Humble son-in-law in the day, Billionaire at night

3

Wesley slowly shakes his head. “How did I get here?” He lets out a mocking laugh. “You must think I’m just some average guy because you’ve seen me too many times.”

Aiden smiles. “My bad. Should’ve dropped to my knees. Totally forgot you’re some rare god walking among mortals.”

Wesley’s jaw clenches. His face flushes with anger as he glances around. Eyes are on them. He can't lose his cool here—not with the Vicholas Group’s mysterious new leadership possibly watching.

He turns back, voice low and laced with venom. “That phone you broke? You’re going to pay me back—in a way you’ll never forget.”

Aiden shrugs. “Let’s see how that works out for you.”

Wesley starts to leave but pauses, then pivots back like he just remembered something deliciously condescending.

“Oh—and have you looked in a mirror tonight? You stick out like a janitor at a yacht club. If I were you, I’d vanish before people start whispering about how far below Harper’s league you really are.”

“What’s—”

“No, don’t explain it,” Wesley cuts in, waving his hand like he’s had this conversation with every peasant he’s ever ignored. “I get it. You're a man. And it must eat you up inside—being married to someone who makes a hundred times what you do. It would mess with anyone’s pride.”

He tilts his head like a therapist about to deliver a life-altering truth. “But how long do you think this act can last? My advice? Divorce Harper before someone forces you to.”

Aiden opens his mouth, but Wesley raises a finger, not done yet.

“I’m not here to stay her bestie, Aiden. I came back to New York to marry her.” He slips a card out of his pocket and holds it out with two fingers like it’s radioactive.

“This is me being generous. There’s a hundred thousand dollars loaded on it. Take it. Go home, pack your things, and disappear. I’ll tell everyone you left because life got too hard.”

Aiden stares at the card, then at Wesley. “You sound out of your damn mind.”

Wesley chuckles. “Let’s see if you’re still smiling after I close this deal tonight.”

With that ridiculous grin on his face—the kind that belongs on a villain losing in the final act—Wesley strides off into the crowd, already greeted by a wave of eager handshakes and sycophantic smiles.

Aiden watches him go, shaking his head just slightly. This guy really believes he’s invincible.

Then a soft voice breaks through the moment.

“Sir?”

Aiden turns. A man in a dark suit stands nearby, looking uneasy—maybe even a little scared.

Aiden raises a brow. “Yes?”

“I’m the one Mr. Park assigned to welcome you, sir,” the man says quickly. “I’m sorry I took so long. I’ve been looking all over for you—and I couldn’t call out your name because Mr. Park said—”

“Relax,” Aiden says with a small chuckle. “Do I look pissed off?”

The man shakes his head so fast it’s a blur. “It’s just that—”

“It’s fine. You’re right on time.”

The man exhales a shaky breath of relief. “This way, sir,” he says, leading Aiden through a narrow corridor.

With his hands buried in his pockets, Aiden follows, keeping his gaze low. No eye contact. Not in a place like this. Too many suits, too many whispers. You never know who knows who.

He doesn’t recognize most of Harper’s social circle, but she never stops talking about him to them. She probably shared his pictures too—gushing about her ‘humble, amazing husband’ who makes the best tea in the morning. Cute and naive.

She doesn’t know who he really is.

But the way she loves him? So fiercely, so openly—it’s the one thing Aiden’s sure of. That kind of love doesn’t come twice in one lifetime.

They enter a private fitting room lined with luxury suits, neatly arranged in a glass-paneled wardrobe that screams wealth in all caps. Only one man stands inside, head bowed, silent as a monk.

“I’ll go with this one,” Aiden says, pointing to a deep blue suit with subtle silk embroidery.

“Excellent choice, sir.” The escort signals to the silent man, who steps forward and begins to prep the outfit.

Thirty minutes later, Aiden is no longer the man who walked in.

Now, he’s a shadow behind tinted sunglasses, his hair styled into a sharper, modern look that alters his whole profile. The suit fits like it was tailored by fate itself—sleek, dark, quiet power.

The man who entered this room might’ve been mistaken for a struggling son-in-law.

The man walking out?

No one in that ballroom would dare second-guess his presence.