Page 50 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
"But you won’t?" He flicks off an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder.
"No." I take a step forward until we are almost toe to toe.
The heat of his big body pounds into me, weighs me down. The dark edge of anger vibrates off of him, forming a tension-filled bubble that encloses us, not that I care.
I’ve come this far, haven’t I?
May as well get it all off of my chest, huh?
"Those people out there?" I stab a thumb in the direction of the door, "They have no idea what darkness lurks under that polished demeanor. That at heart you are insecure about your wealth, your position. You think you could lose it all in a flash, so you hold onto it with your greedy hands."
His left eyelid twitches. He clenches his jaw so hard, I can literally hear him gnash his teeth together. Oh, good. I hope some of those pearly whites crack on the edges.
"Go on." His voice is so soft, so low; yet the threat in his tone, sinks into my blood, rolls down my stomach to pool between my thighs. I gulp. Resist the urge to curl my fingers into fists, to blink and look away. Pivot, run away, now, before everything goes beyond the point of no return. Ha, likely story. I passed that point a while ago. No turning back now.
I square my shoulders, hold that burning indigo gaze.
"You’ll use your power to get anything, to solidify your fake space in the world. Perhaps launder the profits from your business into some bullshit non-profit, so you can build up a fake reputation. Because that’s what you are—a fake. Someone who has no idea what it is to do real good, to use your money to actually make a difference. You have no idea what it means to have no money, to live in fear of where your next meal is coming from, stressing about the roof over your head, about the health of your loved ones.
"When you are convinced that you are a failure because all of your dreams have gone up in smoke and every passing day brings you closer to your grave as you fight to hold onto the present and try to make a living of your wretched life because time is running out. It’s running out right in front of you and all you see is yourself, in the mirror… a failure."
My chest heaves. Adrenaline laces my blood and I feel tears threatening to spill over. When had I gone from talking about his faults to laying bare my soul? Every single thing I said about him is true... and about me, too. This has become a strange war of sorts, in which there will be no winner. Correction. The person who’ll lose everything is me.
He has his money, his position. And his reputation…? He can always rebuild it. While me? I set myself back by zillions of years. I am going to lose everything that matters to me, be left with nothing, not even tattered dreams to hold onto. I called him a fake, when really, the pretender in the room is me. My shoulders slump. A dark feeling of despondency courses through my veins. Every millimeter of my body suffuses with so much cringeworthy shame that I am sure he can spot exactly how much I already regret this outburst. Some fighter I am.
I pivot, drag myself toward the door.
"Oh, Bird?"
"What?" I don’t turn. I don’t want to see his face, take in the smug triumph that, no doubt, crowns the alphahole’s features. Someone, kill me now. Oh, wait, never mind. I am doing a really good job of burying myself alive all by myself.
"My phone."
"Eh?" I glance sideways at the sleek device I clutch in my fingers. Damn it, could have at least done my nails, huh? Maybe not a salon manicure, but I could have allowed Karma to buff them up as she’d often offered to do. Stupid, stupid thought.
I turn once more, shuffle toward him.
Each step brings me closer to his heat; that edgy masculine scent of his deepens. The dominance of his presence creates an invisible circumference in the vicinity. If I step into his field of influence I am gone, caged, trapped forever in the layers of huskiness that would subsume me, draw me in and consume me until I forget about myself, about everything that was of significance to me… Like the world, which has brought me only disappointment so far.
I pause a few steps away from him and hold out the phone.
A beat. Another.
There’s no movement from him. I peer up at him and gasp. Those eyes… The darkness of his irises seems to have gone impossibly deeper. His features are so hard that they could have been carved out of some yet to be invented alloy—like "Spider Steel."
What are you blabbing about?Now is not the time to show your preoccupation with useless pieces of trivia.
"Excuse me?" He glares at me.
"Uh... It's the strongest bio-material—stronger than steel and its biodegradable."
"So?"
"Your face could be carved from it, it’s so…"
"Breathtaking?"
He says it with a straight face. He actually believes in his own invincibility.
"Ugly." I tilt my chin up, wave his phone in front of him, "Like your stupid phone, which, since you don’t seem to want it, I am going to—"
He clicks his tongue. "Temper, Bird. And after that beautiful dialogue that you spewed, too?"
"Guess what, asshole?"
"I’m waiting." He holds out his hand, palm face up.
"Too late." I pitch the phone over his shoulder.
