The Billionaire I Bankrolled

I knew the moment I pushed the door open: Rhys Kingston’s junior assistant was beneath his desk.

The girl was deliberately provocative, and for a fleeting second, I saw the composure crack on his face. He nearly laughed.

I placed the file on his mahogany surface without looking at him. “The Westside Expansion budget request. Sign here.”

Suppressing his intense satisfaction, he didn’t check the details. He just picked up the pen and scribbled his name across several pages.

Only then did he lift his gaze, his eyes still hazy with lingering pleasure. “I thought you were… flying out tomorrow? Why the sudden return?”

I retrieved the file. “Emergency business.”

Before I turned away, I glanced at the space beneath his desk. “She can come out now.”

Rhys paused, momentarily stunned.

He probably expected the usual theatrics—a furious wife asserting dominance, a public scene, maybe even a video to prove who was still in charge.

But I simply added, “She’ll get a cramp if she stays down there too long.”

Feeling caught out, he shifted the topic. “What ‘emergency’ did you have to handle?”

I didn’t answer. I just closed the door and, very deliberately, flipped the small [REST AND DO NOT DISTURB] sign on the handle.

He didn’t realize that my emergency business had just been completed.

1

From inside the office, I heard the assistant, Willow Scott, purr softly.

“Rhys, you scared me to death just now.”

Rhys let out a low chuckle, his voice thick with a seductive rasp. “Scared of what? She’s not going to eat you.”

“But she’s your wife…”

“The wife is the one who understands the rules! See? She walked right out, didn’t she?”

I stood in the hallway, the afternoon light slanting diagonally onto the carpet at my feet.

Willow’s voice turned syrupy. “So are you coming home tonight?”

“Work is work,” Rhys said, the answer sounding disturbingly casual, “but I still have to go home.”

Willow tittered. “Mr. Kingston, are you so used to being pampered that you can’t manage a single night alone?”

“She can do it, but so can I! Was I not satisfying you just now?”

“You and she are different,” his lazy voice followed. “She’s tenacious, like a tiger in the boardroom, but she’s got nowhere to land without me!”

“You know how badly she broke with her family just to marry me back then.”

“If I stop going home, where would that leave all you little darlings on the outside?”

He spoke of our heavy past as if it were a playful line in a cheap romance.

Willow’s voice was cloyingly sweet. “Do you… like that about her? That she acts all high and mighty but is secretly pathetic?”

The air stilled for two seconds.

Then I heard Rhys laugh quietly, a sound devoid of mirth, and he posed a counter-question:

“You tell me.”

“I’d say—”

Willow didn’t finish her sentence.

Because I opened the door again.

Both people in the office froze instantly.

Willow was half-sitting on Rhys’s large executive desk. Rhys was leaning back in his chair, his shirt collar open.

Seeing me, he only paused for a moment before an eyebrow arched in challenge.

“Did you forget something?”

I didn’t speak. I walked straight toward the coffee table.

My car keys were, in fact, still sitting there.

I picked them up and turned to leave.

“Anya.” Rhys stood up, rounded the desk, and smoothly slipped his arms around my waist.

He always did this at the office. Affection, especially in public, was a tool he was never shy about using.

I gently broke free.

After his entanglement with the assistant, a faint, sweet lady’s perfume clung to him.

It was the exact scent of the bottle on my vanity.

Last month, when he gave it to me, he’d called it a “limited-edition blend, perfectly capturing my rare spirit.” Now I realized he must have bought it by the case.

“I’ll be home for dinner,” his voice was the familiar, gentle tone he used when apologizing. “What do you want? I can cook, hmm?”

Willow made a small, contemptuous huff beside us.

“Don’t bother,” I said. “I have plans tonight.”

His smile faded a fraction, though the corner of his mouth was still hooked up.

“What’s this? Are you mad?”

He leaned closer. “Is this about Willow? I told you, she’s just a—”

“I know,” I cut him off softly. “She’s an intern. She needs your hands-on guidance.”

What kind of guidance was entirely up to his current needs.

He looked momentarily baffled.

He hadn’t expected the lack of a fight, or even a good, sharp insult.

He lifted a hand to touch my cheek, but I took a step forward.

“Fine,” he shrugged, then grabbed my arm. “No matter how big the plans are, be home before nine.”

