Covet: Trusting the Billionaire (The Trophy Wife Book 4) (8 page)

“Who the fuck is this?” I yell. “Tell me right now!”

Silence and then a snicker that grows louder and louder. The caller disconnects.

CHAPTER TEN

Julian enters the master bedroom. I’m still in my pink silk robe, sitting in bed with my boy, watching television. I rush to him and he pulls me into his arms.

“Tell me about the phone calls,” Julian demands.

“Daddy, daddy,” our son’s excited voice calls.

Julian walks over to the bed and lifts the little man into his arms.

“They were threatening,” I respond. “It was very creepy. The person was talking with a voice muffler.”

“Did you receive any other strange text messages, emails, or letters?”

“I’ve received letters,” I murmur.

“What letters?
”
Julian growls. “What did they say?”

“That you are cheating,” I reply quickly.

I notice Julian’s eyes flash with anger and his jaw lock. He puts our son on the bed and fixes me with his penetrating gaze.

“I was going to show you the letters, but—”

“And you believed it?” Julian interrupts with an angry roar. “You didn’t question it at all? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Of course I didn’t believe it at first, but then you started to raise my suspicions.”

“There is no way I would ever cheat on you, not in a million years,” Julian says firmly. “Those phone calls, text messages, and letters must all be connected to the same person. Do you have any of the letters you’ve received?”

“Yes, I saved one,” I reply and stride to my walk-in closet to retrieve it. I hand it to him.

Julian reads the letter carefully. He grabs my cell phone from the bed stand. “I’ll be back,” he says before leaving the bedroom.

He comes back looking perplexed, with the letter and my phone in his hand. “No fingerprints on the paper. There is no way to identify the person who sent this letter. I’m also unable to find out who the caller is.”

Julian waves the letter in the air. “Cheryl, I clearly told you to approach me any time you had doubts about me, regardless of what I’m doing or how busy I appear.”

“I know,” I respond meekly, like a child who has been scolded.

Julian takes out his cell and makes a call. A few moments later the nanny enters the bedroom, takes our son in her arms, and leaves, quietly closing the door behind her.

“Now answer me truthfully.” Julian approaches me and strokes my face tenderly. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” I respond.

“Good,” Julian replies with a satisfied smile. “Because I’ve missed you so much.”

I lock eyes with him and grin. “I’m yours to take.”

He lifts me and carries me downstairs into the “rape room,” then locks the door securely. The role play begins the second the door is locked.

“Stop, please don’t do this,” I scream.

Julian covers my mouth with the palm of his hand. “Shut up, I’ve got a whole load for you.”

Julian shoves me onto the four-poster bed and violently rips off my robe and lingerie. With a snap of his finger, he turns on the music player. Classical music plays through the speakers situated around the room.

Julian spreads my legs wide. He gets on top of me, securing me firmly underneath his rock-hard, muscular body. I squirm and protest but this just gets him revved up and he thrusts inside me.

Julian sets a hardcore pace as I wrap my arms around his upper back, feeling the flex and pull of his muscular back. He is merciless, drilling into me as though he were fucking me for the first time. I scream with each lunge of his hard cock inside me.

As soon as Julian leans slightly forward, he positions himself in such a way that he hits my g-spot and c-spot exactly at the same time—building me up for a blended orgasm.

My core clenches tight, and one final hard thrust sends me spiraling into bliss. I scream out as the orgasm shakes me; my body spasms violently. I feel his liquid heat jet inside me as Julian hisses and grits his teeth loudly in my ear.

Unbeknownst to him, as he jerks against me, milking out the entire contents of his balls inside me, I find this an opportune time to mark my property.

I ram my nails into Julian’s back and drag them down deeply as I let out shrill screams. I can feel a tinge of wetness coating my finger. I’ve drawn blood; that should leave a nice mark for any bitch coming close to my husband.

Julian doesn’t seem to mind. He grunts as he finishes cumming inside me. I feel the liquid heat spreading upward and deeper inward, coating my entire inner walls and stomach.

