Page 73 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

Tatiana closes her laptop and sets it aside. “It’s one blurry photo on a second-rate gossip account, Dom.”

“Which has already been picked up by three major outlets and is trending on X.” I run a hand through my hair. “I already called Camilla. We need to issue a statement immediately and have our legal team reach out to the account.”

“And say what exactly?” Tatiana stands, crossing her arms. “That they need to take down a factual photo?”

“We say it’s an invasion of privacy. We threaten legal action for using unauthorized photos in a commercial context.”

“Which will only make it look like we’re hiding something.” She shakes her head. “The smarter move is to ignore it. Let it fade naturally.”

I stare at her. “Ignore it? That’s your professional advice? To just ignore a direct threat to the narrative we’ve carefully constructed?”

“Yes,” she says firmly. “Because aggressive reactions to minor gossip create bigger stories than the original gossip itself. It will amplify the story, and imply that it’s true.”

I pace across the living room, unable to stay still. “But this isn’t minor gossip. This is the foundation of our entire fucking story cracking apart two weeks before the funding closes.”

“The foundation of our story is that we got married in Vegas,” she counters. “Which is true. Whether we knew each other for years or hours doesn’t actually matter to the investors. What matters is stability now.”

“Don’t tell me what matters to my investors,” I snap. “I’ve been managing these relationships for decades.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Decades? You’re thirty-five, Dom.”

“You know what I mean.” I stop pacing and face her directly. “We need to contain this. Aggressively. Before it spreads further.”

“And I’m telling you that an aggressive response will only amplify it.” She stands up and steps closer, her voice rising slightly. “You’re so used to bulldozing through problems that you can’t see when finesse is the better approach.”

“Finesse?” I laugh humorlessly. “Is that what you call doing nothing?”

“It’s called strategic patience. Something you apparently know nothing about.”

I feel my temper flaring. “Don’t talk down to me in my own home, Tatiana.”

“Then don’t dismiss my professional opinion when you know I’m right.” She’s standing her ground, chin lifted in defiance.

“Your opinion isn’t based on experience with this level of scrutiny,” I counter. “This isn’t some minor corporate hiccup at Christopher’s company. This is my fucking life. My reputation. My deal that’s hanging in the balance.”

“Ourdeal,” she corrects sharply. “Ourreputation.Oursupposed life together that we’re trying to sell.”

“For two more weeks,” I remind her, the words bitter on my tongue.

Something flashes in her eyes. “Yes. Just two more weeks of this farce. Then you can go back to your aggressive damage control and I can go back to my apartment in Queens.”

The mention of her apartment sends an unexpected surge of possessiveness through me. The image of her small, personal space filled with books and photos flickers in my mind.

“This isn’t a farce,” I say, stepping closer without thinking. “Not entirely.”

Her gaze falters. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” My voice drops lower, and my walls start crumbling. “Whatever this is between us. It’s not just business anymore. It hasn’t been since Day 14.”

“Don’t,” she warns, but doesn’t step back.

We’re standing too close now. I can smell her perfume, see the slight flush rising on her cheeks. The anger between us shifts, morphing into something equally volatile but infinitely more dangerous.

“That night,” I say, my voice rough. “You can’t tell me that was just fulfilling a clause.”

“It was a mistake.” But her voice lacks conviction.

“Was it?” I challenge. “Because it didn’t feel like a mistake when you were screaming my name.”

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