Willow let out a small, satisfied giggle next to us.

I looked at her, and she looked back.

Compared to the women I’d dealt with before, she was too protected.

Her eyes held undisguised triumph and provocation.

Youth was a beautiful thing.

Looking at that vibrant face, I was thrown back to the summer I was twenty, when I ran away from the clinic and Rhys held me in his arms.

2

It was the third day my father had sent me away for ‘treatment.’

Treatment for my ‘irrational obsession,’ my ‘illness’ of wanting to be with a poor boy.

Rhys had spent the night waiting in a maintenance shaft. When the morning shift changed, he pried open the window of my room.

“Jump!” he’d called up, holding out his arms.

I closed my eyes and jumped.

He caught me, falling hard onto the ground himself. His elbow cracked, but he never let go.

We fled to a safe distance. He sat against a wall, his linen shirt soaked with sweat.

He grabbed my hand and pressed it against his chest.

His heart was hammering, fast and heavy.

“Anya,” his eyes were frighteningly red. “Listen to me. If I can get you out of here today, nothing will ever be able to separate us again.”

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled something out.

A thin, simple silver band, bought from a street vendor.

Inside, he’d scratched the initial ‘A’ for Anya.

His fingers were trembling as he slipped it onto my finger.

“When I finally have money, I promise I’ll replace this with the biggest diamond ring you can imagine.”

His voice was choked, convinced he’d wronged me.

The sun that day was just as bright, illuminating his young face and the intense, burning light in his eyes.

I thought that was forever.

…

Back in my own office, my assistant, Tasha, knocked and came in.

“Ms. Wells, here is the expense summary for the week you were traveling.”

She placed the tablet in front of me. “The breakdown… for Ms. Scott’s expenditures requires your review.”

I scrolled the screen.

Custom Italian lingerie, a royal-level Hamptons retreat spa package, a weekend at The St. Regis Penthouse…

My finger paused on the last entry:

Elite Women’s Health Clinic, Consultation Fee…

Tasha carefully added, “Finance said… all these charges were filed under ‘Employee Wellness Benefits,’ with Mr. Kingston’s express authorization.”

I set down my coffee cup. “Willow Scott. How long has she been with us?”

“Three months.”

I nodded, asking no further questions. “Mr. Kingston signed off, so the payment goes through.”

Tasha remained standing, twisting the hem of her blazer.

“Ms. Wells… I don’t know if I should say this.”

“Go on.”

“The first day you were gone, she… she took Mr. Kingston into your office and…”

Tasha took a sharp breath, her expression grim. “I walked by and heard them. She was laughing and said she wanted to ‘take the thrill all the way.’”

I instinctively looked at my executive chair.

It was a custom piece Rhys had ordered from New York when we first started the company.

He’d said, “You always have back pain. This one is engineered for spinal support.”

I already knew about Tasha’s story.

Willow was barely twenty.

Unlike the women before her, she wasn’t afraid of angering Rhys or losing her job.

She was loud, brazen, and couldn’t wait to turn every love bite into a close-up photo.

Why wouldn’t she flaunt a victory like that?

Last Wednesday, two in the morning.

I was pulling an all-nighter on a proposal in my hotel room. My phone screen lit up.

An unknown number sent a photo.

For a moment, I didn’t recognize the scene.

Until I realized—it was my office.

The girl, whose face was blocked, was sitting in my chair while Rhys leaned over to kiss her.

The accompanying text read: [The view from this chair is particularly comfortable!]

I didn’t need to see her face to know who it was.

I didn’t reply.

But in that moment, the chest-high wall I’d been keeping up suddenly collapsed.

That was when I decided I needed to return for my emergency business: the divorce.

And he, utterly oblivious, had signed the divorce settlement hidden beneath the ‘Westside Expansion budget request.’

3

“The Friday you left, she wore your high heels to work,” Tasha continued, her voice catching. “I asked her why she was wearing your shoes, and she said…”

Tasha choked up. “She said Mr. Kingston told her they suited her, and that you wouldn’t care, Ms. Wells.”

She looked up, her eyes red. “Ms. Wells, do you really not care?”

I looked at the girl who was so clearly pained on my behalf.

I smiled, completely detached. “The shoes didn’t fit me well. If she likes them, she can keep them.”

