After three Years in Prison, I Became a Billionaire

Chapter 6: A marriage of paper

Chloe's face darkened at the laugh. "You have a problem with something?"

"Not at all." Francis sat, unhurried, like a man settling in to watch a show he already knew the ending of. "I just think you should've told him prison teaches patience. Three years, and I still haven't learned to smile politely while a stranger eats off my plate."

"He is not a stranger." Chloe's voice climbed. "I thought three years would teach you some manners. Instead you come back worse. Ungrateful. Difficult."

Francis said nothing. He took out his phone, unlocked it, and set it on the table between the wine glasses, screen facing her.

Andrews's profile. Vineyard. Beach. The proposal, still glowing at the top of the feed. Finally. Three years of waiting for this moment.

Chloe's face went white, then blotchy, the color of someone caught somewhere she'd sworn she'd never be caught.

"Why should I be polite," Francis said, voice even, almost gentle, "to a cheating woman and her lover?"

Chloe's eyes cut to Andrews. "You said you deleted that. You promised you wouldn't post it."

Andrews had the decency, at least, to look faintly embarrassed, though it sat on him like a costume that didn't fit. "I got carried away. Sue me. A man proposes to the woman he loves, he wants the world to know."

"It wasn't supposed to go public yet." Chloe pressed her fingers to her temple, then turned back to Francis, and for a moment something like guilt flickered across her face before she buried it under a different story. "It isn't what it looks like. Andrews's family is forcing an arranged marriage on him. Someone he doesn't want. He asked me to marry him on paper, just to get them off his back. Once it's sorted, we'll divorce and go back to normal."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Divorce."

Chloe went still, the word hanging there a half second too long, and he watched her realize exactly what she'd just admitted to.

Andrews's eyes flicked toward her, something sly moving behind them before he smoothed it over with a look of wounded innocence. "Oh. You didn't know?" He tilted his head at Francis, almost sympathetic. "The marriage certificate you and Chloe filed. It was never real, Francis. Just paper."

Francis let the words settle. His chest went tight, a slow, cold pressure, the kind that didn't need tears to be real.

"A joke," Andrews added quickly, lifting both hands like a man surrendering something small. "That's all it was. Chloe wanted to keep a promise without hurting you. There's nothing cruel in that. You're not going to hold something this small against her, are you?"

Chloe latched onto that like a drowning woman finds driftwood. "It was a white lie, Francis. Nothing more. I'm a CEO. My word is worth something in this city. You wouldn't understand what that means."

Francis looked at the two of them, at how easily they'd built an entire architecture of excuses to live inside, and felt something close to admiration for the sheer craftsmanship of it. Almost.

"Promises matter that much to you." His mouth curved, dry, not quite a smile. "Interesting. I've met stray dogs with more loyalty than the two of you combined, and at least they're honest about wanting the scraps."

Andrews's jaw tightened. "Watch your mouth."

"Or what?" Francis tilted his head, unbothered. "You'll cut off my mother's medical bills? Oh, wait."

The silence that followed had weight to it. Chloe's fork sat untouched beside her plate, the roast gone cold, the wine gone flat. Whatever appetite either of them had walked in with was long gone now.

"You know," Francis said, almost conversational, leaning back in his chair like a man with nowhere else to be, "I used to think prison was the hardest thing I'd survive. Three years, concrete walls, a routine built entirely around not losing my mind." He looked between them, unhurried. "Turns out the real education was waiting for me out here. You two could teach a masterclass in dishonesty. I'd pay to sit in."

Chloe's hand curled into a fist on the table. "You think this is funny?"

"I think it's efficient," Francis said. "You built an entire second relationship inside my marriage and somehow found time to run a company on top of it. Most people struggle to manage one lie convincingly. You've got a whole portfolio."

"Someone like you wouldn't understand." Chloe's voice sharpened, defensive now, circling toward anger the way people did when they sensed they were losing. "A promise is everything to a person who actually runs a business."

Francis looked her dead in the eye. He asked it slowly, one word set down after another like stones.

"Then what about your promise to pay for my mother's medical bills." A pause. "Did you keep that one?"

The color drained out of Andrews's face so fast it was almost funny. He reached for his wine glass and missed it by an inch, knuckles white against the tablecloth.

Chloe blinked, genuinely confused for the first time all night. "Of course I did. Every month, on time. Why would you even ask that?"

Francis watched Andrews instead of her, watched the way his shoulders had gone rigid, the way his eyes had dropped to the table like a man doing math he didn't want to finish.

"Because a nurse at the hospital told me a different story a few hours ago," Francis said. "She told me nothing's been paid in a year. Not one payment logged. Not one." He let that settle over the table like frost. "Care to guess who's been managing the account?"

Chloe's head turned slowly toward Andrews. For the first time that evening, her voice had lost every trace of its earlier bite. "Andrews?"

"There must be some mistake," Andrews said, too fast, his voice climbing half an octave before he caught it and dragged it back down. "I set up automatic transfers myself. I'll look into it first thing tomorrow."

"Funny," Francis said. "The nurse used a different word than mistake. She used the word bribery."

The room went very still. Even the candle between them seemed to hold its breath.

"That's absurd." Andrews's laugh came out thin, brittle at the edges. "You'd take a hospital worker's word over mine?"

"I'd take the word of a woman with nothing to gain from lying over the word of a man who's spent the whole night lying to my face with a wine glass in his hand." Francis's tone never rose. It didn't need to. "But sure. Look into it tomorrow. I'm sure whatever you find will be very convincing."

Chloe's fingers had gone white around the stem of her glass. She wasn't looking at Francis anymore. She was looking at Andrews, and for the first time all evening, the question in her eyes wasn't rhetorical.

"You had one job," she said quietly. "One. And now there's a nurse out there telling strangers we let a dying woman's bills go unpaid for a year."

"Chloe, listen to me—" Andrews reached for her hand across the table. She pulled it back before he could touch it.

Francis watched the two of them unravel with the same detached interest he might've given a house of cards losing its bottom row. He didn't feel triumph, exactly. Just a quiet, settled kind of certainty, the sort that came from finally seeing a thing clearly after staring at it sideways for years.

Andrews said nothing more. And in the silence that followed, that alone said everything.