Page 146 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

This gets a reaction. A slight widening of his eyes, a tightening of his shoulders. “Because?”

My heart hammers so hard I’m sure he can hear it. “Because it makes sense to start now. Two weeks isn’t that long, but it’s enough time to begin... readjusting. To how things will be. After.”

After I’m no longer your wife. After I’m no longer in your life.

He stares at me for a long moment, his gray eyes unreadable. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not about what I want,” I say, the words coming out more sharply than intended. “It’s about what makes sense. This was always going to end, Gideon. We both signed the same contract.”

“With a no emotional involvement clause,” he says, his voice strangely tight.

I laugh, the sound brittle even tomy own ears. “Right. That one. Don’t worry, I’m not violating it. This is just... business.”

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. Every moment with him has become an exercise in restraint, in not showing how completely I’ve failed at the one thing our contract explicitly forbade.

His gaze is too intense, too searching. “You don’t have to sleep separately.”

“Yes, I do,” I whisper.

Because staying in your bed, pretending I’m not in love with you for two more weeks would break me completely.

The silence stretches between us, filled with all the things we’re not saying. Finally, Gideon nods once.

“If you need anything, let me know,” he says, retreating to the doorway. “And Ava? Congratulations again on the gallery. You earned it.”

After he leaves, I sink onto the edge of the bed, surrounded by the physical evidence of a life being dismantled. The divorce papers sit on the nightstand, beside my phone with my realtor’s text still on the screen. Success on one side, failure on the other.

That night, I lie awake in my own bed, acutely aware of the wall that separates me from Gideon. It might as well be an ocean. The sheets feel too crisp, too cool, too empty. There’s no warm body beside me, no steady breathing to lull me to sleep. No mind-blowing sex.

I slide my wedding ring off, holding it up in the moonlight that streams through the window. It catches and throws little rainbows across the room, beautiful and temporary, just like everything else in this penthouse.

Two weeks until I’m officially not Ava King anymore.

I slip the ring back on. I can be strong for two more weeks. I can finish what we started and walkaway with my pride intact, even if my heart is in pieces.

Because that was always the deal. A marriage of convenience, not love.

It’s not Gideon’s fault I forgot that part.

48

Gideon

The morning news alert hits my phone at 4:12 AM. I’m already awake, staring at the ceiling, my bed feeling too fucking empty without her.

“King Marriage Arrangement Exposed: Sources Claim Business Deal, Not Love.”

My jaw clenches as I scan the article. Some “anonymous source close to both parties” details our arrangement with disturbing accuracy. The contract terms. The trust setup. The exact fucking timeline.

I call Jonas immediately.

“You’ve seen it,” he says instead of hello.

“How the hell did this happen? I fired Burt Lee months ago.”

“Obviously we have another mole.”

“I want to know who leaked this. Now.”

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