Before I left, I had no idea the two of them were involved.

The company was focused on new market development; my mind wasn’t on babysitting Rhys.

Besides, he still had a separate, steady paramour living in a condo nearby.

Given Willow’s audacity, I figured that one must have been retired.

“Wipe your eyes,” I handed her a tissue. “I’ll be out of the office for the next week. Keep an eye on things.”

She looked confused. “Where are you going?”

I didn’t answer. I just looked out the window.

The sun was bright, just like the afternoon seven years ago when we registered our marriage.

Rhys went back to my family estate alone. He knelt on the slate floor of my father’s study for three hours, begging for his approval.

“Sir, I know you despise me. But Anya believes in me, and I won’t let her down.”

He was eventually kicked out.

But my father stood by the window for a long time that day.

Later, he revised Rhys’s laughably flawed business plan in his study and secretly mailed it to me.

Bringing up these dusty details now felt like demanding payment, tainting the sincerity of the past with calculation.

But if I never brought them up…

He would truly believe he was a self-made genius who had conjured those connections, funds, and data through his own merit.

Shortly after Tasha left, Rhys called me from his car.

“The little one was shaken up by your surprise visit today,” his voice was low and playful. “Gotta spend some time soothing her. I’ll be back late. Make sure to leave the door unlocked for me.”

I was silent for three seconds before speaking. “Didn’t we agree: no one plays outside and risks a baby?”

There was a pause on his end.

“What baby?” His voice was controlled, steady.

“Willow Scott’s visit to the Elite Women’s Health Clinic wasn’t for an annual physical, was it?”

After two seconds, he laughed, a sudden, sharp sound. “You’re tracking her?”

“It was on the company ledger,” I replied calmly. “A fifty-thousand-dollar prenatal package, filed under Employee Wellness. You’re quite generous, Mr. Kingston.”

He seemed genuinely unaware.

He must have approved the expense without reading the line item.

He immediately softened his tone, trying to placate me.

“Anya, it was an accident! She’s young, naive, thought a baby could be leverage.”

“And?”

“I’ll handle it,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry, no one will ever threaten your position.”

“Rhys,” I used his name.

“Hm?”

“Do you remember,” I said slowly, “how we lost our first child?”

His breathing caught on the other end.

“Enough, Anya. That was years ago. Bringing it up again and again is pointless.”

“You’re right,” I smiled to myself, a bitter realization. “It’s all in the past.”

Including the child who never had a chance to be born.

Including the promises he made while kneeling.

Including the dark incident he held over my head all these years…

“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll be home once I’m done with her.”

He hung up.

I raised my hand and, for the first time—and the last—I pulled up his contact and hit Block.

Then, I replied to a text message that had been waiting for a week:

[The matter is settled. I will be there for the wedding.]

4

By the time I left the office, all my personal belongings had been quietly packed and removed.

The elevator descended, a gentle, familiar pressure around my body.

There was a time, in this very elevator, when he had pressed me against the mirrored wall, kissing me passionately, whispering:

“Anya, how much good fortune did I have to save up in this life and the last just to marry you?”

His eyes were so bright then.

Bright enough that he seemed to believe the lies he was telling himself.

I had arranged to meet a friend to say goodbye.

The restaurant was downtown, with a view of the waterfront.

I’d barely sat down when Rhys walked in, his arm looped tightly around Willow’s waist.

He leaned his head toward her, listening, a lazy, contented smile on his face.

Rhys saw me first.

He stopped for a beat, then his smile widened. Instead of avoiding me, he walked straight over.

“Your ‘plans’ were to eat alone?”

He pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down without asking.

“The steak here is decent,” Rhys picked up the wine bottle on my table and examined it. “But this vintage you ordered is too weak. I’ll have the server bring a better one.”

The server delivered his selection.

Rhys poured two glasses himself, pushing one toward me and handing the other to Willow, who naturally didn’t drink it.

He asked me, “How’s the taste?”

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine?” His smile deepened. “I remember this used to be your favorite. You always said it had… that beautiful almond bitterness.”

“People’s tastes change,” I set my glass down. “Things you once thought were exquisite, you realize, are just mediocre now.”

Rhys’s eyes darkened slightly.

But he quickly recovered, smiling again as he wrapped his arm around Willow’s shoulder.