For the next few weeks, Julian is very busy. He leaves the house at 7 a.m. and comes home at 9 p.m., so we eat a late dinner together every evening
.
He promises to not go away on any more trips until he finds out who is behind the letters, phone calls, and text messages.

On Thursday evening, Julian is still not home at 9 p.m. I call him several times, but he doesn’t answer. I wait at the dining table in front of a magnificent dinner with my cell phone glued to my hand. The aroma of spices, grilled meat, and freshly baked bread travels around the dining room, temping my palate, but my hunger dissipates with each passing minute.

One of the maids, who has helped prepare dinner, enters the dining room at 9:45 p.m. “Have you tried to reach Mr. Stone?”

“Yes, he is not answering,” I respond miserably.

“When he arrives, I’ll re-heat anything that needs to be warmed up.” She dashes into the kitchen, leaving me alone, staring anxiously at my cell phone.

At 10:01 p.m., I hear footsteps and glance up to see Julian entering the dining room.

“Where were you?” I ask in an irritated tone.

“I was working,” he responds.

The maid enters the dining room. “Mr. Stone, I’ll gladly re-heat certain dishes.”

“I won’t be eating dinner,” he says briskly. “I’m in the middle of a very large, important business acquisition. I sincerely apologize. It’s times like these when I am sometimes unable to make it for dinner.”

“You could have called at least,” I boom.

He kisses the top of my head. “I’m really sorry, Cheryl. Once this deal is over I will be home more often.”

“When will this deal be over?”

“Soon, Cheryl, soon,” he whispers. “I’m going to take a shower.”

The next day, I call the private investigation agency I found through an online search and make an appointment. The agency’s employees are very discreet and do not discuss anything with me over the phone. My appointment is set for Friday.

On Friday afternoon, my private driver, Max, drives me to my appointment. I’m dropped off in front of a modern, glass-and-steel building.

Max opens the door for me and I step out of the black Rolls Royce Phantom.

“I’ll be back in about half an hour,” I tell him.

“Not a problem, Mrs. Stone, I’ll be waiting here for you.”

I make my way into the building and into the all-glass elevator. I’m transported up to the eleventh floor.

I head into a reception area. My heart is beating rapidly and suddenly I have doubts about what I’m about to do. I’m greeted by a friendly receptionist at a large, circular front desk made from dark wood. She gives me a knowing smile. I confirm my appointment and am ushered into the office of the private investigator.

He has grey hair and a fairly handsome, masculine face with a very square jaw. He is dressed in a sharp-looking dark grey suit and crisp white shirt.

He rises from his plush white leather office chair and makes his way around his large black desk. He takes hold of my hand and gives it a firm shake.

“Mrs. Stone, pleased to be of assistance to you. I’m Charlie.” He gives me a genuine, warm smile that crinkles the corners of his brown eyes, putting me at ease. “Please have a seat.” He gestures to one of the two chairs facing his desk as he sits behind it.

I take a seat and nervously glance around his sleek, modern, black-and-white office.

“I understand the stress and anxiety you must be going through. It is never easy with these matters, but I am confident in my ability to help you.”

“Thank you,” I respond.

“I am extremely discrete and confidential and provide factual evidence in various formats to address your concerns: covert video surveillance, cellular records, audio monitoring, and computer forensics.”

“You will be tracking him everywhere he goes?” I ask.

“Yes, everywhere,” Charlie confirms. “We will track all his communications, along with his whereabouts.”

Though I had doubts about this appointment, I feel comfortable in Charlie’s presence.

“Is there any way my husband will figure out that I’ve come to see you?”

“Absolutely not,” Charlie assures. “Our company works under a guise as a travel consulting firm. If your husband ever asks you about it, simply tell him that you were planning a surprise getaway.”

“Perfect.”

