The Double Life of My Billionaire Husband – Episode 09
Natalie expected Sebastian to choose a restaurant she could not afford, another polished room where every server would judge her clothes. Instead, he brought her home. By evening, the little table near the kitchen window held two plates, a bottle of wine, and a meal whose rich aroma filled the entire house. Rain tapped softly against the glass, enclosing them in a private world far removed from the boutique’s cold lights and sharper voices.
“You cooked this?” she asked. The man who supposedly could not keep a job had prepared dinner with the calm efficiency of someone who rarely needed instructions. Sebastian pulled out her chair. “I have a few survival skills.”
Natalie sat, setting the shoe box safely against the wall. Candlelight would have made the scene romantic, so Sebastian had wisely left the ordinary ceiling light on. Even so, the two glasses and the quiet privacy of the room made the dinner feel more intimate than either of them had agreed to.
Sebastian poured the wine and raised his glass. “To our first day of marriage without anyone forcing us to say vows.” Natalie smiled despite herself and touched her glass to his. “That’s a very low standard for celebration.”
“We can improve it tomorrow.” His easy answer drew a soft laugh from her. The sound surprised them both. At the wedding, Natalie had seemed braced against impact; now some of that tension slipped from her shoulders.
She tasted the food and looked up in genuine delight. “This is delicious.” Sebastian accepted the praise with a small nod, though her enjoyment pleased him more than it should have. He had ordered the meal through a private chef and transferred it into ordinary cookware before she returned, but admitting that would require explaining far too much.
For several minutes, they ate without the strained silence of the car ride. Natalie told him which dish her mother would have liked and caught herself speaking as if there might be another dinner. She described how her mother always added too much pepper, then went quiet when she realized how easily she had shared the memory. Their agreement promised distance, yet domestic life was beginning to form in the spaces neither had negotiated.
“I wanted to thank you for earlier,” she said at last. “The clerk was rude, but you didn’t have to step in.” Sebastian set down his fork. “She was humiliating my wife. I did have to.”
The possessive words should have felt like part of their public performance. There was no audience now, however, and Sebastian’s expression held no trace of playacting. Natalie looked into her glass to hide the warmth rising in her cheeks.
“I appreciate it,” she said, “but I know you don’t have much money. Please don’t spend like that again.” Her concern was sincere, which made the lie between them feel less strategic and more personal.
Sebastian leaned back. “What makes you think I don’t have much money?” The question sharpened the air. Natalie hesitated, hearing again the whispers at the wedding and remembering the modest house he had introduced with an apology.
“I mean…” She searched for an answer that would not insult him. Sebastian supplied the rumors himself. “Because people say I can’t hold a job? That I spend all day with thugs? Because I’m the Klein family’s exiled bastard?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Natalie reached across the table before remembering their boundaries and pulled her hand back. “I don’t care about any of those things.” The truth came quickly. His history frightened her less with every hour she spent beside him.
“Then what do you care about?” Sebastian asked. His voice had softened, but the question felt more dangerous than anger. Natalie considered the unpaid medical bills, her lack of work, and the temporary home neither of them fully owned in the other’s mind. She cared about promises being kept and burdens being shared; admitting either aloud, however, would expose how seriously she had already begun to take a marriage meant to exist only on paper.
“If we’re going to have a decent life, we need to plan financially,” she said. “Even if this marriage ends after your trust fund comes through, we still have to live until then.” It was practical, sensible, and safer than admitting she had begun to care whether he was secure.
Sebastian watched her outline a future measured in rent, food, and shared responsibilities. She believed she might need to support them both, yet there was no contempt in her calculation. In her imagined budget, his worth was never tied to the balance of his account, a generosity so unfamiliar that he almost distrusted it. “And how do you propose we do that?”
“I have several interviews scheduled,” Natalie said. A trace of pride entered her voice. “I’ll be earning money soon.” The certainty sounded rehearsed, as if she needed to believe employment could rescue every part of her life at once.
“And you’ll support us?” Sebastian asked, half teasing and half testing the limits of her promise. Natalie met his eyes. “Of course. This is my home too now, isn’t it?”
The answer silenced him. People had pursued Sebastian for what he could provide, what he controlled, or what proximity to his name could unlock. Natalie, believing him nearly penniless, was offering to carry the household without hesitation.
Sebastian raised his glass again, but the humor in his expression had given way to something Natalie could not read. “To your interviews, then.” She returned the toast, unaware that one of those interviews would soon place her inside a company he secretly controlled—and force him to decide how far he was willing to interfere in her life.
