Page 158 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

“Things aren’t always what they seem,” she says cryptically. “Just... listen to him, okay? That’s all I’m asking.”

“Do you know something I don’t?” My free hand balls into a fist. “Lucy, if you’re holding out on me—”

“I read what he gave me, that’s all. And unlike you, I didn’t immediately jump to the worst possible conclusion.”

“When did he give you anything?”

“Earlier. He was at your opening. Your eyes weren’t playing tricks. He handed me a portfolio before he left.”

My heart does a strange little stutter-step that I absolutely refuse to acknowledge. “And?”

“And it’s not my place to tell you what’s in it. That’s for him to explain. Just give him a chance to talk, okay?”

After we hang up, I’m left with even more questions. Barefoot, I walk a slow circuit around my gallery, this space that represents everything I’ve fought for. By some miracle, I managed to secure it through my own connections, though I still need the remainder of Gideon’s settlement to buy it outright. The thought makes my stomach twist.

Always the same story. Men with money controlling my art, my future.

Still, I hear Lucy’s words echoin my mind.

Give him a chance...

The quiet is suddenly broken by the soft beep of the security system. Someone’s entered the access code at the front door.

I freeze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Only four people have that code. Me, Lucy, Diana, and Michael. The latter two employed by...

Gideon.

He looks different than I remember, though it’s only been a week. Thinner maybe, with shadows under his eyes that match the ones under mine. He’s carrying a sleek leather portfolio under one arm, and he hesitates just inside the entrance.

“May I come in?” he asks, as if I could actually deny him entry to a space that technically isn’t even mine yet.

I nod stiffly, crossing my arms over my chest like I’m trying to hold my ribs together. “Kind of already did.”

He approaches slowly, stopping a respectful distance away. His eyes scan my face, and I hate how easily I can read the concern there. I hate even more how much I’ve missed those eyes.

“Your opening was impressive,” he says finally.

“Yeah, well, turns out betrayal is a fantastic creative motivator.” I gesture to the wall of canvases behind me. “Who knew?”

He winces, then holds out the portfolio. “I need you to look at this before we talk.”

“What is it? More evidence of how you planned to humiliate me?” My voice cracks embarrassingly, and I hate myself for it.

“It’s the truth,” he says simply.

Something in his tone, a vulnerability I’ve rarely heard from him, makes me take the portfolio. I lead him to one of the private back rooms and shut the door behind us, just in case there are some other staff around who haven’t left yet that I don’t know about. I feel a moment of doubt shutting him inside there with me, but again, something in his tonemakes me lower all my defenses.

I move to the small desk in the corner and spread the contents across the surface.

The first document is an email thread between Gideon and Jonas. I scan it quickly, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“Server logs?” I mutter, looking at the timestamps on the documents I found in his desk. “These show they were created three weeks after our wedding, not before.”

“Keep reading,” he says quietly.

I continue through the stack, my hands growing increasingly unsteady. There’s an entire counter-strategy documented: restraining orders against specific media outlets, digital surveillance of Blackwell’s communications, a crisis management team on standby specifically to protect my gallery opening.

“The dates were falsified deliberately,” Gideon explains, moving closer. “We needed Blackwell to believe I had been planning to discredit you from the beginning. That I was cold-blooded enough to sacrifice you and your career. If he believed I was capable of betraying my own wife, he would believe the other misinformation we fed him.”

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