“Your concerns surely began with a gut feeling. Sometimes those feelings are correct, sometimes they are false. Our firm will conduct discrete surveillance, monitoring your spouse as they proceed within their busy daily schedules. If we find anything to confirm your suspicions, we will contact you and present the evidence that we find. I must ask, what made you question your husband’s fidelity?”

I gaze into Charlie’s warm, understanding eyes. “I saw a text message from the woman.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie responds in a compassionate tone. “I always advise my clients to collect evidence before confronting their spouse. If you confront your spouse too early, he will deny it and your chance for knowing the truth will drop significantly. The solution is to gather facts, expose the truth, and make a sound decision. I will work diligently to expose the truth.”

“Unfortunately, I have already confronted my husband.”

“In that case, we will have to work even more meticulously.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

This evening, Julian is taking me to his company party, which is being held at a private, members-only nightclub. I’ve decided to wear a vibrant tangerine pencil dress that goes well with my tanned skin and long, dark hair. I pair it with tangerine Louboutins and my new orange Hermès Birkin handbag. I put on red lipstick and false eyelashes.

I show my ensemble to Julian, who is smoking a cigar on the couch in our bedroom. I do a pirouette spin for him and he gives me a pleased grin. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Julian gets changed and emerges from his walk-in closet moments later wearing a black silk shirt, a black suit jacket, black pants, and a bright orange tie. It looks sharp, trendy, and playful.

“I like when we match,” he says. “Gives us a good appearance in public.”

I give him a pleased smile and admire him thoroughly. I never tire of looking at him.

Julian has decided to drive the sports car that matches our outfits—his shiny, bright, volcano-orange McLaren P1. It’s a flashy, sexy car that makes me feel like we are a celebrity couple. In a way we are, not because we are famous, but because we are both extraordinarily wealthy as well as young.

Julian leaves our car with the valet and we enter the members-only
nightclub. I’ve never been inside such an exclusive, luxurious, and stylishly designed venue. The interior is minimalist, with black décor and small touches of red—black walls, shiny black marble floors, black rectangular couches, and red electric candles on the black cube-shaped tables. The lighting is dim and romantic, and there is trendy music.

I feel proud to be on Julian’s arm as we enter the party. We are greeted left and right by powerful-looking men and their pretty wives. The crowd is lively and talking loudly. There must be about two hundred people in the nightclub. Numerous waiters dressed in tuxedos walk around with champagne on silver trays.

“All these people work for you?” I whisper into Julian’s ear.

“Some work for me, others work with me,” Julian explains. “But yes, the majority of these people work for me.”

I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface with Julian, and the longer I am married to him, the more I come to learn how powerful he really is. I grip Julian’s arm tightly. All the women here need to know he is mine.

“Is your secretary here?”

“Yes, actually she is. I can introduce you if you like.”

We walk around the room, stopping and talking with several couples for brief moments. Then we stop in front of a petite, pretty brunette. My jaw drops. The girl is gorgeous and looks to be in her early twenties.

“You must be Cheryl,” she says sweetly, reaching out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Milana.”

I shake her hand, inspecting her closely. Either her lips are naturally very full or she had them blown up with injections. Her eyes are a brilliant green color that looks striking against her tanned skin and dark brown hair.

“Nice to meet you,” I respond. “Julian, I’d like a drink.”

Julian waves one of the waiters over, grabs two glasses of champagne from the silver tray, and hands them to Milana and me.

He puts his lips to my ear. “Watch yourself, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I don’t want you getting as drunk as you did not too long ago.”

“I’ll control myself as long as you do,” I say sweetly.

Julian’s forehead furrows and he glances at Milana. “If you like, I can leave you two here so that you can get to know each other. Otherwise, you can join me, Cheryl, as I’m going to continue making my way around the room. There are a few people I’d like to talk to.”

“Go ahead, I’ll chat with Milana,” I respond.

I watch as Julian walks off into the crowd, stopping and chatting with a stylishly dressed couple.

“So, how long have you been working for Julian?” I ask Milana.

