THE UNDERESTIMATED BILLIONAIRE TYCOON

Cheating, Thinking Him Stupid

Blake made three calls from the kitchen.

"Sam, the officials who expedited the listing—double their gifts. Send it tonight."

"Yes, President."

"And Stratton Industries." Blake paused, watching steam rise from the lobster bisque. His mother had left him that company. Her legacy. The one thing he'd sworn never to part with. "Transfer it to my wife's name. Full ownership. Have Legal draft the paperwork by morning."

Silence. Then: "Sir, that's the semiconductor division. Eight billion in assets. Your mother's—"

"I know what it is."

"But—"

"Do it." Blake's voice was final. If this was what it took to make Lillian happy, then his mother would've understood. She'd always said love meant sacrifice.

He hung up. Turned to the dining table he'd spent three hours preparing—candles in crystal holders, her favorite wine breathing, Chilean sea bass glazed exactly how she liked it. The kind of meal that belonged in a magazine spread.

The kind of meal he used to plan for boardrooms, not empty chairs.

Downstairs, his mother-in-law's voice carried through floorboards: "We have to go, emergency at the club—yes, yes, we'll celebrate properly tomorrow—"

Doors slammed. Engines purred. Silence.

Finally.

Blake checked his watch. 7:47 PM. She'd be wrapping up soon. He'd timed everything perfectly—the food would stay warm, the wine was perfect temperature, and for once, they'd have the house to themselves.

For once, she might look at him the way she used to.

8:15 PM. The sea bass cooled.

8:43 PM. The candles burned lower.

9:02 PM. Blake picked up his phone.

The first call rang eight times. Voicemail. The second. Voicemail. The third. Voicemail.

Then the fourth call rang twice.

"Hello?" A man's voice. Smooth. Amused.

Blake's hand tightened around the phone. "Who is this?"

"Who's this?" The man laughed like Blake had told a joke. "Lillian, babe, your phone—some guy's calling."

Background noise—music, laughter, clinking glasses. A celebration.

"Give it here, dear." Her voice, distant. Then closer, irritated: "What?"

"It's me."

"Blake?" Lillian's tone could cut glass. "Why are you calling? I'm busy."

"I tried three times—"

"And? I'm at an important event. What's your problem?"

Problem. The word landed like a slap.

Blake forced calm into his voice. "I prepared dinner. I thought we could celebrate your success. Your mother's out, so it's just us. When will you be home?"

"Home?" She laughed, sharp and dismissive. "Blake, I have a company celebration banquet. The investors, the board members, actual important people—did you seriously think I'd skip that to eat whatever you cooked?"

"I just thought—"

"You thought wrong. Stop calling me."

The man's voice again, closer now: "Babe, they're starting the toasts—"

"I'll be there tomorrow morning," Lillian said, already distracted. "Maybe. Don't wait up."

The line went dead.

Blake stared at the phone. At the dining table. At the evidence of his irrelevance.

Then his phone buzzed.

Unknown number. Video file.

His finger hovered. Some instinct screamed don't, but he was already pressing play.

The video was shaky, clearly filmed on someone's phone at the banquet. Champagne glasses glittered under chandelier light. And there, center frame—

Lillian.

A man held her. Not casually. Possessively. His hand curved around her waist like ownership, and she leaned into him like she belonged there. Like she'd been waiting for this.

The man from the phone call.

"Three years ago, I left," he said, voice projecting to the crowd. "I told you I'd come back when I could give you everything you deserved."

The crowd oohed. Someone whistled.

"Now you're about to ring the Nasdaq bell. You're brilliant. You're unstoppable." The man pulled out a box. Velvet. Small. "And I want to spend the rest of my life watching you conquer the world."

He opened it.

Diamond. Massive. Obscene.

"Marry me, Lillian."

The crowd held its breath.

Lillian's smile was radiant. Beautiful. The smile Blake hadn't seen in two years.

"Yes."

Cheers erupted. The man slid the ring onto her finger, pulled her close, and kissed her. Deep. Long. Intimate. She kissed him back like she was starving.

The video ended.

Blake's phone slipped from his hand, clattered against the table.

No.

He called her. Once. Twice. Three times.

The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable—

Four times.

—currently unavailable—

Five times.

—unavailable—

She'd turned it off.

