"My Ex's Family Humiliated Me at My Cousin's Wedding—Then America’s Richest Billionaire Walked Up and Called Me His Wife"

The property was magnificent—a sprawling historic mansion made of red brick and wrought iron, overlooking the glowing skyline of Boston and the Charles River. The interior was a masterpiece of dark oak, floor-to-ceiling glass, high archways, and warm marble fireplaces.

A butler greeted us at the door, taking Ryan’s suit jacket and my evening wrap.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Blackwood," the butler said with a crisp bow. "Your private quarters have been prepared in the East Wing, adjacent to Mr. Blackwood’s master suite."

"Thank you, Thomas," I said, still trying to get used to the sound of that name: Mrs. Blackwood.

Once Thomas stepped away, silence settled over the massive foyer. The adrenaline of the wedding began to fade, leaving behind a heavy, simmering tension between Ryan and me.

Ryan turned to me, loosening his collar as he walked toward the grand marble staircase. "Your wardrobe, personal laptop, and novel notes have already been transferred from your old apartment. Tomorrow morning at eight, my personal legal team will review the non-disclosure agreement and the trust details with you."

"Ryan," I called out, stopping him at the foot of the stairs.

He turned, his dark eyes fixing on me in the soft light of the chandelier. "Yes?"

"Why me?" I asked, taking a step toward him. "You could have hired any high-society heiress, any model, or any powerful female executive in Manhattan to play this role. You could have paid someone fifty million dollars without batting an eye. Why did you choose a diner waitress?"

Ryan stared at me for a long, heavy moment. He walked back down the step until he was standing directly in front of me, his massive frame towering over mine.

"Because heiresses are loyal to their families, models are loyal to the press, and executives are loyal to their own boards," Ryan said softly, reaching out to gently trace the jawline of my face with his thumb. "I needed someone who was real. Someone who didn't look at me like a bank account, but who had enough fire in her soul to burn down anyone who tried to step on her."

His touch was warm, sending a wave of electric shivers through my body.

"And," Ryan added, his thumb brushing over my lower lip, "I liked the way your mind worked in that green notebook. I wanted to see what happened when I gave the main character her rightful power."

My heart did a dangerous, erratic flip against my ribs.

"Get some sleep, Ellie," Ryan murmured, stepping back and turning toward the stairs. "Tomorrow, the real game begins. We have dinner with Arthur Vane and his family at eight o'clock."

"Arthur Vane?" I asked, my breath catching. "Will Daniel be there?"