“Three years now.”

“You’re very pretty,” I say in a deceptively sweet tone.

“Thank you.” She seems genuinely flattered and her high cheekbones flush. “That means a lot coming from a woman as beautiful as you.” She pauses and smiles. “You and Julian make a beautiful couple.”

She takes a sip of her champagne as I watch her closely. She is dressed in a cobalt blue dress that makes her stand out among the crowd.
How could Julian not want to fuck her? Maybe he already has.
I take a few sips of champagne.

I glance around for Julian and more anger surges through my system. I watch as he talks with a pretty redhead. I gulp down the rest of my champagne.

“I want to apologize,” Milana says. “Julian did confirm that you can reach him whenever you need.”

“Apology accepted.” I examine the interaction between Julian and the redhead. They are too far away for me to hear what they are talking about, but she is smiling and giggling. Julian appears to be entertaining her.

“Champagne?” A waiter holds a silver tray with flutes of champagne on it. I grab one.

“Anyway, I’ll talk to you later,” Milana says. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Stone.” She walks off into the crowd to socialize with a group of women.

I stand alone, sipping my flute of champagne, closely watching Julian. He finishes talking with the redhead as I finish my second glass of champagne.

I grab another flute of champagne as Julian continues bouncing around the room, speaking with various people.

I finish my third flute of champagne and head to the washroom. As I pee in one of the bathroom stalls, I hear two woman chatting.

“Julian looks fine tonight,” one of the woman comments.

“Who is that wife of his? Have you had a chance to talk to her?”

“No, but I’d do anything to be in her shoes.”

“You think she can hold his attention?”

“I’ve heard they have a son together.”

“That’s not always enough. I’ll gladly sweep him up when he gets bored of her.”

Fucking bitch.
I leave the stall and wash my hands as the two women stare at me, speechless and dumbfounded.

I fix them with an intense gaze. Both of their faces are heated with embarrassment. “Keep your hands off my husband.”

I exit the washroom and make my way through the thick crowd. Everyone is talking in a lively manner; I feel like the only one who isn’t having a good time.

I spot Julian surrounded by several men who are intently listening to him. I approach a waiter holding a silver tray and grab a flute of champagne. I notice a blonde admiring him from a distance.

I sip my champagne, taking in the scene around me. I notice the blonde smile slyly as she admires Julian. He motions with his hands as he explains something to the men around him.

The blonde continues to stare at Julian unapologetically, like a young girl with a crush. Julian finally notices her excessive staring and locks eyes with her. Anger surges through me when she smiles wide at him. Julian returns to his conversation with the men.

I start to walk toward Julian when I feel someone grab my elbow. “Cheryl, how are you?”

I glance at Daniel, who has grabbed me, and at the three men standing with him: Mark, Phillip, and Dimitri.

“Hope you don’t mind talking to us for a few minutes,” Daniel says.

I glance at Julian, who is still talking with the group of men.

“Sure,” I reply.

“How are you enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” Dimitri asks in his Ukrainian accent.

Sweetheart? Is that common speech for a married man to his friend’s wife?

“I’m enjoying myself very much,” I lie.

I take a sip of champagne and notice that all four men’s eyes are fixated on me like hungry dogs eyeing a piece of juicy meat.
Men.

I glance over at Julian and frown when I see the same blonde blatantly staring at him and smiling coyly. Once again, Julian locks eyes with her. She smiles wide and flutters her lashes.

I quickly turn my attention back to the men. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” I say politely.

I finish my glass of champagne and stride toward Julian, fuming, my heart racing.

I feel a touch on my arm and turn to face a young couple. “May we steal you for a moment?” the woman asks.

I glance at Julian and back at their smiling faces. “Sure.”

The young couple are friendly and ask me several questions to get to know me better. Two men and a woman join in our conversation.

After a while I excuse myself, but again am pulled into a conversation by another young couple. They appear very eager to learn about me. It feels like everyone who knows Julian wants to get to know me.

