It was crystal clear that she had killed Richard.

Lucas' words acted as a haunting mantra, growing louder with each passing moment, gradually convincing her that she had taken the life of the man who had cared for her.

Outside, rain poured relentlessly, accompanied by the rumble of distant thunder in the dark gray sky. A lightning bolt struck the ground, illuminating the gloomy room. Lucille almost screamed as she saw Richard's anguished expression before her.

He stared at her, his presence eerie, and spoke with an ethereal voice, "You're so heartless, Lucy. Why did you kill me?"

Wide-eyed and filled with desperation, she shook her head vigorously, trembling. "Grandpa, please believe me! I didn't kill you..."

At that moment, a chilling pair of hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing life out of her. She struggled, unwilling to face the apparition, but was compelled to meet its eyes.

"You took my life, so now you shall pay with your own!" it bellowed in her face.

Lucille was paralyzed at her breaking point as tears streamed down her cheeks like a waterfall. She could no longer bear the psychological torment. With a resolve born out of desperation, she decided and offered a surrendering smile.

"Alright, Grandpa. If sacrificing my life is the only way for you to forgive me, then I'll do it..." Lucille declared resolutely. Rising to her feet, she bit her lip and forcefully smashed her head against the wall. A searing pain overwhelmed her senses, and she instantly lost consciousness, collapsing to the floor with blood trickling from her head.

As Lucille eventually regained consciousness, she was no longer in a prison cell but in a dimly lit room. Her mind was still fuzzy from her two concussions within twenty-four hours. She couldn't immediately comprehend her surroundings.

'Could this be hell?' she pondered, but something felt off compared to what she had seen depicted on television. She glanced around, noting the absence of fire and wandering ghosts that she had imagined hell to be filled with. "Are you awake?" a hair-raising voice suddenly pierced through the room, causing Lucille to freeze. A chilling sensation crept from the depths of her heart as she listened to the cold and piercing tone. She had never encountered such a voice except in her imagination of the lord of hell. Trying to maintain composure, she forced herself to speak. "Your grace, the lord of hell?" she greeted, bowing slightly, instinctively attempting to show respect to avoid potential torture.

'Lord of hell?' Henry repeated silently in his head. His lips twitched at the absurdity of Lucille's assumption. 'Does she think this well-air-conditioned room is hell? Is she truly that naive? When did hell become a place of comfort?'

"Why did you commit suicide?" He asked in a frigid tone, questioning Lucille's actions.

Her body stiffened, and memories of her untimely demise flooded her mind, eliciting a bitter smile at the corner of her lips. The pain she had endured resurfaced, creating a suffocating sensation in her chest. Letting out a mocking laugh, she replied, assuming that the lord of hell was merely going through the motions before condemning her to punishment. "The husband I loved and cherished for three years betrayed me by having an affair with my sister. Isn't it ironic? I placed my trust in them, and they shattered it. Well, I've grown accustomed to Rica taking everything from me, so I shouldn't be surprised that Lucas caught her eye as well," Lucille's voice trembled with a mix of anger, pain, and suffering. Tears streamed down her face as she continued, "But their betrayal pales in comparison to the crime I've committed. I, I killed the only person who cared about me..."

Overwhelmed by emotions, Lucille could no longer contain her tears as she broke down completely. "The only way I can seek redemption is by offering my life."

In her distressed state, a glimmer of sanity returned to her mind, prompting her to ask a crucial question. "Are you certain that I was the one who murdered him?" Henry pursed his lips, squinting his eyes as he contemplated her words.

"What do you mean?" Lucille asked, bewildered by his response.

"Your grace, do you know the truth? Do you know who killed him?" She pleaded desperately, searching the darkness for any sign of his presence.

Henry moved away, and a sudden searing pain shot through her thigh, causing her to hiss in agony. "Does it hurt?" he questioned, his tone cold and detached.

"It hurts!" Lucille instinctively responded, but then a realization struck her like lightning. Her eyes widened, confirming her suspicion. "I didn't die?"

"What do you think?" he retorted sarcastically, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Realizing she was alive and not in hell, Lucille's guard was up. She retreated until her back was pressed against the headboard. "Then who are you? Why did you pretend to be the devil?"

Henry couldn't help but laugh. "Did I ever claim to be the devil or the lord of hell?"

Lucille fell silent, feeling a mixture of confusion and frustration. 'You certainly made it seem that way!' she silently retorted.

Gradually, the gravity of her situation sank in. 'If I'm still alive and this isn't hell, then who is this stranger?'

Hugging her knees tightly, she mustered her courage and cautiously inquired, "If we're not in hell, then who are you? And what do you plan to do with me?"