The Double Life of My Billionaire Husband – Episode 23
Natalie woke before dawn because luxury had its own unfamiliar silence. No pipes rattled behind the walls, no neighbor argued through thin plaster, and no ambulance siren seemed close enough to enter the room. For several confused seconds, she did not know where she was. Then she saw her mother’s photograph and remembered the husband sleeping across the hall.
She found Sebastian in the kitchen wearing yesterday’s shirt and studying his phone. The screen displayed columns of figures before he turned it facedown. For an instant she saw company names, percentages, and a number large enough to be meaningless to her, but sleep blurred the details before she could connect them. “You’re up early,” she said.
“Old habit.” He slid a mug toward her. The coffee contained exactly the amount of milk she preferred, another detail he had learned without announcing it.
Natalie opened the refrigerator and began preparing breakfast as her promised contribution. Sebastian offered to help, then demonstrated that he did not know where anything belonged in the kitchen he supposedly had never visited. Yet he reached the correct drawer for a knife without looking. Natalie paused, and he realized his mistake one second too late. The drawer slid shut between them with a soft, incriminating click.
“You seem comfortable here,” she said. Her tone was light, but curiosity sharpened it.
“I’ve stayed here before.” Sebastian selected the safest piece of truth. “My friend travels often.” He began cutting fruit with the precision of someone more familiar with boardrooms than domestic tasks, and Natalie watched him struggle not with the knife but with appearing ordinary.
She chose not to press. His evasions bothered her, although they differed from George’s. Her father lied to escape responsibility; Sebastian’s secrets often produced help—a job lead, protection at the pawnshop, a roof she could never afford. Good consequences did not make dishonesty harmless, but they made its purpose harder to judge. Perhaps he was embarrassed by dependence on wealthy friends. Perhaps the trust fund had created complications he was not ready to share. She reminded herself that she had concealed her own bargain until last night.
“I’m meeting Sarah later,” Natalie said. “She found two openings at smaller firms.” She expected Sebastian to suggest resting after everything that happened. Instead, he asked about the positions, commute, and application deadlines, treating her career as a plan worthy of serious attention.
“Neither company is B.M. Enterprises,” she admitted. The failed interview still felt like a door Serena had slammed on her fingers. “Maybe that was never realistic.”
Sebastian set down the knife. “One dishonest interviewer doesn’t determine where you belong.” He wanted to order human resources to restore Natalie’s candidacy, but doing so would expose influence she did not know he possessed. “Apply again when another position opens. Make them reject your work honestly, if they dare.”
His certainty rekindled something she thought humiliation had extinguished. Perhaps one ruined interview did not deserve the power she had given it. “You make revenge sound professional.”
“The best kind usually is.” The answer emerged from Sebastian’s real life, and the cold confidence behind it made Natalie wonder again who he had been before the ruined wedding brought him to her door.
After breakfast, she insisted on washing every dish. Sebastian took a business call in the study, closing the door but not completely. Natalie heard Daniel’s voice through the speaker, followed by phrases about voting rights, final signatures, and transferring control. Daniel addressed him with the deference of an employee, not the teasing familiarity of a friend. None of it resembled casual work performed by a financially dependent heir.
She approached the doorway, then stopped herself. Listening would violate the privacy she had demanded for her own history. Before she could retreat, Sebastian opened the door and found her in the hall.
“Is everything all right?” he asked. His body blocked the view of documents spread across the desk.
“I was going to ask whether you needed lunch.” Natalie disliked how easily the excuse came. They stood inches apart, both holding truths behind ordinary sentences. Marriage, she realized, could become a house built entirely of considerate lies.
Sebastian studied her face. He suspected she had heard enough to question him, and part of him almost welcomed it. A direct accusation might force the confession he kept postponing. Instead, her phone rang from the kitchen, and the moment closed before either of them chose courage.
The caller identification showed the hospital. Natalie’s stomach tightened as she answered. Calls from that number never brought anything simple; they carried test results, payment warnings, or changes that divided life into before and after. She remembered the overdue notice folded inside her desk and the loan agreement that bought only a brief reprieve. “This is Natalie Quinn.”
The billing coordinator introduced herself and asked to confirm details on her mother’s account. Natalie gripped the counter, already calculating how long Daniel’s loan could protect the next treatment. Sebastian entered behind her, reading fear in the rigid line of her shoulders.
“Has something happened to my mother?” Natalie asked. The coordinator assured her the medical team was pleased with the treatment, but there was an important update regarding the balance. Natalie closed her eyes, bracing for another impossible demand, while Sebastian stood close enough to know the news had already been purchased by his secret.
