Page 31 of If You Give a Billionaire a Bride

A growl escapes my lips. If Richard were here in person, I would give him a piece of my mind. He has no right to disrespect Everly like this. She wasn’t aware of the deal until yesterday, so she’s not to blame.

I knew about the deal, and my brothers were far more understanding. Harrison might disapprove of my actions, but he would never prioritize business over family. If I called him right now and told him that Everly and I don’t want to go through with this charade, he wouldn’t be ecstatic, but he’d accept it. Even when I’ve been an irresponsible dumbass, he’s always there for me.

“I’m sorry,” Everly murmurs despondently.

“Under no circumstance will you get this marriage annulled. Do you understand?” Richard states, leaving no room to argue. “You’ve made your bed—now it’s time to face the consequences of your actions.”

I clench my hands at my side, forcing myself not to intervene. Despite Richard’s disrespect toward her, I don’t think Everly would welcome my interference. Richard’s primary concern should be his daughter. Yet, all he cares about is himself and a tentative business deal. He’s a selfish bastard, and I wish I could knock some sense into him.

“Okay,” Everly says in a meek voice.

This isn’t the sexy, confident woman I’ve spent the past day with. Right now, she’s a daughter desperately craving her father’s love, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“I don’t care what you have to do to make it work, but you’re going to be a good little wife and stay married until the deal is finalized,” he orders. “If you mess this up for me you can kiss your career goodbye. I’ll make sure no one else in the industry will hire you.” Richard’s harsh tone sounds more like he’s threatening a business rival than having a conversation with his daughter.

Everly stands with slumped shoulders, her entire body seeming to shrink inward as tears stream down her face.

I fucking hate Richard.

I swear to god, the bastard will pay for how he has treated Everly. It might not be today, but he’ll get what’s coming to him, and I’ll find satisfaction in watching him suffer when he does.

9

EVERLY

“I HAVE TO GO. I’Mpulling into the country club and can’t be late for my tee time. Do not disappoint me, Everly Rae,” Dad says sharply before ending the call, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

I hold on to the bathroom counter for support as I inhale deeply through my nose and count to five before exhaling, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

Growing up, I was taught that crying is a sign of weakness. It’s ironic how my dad told me that, yet he’s the reason I’m feeling this way.

He’s always valued power and success over building relationships with his family. And when I agreed to work for him, my desire for financial security and independence outweighed his negative treatment.

Movement near the doorway has me spinning around to find Cash leaning against the wall, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, a scowl on his otherwise relaxed face.

“How long have you been standing there?” I ask with trepidation.

“Long enough to affirm my overwhelming disdain for your dad.” He strides across the bathroom and hops up on the countertop like we’re two pals having a casual conversation. “Why do you let him talk to you that way? You deserve better.”

“It’s complicated,” I reply vaguely, hoping he’ll drop it.

“Why don’t you uncomplicate it for me?” he suggests, using my response from yesterday.

How do I explain that my need for security and stability outweighs my father’s mistreatment when I don’t think he would understand? Cash may have the perfect family, but mine is far from it.

“How much has Theo told you?” I ask, curious about what my brother has shared with him.

“Not much,” Cash answers. “I know he doesn’t have contact with either of your parents and changes the subject if they’re brought up in a conversation.”

I lean against the vanity next to where he’s sitting, emotionally drained from my conversation with my dad.

Cash doesn’t rush me to speak, waiting patiently as I collect my thoughts. I tap my fingers against my thigh as my mind races.

“There’s no pressure to talk about it if you’d rather not. I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he says, offering comfort.

“No, you should know. Just please don’t judge me.” I inwardly cringe at how vulnerable I sound.

“Never,” he vows as he holds my gaze, studying my expression.

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