“Hear that?” He chuckled, his tone openly indulgent toward Willow. “Your sister is teaching you a lesson: never make a man too important.”

Willow sweetly punched his chest. “What about you? Can I make you important?”

“Me?” Rhys looked up, his gaze meeting mine, but his words were for her. “Someone like me? Have your fun, but never, ever take it seriously.”

5

He said it flippantly, likely assuming I would stand up coldly, just as I had countless times before, leaving them their space.

But I was not so accommodating.

I simply picked up my wine glass and took another sip.

I finally stood up when I received a text that my friend had to cancel.

“My company had an emergency,” I announced. “Please excuse me.”

I turned to walk away.

Willow suddenly spoke up. “Anya, darling, it’s Rhys’s birthday next week. We’re throwing a yacht party. You should come.”

I paused.

“You have to come,” Willow insisted, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Rhys said the only birthday gift he really wants is…”

She stopped deliberately and looked up at Rhys.

He reached out and pinched her cheek, chiding her with a laugh. “You talk too much.”

I nodded slowly. “If you’re not afraid of me crashing the party, I’d be delighted.”

I didn’t look back at them as I walked out of the restaurant.

Their laughter was muted by the glass window, fading away completely.

I arrived at the villa at seven. Maria, our housekeeper, was in the kitchen, simmering stock.

“Madam, you’re back?”

“Mr. Kingston just called to say he’ll be late. Should I keep the broth warm for him?”

“No,” I put down my bag. “He won’t be coming back.”

Maria looked hesitant. “Are you… sleeping here tonight?”

My hand paused on the buttons of my coat.

“What do you mean?”

“The past few nights you were away,” Maria’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Ms. Scott… she moved in.”

Silence hung in the air for two seconds.

I continued unbuttoning my coat. One button, two buttons.

“Which room is she in?”

“The master bedroom… She’s been in there for four consecutive nights. Mr. Kingston… was there too.”

I nodded.

“Madam,” Maria hesitated. “I didn’t want to tell you, but Mr. Kingston said you’d be upset, and he told me to…”

“It’s alright. I don’t blame you.”

I looked up, surveying the living room.

I had chosen every piece of furniture, hung every painting.

He had always been pleased.

He always said, “Anya, this house isn’t a home without you in it.”

Now, the house was no better than a hotel.

Anyone could come in and stay a few nights.

“Madam, please don’t bottle it up. You should yell, cry, anything is better than this… this quiet.”

Cry?

I saw my eyes in the reflection of a glass cabinet. They were empty.

How could a well that had been dry for years suddenly find water?

“Maria, you can go home now.”

Then, I walked upstairs.

I opened the door to the master suite, and a strange, cloying floral scent washed over me.

The sheets had been changed. My skincare products on the vanity were pushed into a corner.

I opened the window, letting the night wind rush in.

It needed to cleanse the room of that unsettling odor.

I pulled open the innermost drawer of the dressing room cabinet. Seven journals, organized by year.

They were still there.

The cover of the first one was a childish pink, the color I liked as a young woman.

In the first year of our marriage, I recorded every meal I cooked for him.

On the last page, there was a faint pencil line:

[Seven-Year Plan, Completion: 1/7]

The second journal’s focus had abruptly changed—it was filled with notes from courses I took to ‘improve my allure.’

From the third one onward, the pages were increasingly sparse.

Not because there was nothing to record, but because I had no time.

I thought recording seven years of beauty would be enough to withstand the seven-year itch.

But I hadn’t updated it in four years.

That time had been spent on far more practical things—checking his phone statements for hotel charges, tracking which apartment his assistant delivered flowers to…

In those four years, when I was too smart and yet still so naive, I’d lost count of the number of Willows I’d had to eliminate.

I quietly tossed the journals into the waste bin.

Seven years.

My plan had only achieved one-seventh of its goal.

I was the only one in the marriage who believed in the work.

He had long since opened his doors to the rest of the world.

My phone chimed with a flight notification: [Ms. Wells, your emergency flight coordination is finalized. Departure at midnight.]

I replied, “Thank you.”

As I checked my suitcase one last time, my fingers brushed against a hard object in the bottom corner.

It was the silver band Rhys had proposed with.

I tossed it aside without a second thought, picked up my suitcase, and left.