The Double Life of My Billionaire Husband – Episode 08
Natalie searched Sebastian’s face for a sign that he was joking. Seven thousand dollars was more than extravagance; it was the kind of sum that could keep her mother in treatment while she searched for work. The boutique’s soft music suddenly seemed absurd against the pounding of her pulse, and every curious glance in the room made the number feel louder. “Sebastian, that’s insane,” she whispered. “Don’t waste money like that.”
The sales clerk waited with thinly concealed satisfaction. She clearly expected him to retreat now that the cost had been stated twice. Sebastian merely lifted one shoulder. “Consider it a wedding gift.” His casual tone made the purchase sound ordinary, but Natalie knew the man she had married claimed to be waiting for a trust fund.
“I don’t need a gift.” She lowered her voice, unwilling to argue about their finances in front of an audience. “Especially not one that costs seven thousand dollars.” A marriage with an expiration date did not require designer shoes, and kindness did not become wiser simply because it was generous.
Sebastian looked at the rental pair on the counter. “You need shoes,” he said. “And those aren’t coming home with us.” The plural pronoun caught Natalie off guard. He spoke as if their small house and improvised arrangement had already formed a unit no outsider was permitted to disrespect. For someone who had proposed that they remain strangers in private, he had a startling way of drawing a line around her and daring the rest of the world to cross it.
The clerk’s manner changed as she sensed a real sale. “Please, have a seat,” she said to Natalie with artificial sweetness. “What size are you, dear?” Before Natalie could answer, Sebastian said, “Seven.”
She turned toward him. “How do you know that?” They had shared one evening and a breakfast. She could not remember removing her shoes anywhere near him, much less discussing their size. His knowledge felt oddly intimate.
“I’m your husband,” Sebastian replied, allowing a teasing smile to disguise the truth. “I know everything about you.” In reality, the detail had been listed in Daniel’s report, a fact he should never have exposed. Natalie narrowed her eyes, but the clerk returned with the shoes before she could question him.
“Here is a size seven,” the woman said. She placed the box beside Natalie’s chair but remained standing. The courtesy ordinarily offered to customers vanished at the thought of kneeling before someone she had just mocked.
Sebastian noticed. “What are you doing over there?” he asked. The clerk looked around, pretending not to understand. “Help my wife put them on.” His voice was quiet, yet the command carried through the boutique.
“She can try them herself,” the clerk said, the resentment beneath her smile showing again. Sebastian stepped closer to the counter. “If that’s a problem, I’ll speak to your manager.” He did not raise his voice or mention his influence. He simply made disbelief feel unwise.
Natalie touched his sleeve. “Sebastian, it’s fine.” She did not want another confrontation fought on her behalf, especially one over luxury shoes they could not sensibly afford. He looked down at her hand, then at the woman who had told his wife she was too poor to marry.
“No,” he said. “It isn’t.” The answer was not about footwear. Natalie heard it in the hard edge of his voice. He would not accept a world in which people changed the measure of her dignity after looking at her bank balance.
The clerk reluctantly crouched and helped Natalie into the pumps. They fit perfectly. The sleek black leather framed her feet as though the shoes had been made for her, while the red soles flashed when she stood. Natalie hated how beautiful they felt.
Sebastian’s expression softened. “Better.” For an instant, his gaze lingered with unmistakable appreciation, and warmth stirred beneath Natalie’s unease. No one had ever looked at her as though giving her something fine was natural.
At the register, Sebastian produced a card with no bank name printed across the front. The clerk examined its matte surface, clearly searching for evidence that it was fake, then swiped it with a skeptical glance. Approval appeared immediately. Her eyes widened, and she checked the screen a second time as her condescension collapsed into careful courtesy, but Sebastian offered no explanation.
He paid for the new shoes and settled the rental dispute without allowing the restoration charge. When the clerk began wrapping the scratched satin pair, he stopped her. “Keep them. And review your own policy before you invent another fee.”
Outside, Natalie carried the new box like contraband. “Where did you get that kind of money?” she asked. “You said the trust fund hadn’t been released.” The question was reasonable, and Sebastian had expected it from the moment he entered the store.
“I have resources,” he said, deliberately vague. “Not every rumor you’ve heard about me is true.” It was closer to honesty than a fabricated loan, yet far enough from the whole truth to preserve his disguise.
Natalie stopped on the sidewalk. “Whatever resources you have, don’t spend them proving a point for me.” Gratitude shone beneath her frustration. No one had defended her so decisively before, which made accepting the gesture both precious and frightening. “We need to plan if we’re going to live together, even temporarily.”
Sebastian studied the woman objecting to a gift most people would have accepted without hesitation. She was worried about his future while believing he had almost nothing. “Then let’s talk about our finances,” he said, opening the passenger door for her. “Over dinner.” The invitation sounded harmless, but the warmth in his eyes made Natalie suspect their first meal as husband and wife would test boundaries far more complicated than money.