Blake stood there, surrounded by cold food and melted candles and the ruins of his delusion, and felt something crack inside his chest. Not his heart—that would've been too simple. Something deeper. The place where hope lived.

It died quietly.

_____

Lillian couldn't catch her breath.

Carter's hands were everywhere—possessive, demanding, claiming. She arched into him, greedy, because this was what she'd been waiting for. Three years of waiting. Three years of settling.

Finally.

"God, I missed you," Carter murmured against her throat.

"Three years." Lillian's nails raked down his back. "Three years I waited for you."

"I'm here now." He kissed her shoulder, her collarbone. "And I'm never leaving again. I promise."

The words she'd been dying to hear.

She'd married Blake because Carter had left. Some family obligation overseas, he'd said. Some opportunity he couldn't refuse. Wait for me, he'd whispered. But her mother had pushed Blake—safe, boring, convenient Blake—and Lillian had been young and foolish enough to think maybe she could make it work.

Three years of regret. Three years of watching Blake play house while she built empires. Three years of wishing she'd waited.

But now Carter was back. And everything was finally right.

Later, when the sweat cooled and her breathing steadied, Carter traced lazy patterns on her skin. Stopped at her hand.

"You're not wearing it."

Lillian glanced at the ring on the nightstand. Three carats of perfection.

"Not yet," she said. "I need to handle Blake first."

"Still?" Carter's eyebrow arched. "I thought you'd have dealt with that by now."

"I will." Lillian's jaw tightened. "The divorce papers are ready. I just need to pick the right moment."

"There's never a right moment to take out trash, babe." Carter's smile was indulgent. Patient. "You just do it."

Lillian sat up, pulling the sheet around her. "It's not that simple. There are optics to consider. The company just went public—I can't have messy personal drama splashed across—"

"Hey." Carter pulled her back down, kissed her temple. "I get it. You're brilliant, and you're careful. That's why I love you." He stroked her hair. "But he's dead weight, Lillian. You know that, right? You've outgrown him."

"I never grew into him," Lillian corrected coldly. "He was always beneath me."

"Then why keep him around?"

"Convenience." She shrugged, the sheet slipping. "He cooks. Cleans. Handles my mother when I can't be bothered. He's... useful."

Carter laughed. "You're ruthless. I love it."

"I'm practical." Lillian's eyes gleamed. "Why should I waste energy on household management when someone else can do it for free?"

"Fair enough." Carter's hand slid lower. "But now you have me. You don't need a house servant. You need a partner who can actually keep up with you."

"Exactly." Lillian turned to face him fully. "Blake was just a placeholder. A mistake I'm about to correct."

"When?"

"Soon." She kissed him, hard and claiming. "I promise. A few more days, maybe a week. Let the Nasdaq buzz die down, then I'll serve him the papers."

Carter pulled back slightly, studying her face. "You really feel nothing for him? Not even a little guilt?"

Lillian's expression went flat. Cold. "Why would I? He knew what he was signing up for. I never lied about what I wanted."

"And what you wanted was success."

"Success. Power. A life that matters." Lillian's voice was sharp, final. "Blake offered me none of those things. You did."

Carter's smile widened. "About that." He traced her jawline. "I'm glad my connections could help with the Nasdaq approval. That VIP channel wasn't easy to arrange."

Lillian's eyes lit up. "You really pulled those strings? I thought—I hoped—but I wasn't sure."

"Of course I did." Carter's tone was smooth as silk. Pure deception wrapped in devotion. "I told you I'd give you everything you deserved. I meant it. The moment I got back and saw your company's potential, I made calls. Called in favors. Pushed your application to the front of the line."

Lillian's chest swelled with something that might have been love but looked more like triumph. "You did that for me?"

"For us," Carter corrected, kissing her nose. "Your success is my success, babe. We're a team now. A real team. Not like you and..." He gestured vaguely. "...what's-his-name folding laundry."

Lillian laughed. Sharp. Cruel. "God, don't remind me. I can't wait to be done with that."

"Soon," Carter promised.

"Soon," Lillian agreed.

She curled into his chest, feeling satisfied in a way she hadn't in years. Carter was back. Her company was public. Her life was finally on track.

Blake was just a loose end to tie up.

Nothing more.

In a kitchen across the city, Blake stared at the video still frozen on his screen—his wife's smile, another man's ring, the death of everything he'd sacrificed for.