The Husband They Mocked Was a Hidden Billionaire

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My wife has a severe germophobia.

To hold her hand, I have to scrub in like a surgeon, front and back, until my palms and knuckles are spotless. Only then do I earn one minute of holding her hand.

To kiss her, I have to brush my teeth at least ten times before I'm allowed to so much as touch her.

And to share a bed, I have to soak my whole body in hypochlorous acid, disinfect head to toe, before I'm allowed onto her mattress.

Three years of marriage, and I honored every single one of her rules.

Until the company retreat at the beach.

I watched my wife's little assistant put sunscreen on her.

His bare, undisinfected hands smoothed lotion from her exposed back all the way down to her ankles.

That was when I finally understood. Her germophobia was aimed at me and no one else.

I took out my phone and made a call.

“Kill every project with Agatha Henson's company. Now.”

If she was so squeamish, then I'd just trade her in for a wife who wasn't.

After all, as the sole heir of Skyline Group, the line of women who wanted to marry me would stretch from Sterling City all the way to France.

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To celebrate landing a ten-million-dollar order, Agatha had brought the whole staff out to the beach to unwind.

I hiked two kilometers in the blazing sun to fetch her a fresh-pressed juice.

The moment I got back, I saw her lying on her stomach on the sand, her assistant Theo Matthews carefully rubbing sunscreen into her skin.

Agatha wore a barely-there bikini, and Theo's hand slid slowly down her back all the way to her ankles.

The two of them looked utterly at ease with each other.

But we'd been married three years. Forget sunscreen. Just to hold her hand I had to scrub in like a surgeon, scrub until the skin broke, and that bought me ten minutes.

Even an ordinary kiss between husband and wife cost me ten rounds of brushing my teeth before I was allowed one light touch.

As for the bedroom, I had to file for it a month in advance, then disinfect my whole body with hypochlorous acid before I was allowed onto her bed.

And now she lay there and let Theo's hands, hands that had just been in the sand, roam freely over her bare body.

My face darkened as I walked over.

“Since when does an assistant handle his boss's personal life too?”

Surprise flickered in Agatha's eyes when she saw me, but she made no move to get up.

“Don't read into it, honey. The sun's brutal out here and I couldn't reach my own back, so I had Theo do it for me.”

Theo's hand grazed the pale curve of Agatha's waist, a smug, showing-off gleam in his eyes.

“Christian Vance, you're a househusband. Everything you enjoy right now, Agatha gave you. You knew we were coming to the beach and you didn't even prep her sunscreen. That's pretty negligent of you.”

“I just didn't want Agatha's fair skin getting burned, so I stepped in and did it for you.”

The last of the sunscreen went on, and Agatha looked at me like she was giving an order.

“Theo worked hard putting my sunscreen on. Hurry up and give him the watermelon juice to cool him off.”

Theo reached out to take the juice from my hand.

My expression went cold, and I lifted my arm and poured the whole thing over his head.

“Want watermelon juice? Can't you buy your own? Or does someone else's just taste better to you?”

The words had barely left me when there was a sharp crack.

Agatha's palm landed hard across my face.

“Christian, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Theo, all wounded innocence, grabbed her hand.

“Agatha, all I did was put sunscreen on you out of kindness. I never thought Christian would care this much.”

“A man who's been cooped up at home too long, his world's just too small. He never stops to think about who gave him the life he's living now.”

I let my gaze sweep over Theo, dripping and pathetic and still spoiling for a fight.

“When did what goes on between a husband and wife become the business of some assistant?”

That shut him up, his face twisting like he'd swallowed a fly.

Agatha pushed him behind her and stared at me, her expression dark and vicious.

“Christian, apologize to Theo right now.”

The word apologize turned my heart to ice.

“And if I don't?”

Her face went cold.

“Then don't blame me for forgetting we're married.”

With that, she took Theo's hand and started walking back.

“Come on, Theo. I'll take you to the nearest mall and buy you a change of clothes. Wouldn't want you catching a cold.”

I watched her walk off without a shred of hesitation, then took out my phone and made a call.

“Halt all cooperation with Agatha Henson's company. And send me whoever signed the contract with her.”

Agatha said Theo landed that ten-million-dollar order.

I wanted to see who had the nerve to sign a ten-million-dollar deal with a mere assistant without my go-ahead.

I sat alone by the water for a while, letting the sea wind blow over me, then went back to the villa.

The second I pushed the door open, there was a loud pop.

Then juice, sour and reeking, came pouring down over my head.

Agatha's icy voice came from inside the living room.

“Christian, don't you love pouring juice on people? Well, now you can have all you want.”