“You’re an ‘in-demand’ woman,” someone says behind me. I turn around and am face-to-face with Daniel.

“Everyone wants to get to know Julian’s wife,” he says and smiles.

“It seems so,” I respond.

“May I have a chance to get to know you?”

“There’s not much to know about me,” I mumble.

“I’m sure there’s a lot more than meets the eye. You are a very talented artist. I loved your first collection.”

“Thank you.” My cheeks redden. I inspect Daniel and my face heats up further. I hadn’t really taken a good look at him. He’s the opposite of Julian, but nearly as good-looking. His eyes are emerald green, his short hair is dirty blonde in color, and his facial features are chiseled and symmetrical.

“I hope Julian realizes how lucky he is,” Daniel says quietly.

I recall that Daniel is married, so I relax and realize that I have someone to vent to.

“How are you and Julian doing?” Daniel asks with interest.

“Lately we haven’t been seeing much of each other. Julian is so busy with work.”

“Yes, I’ve partnered with him—along with Phillip and Mark—on a very large business acquisition that is taking up a lot of our time and energy, as you may already know.”

“I’m sure your wife complains that you don’t spend enough time with her?”

“Oh, not anymore.” Daniel chuckles. “We’ve legally separated.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Though our separation wasn’t related to work. We had our differences—that’s all. I always made sure to spend plenty of time with my wife. A good husband always makes sure to pay plenty of attention to his wife and be home in time for dinner even if he’s extremely busy with work.”

“Hmmm…” I respond. I thought Julian would spend more time with me after we got married, but lately we hardly see each other.

A waiter comes by and offers us champagne. Daniel and I each grab a flute. I take a sip as I appreciate Daniel’s looks. His shoulders seem broader than Julian’s. He’s dressed in a black suit, black shirt, and green tie the same shade as his eyes.

He appears to notice me gawking at him and smiles, showing dimples
. Wow, a blonde man with dimples.
I wonder why he and his wife separated.

My buzz really kicks in now. I gaze around, but can’t spot Julian.

Daniel begins asking me question after question: where I grew up, where I went to University, where Julian and I met, where we went on our honeymoon. Daniel listens attentively as I answer each of his questions.

I glance around and spot Julian chatting with a couple in their fifties. I turn my focus back to Daniel. I ask several questions to learn more about him. He tells me that he supports numerous charitable organizations in Switzerland and is a board of directors member for a few major charities.

The waiter comes by several times during our conversation; each time we replace our empty flutes with new ones. I’ve lost track of how many flutes of champagne I’ve had, but I’m finally having fun at this party.

My eyes gravitate toward Daniel’s shiny, extravagant wristwatch. “I like your watch,” I comment.

“Thank you. It’s a titanium Patek Philippe skeleton watch. It’s a one-of-a-kind treasure, as I know you are.”

Is he flirting with me?

I glance at Julian. He seems to be too busy socializing to even notice what I’m up to.

Daniel takes my left wrist gently and looks down at it. “A diamond watch would look good on your wrist. Why don’t you have one?”

“I don’t wear a watch as often as I used to; my son likes to fiddle with it too much and tries to take it off my wrist.” I smile and gaze into Daniel’s mesmerizing green eyes.

I freeze when I realize that he is still holding my wrist. He trails his hand slowly and seductively up the length of my arm.

“You are so very beautiful,” Daniel whispers.

I pout my lips as we both stare into each other’s eyes. I feel so drawn to him, to the point of being hypnotized. As he wets his sculpted lips, my gaze is directed there.

I’m startled when I feel someone pull me back and away from Daniel. I smell him before I see him. Julian’s musky, spicy, manly scent fills my nostrils.

Julian lunges forward, delivering a punch to Daniel’s nose. Daniel groans as blood gushes from his nose and down his lip and chin.

“Keep your fucking hands off my wife,” Julian hisses. “You’re the idiot who sent all those letters and messages to my wife?”