Stepping Down, Stepping Up: The Tycoon's Wife

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Preston secretly threw a wedding for a college girl. When I arrived at the venue, they were making out passionately, cheered on by the roaring crowd. This was the fifth year of my engagement to Preston.

He had the nerve to tell me they hadn't signed any legal papers. He swore the position of his actual wife was reserved strictly for me.

No tears. No screaming.

I turned on my heel and walked away.

He assumed I was just throwing a tantrum.

That was, until a ruthless, top-tier business tycoon publicly posted the marriage certificate we signed at City Hall.

Preston ignored the pouring rain, pounding relentlessly on my door.

I pulled the door open in my silk slip dress, the dark, fresh marks Roman just left on my collarbone fully visible. "Don't worry. I only signed the papers at City Hall. I haven't thrown a grand wedding yet."

Chapter 1

The wedding venue buzzed with deafening cheers. The crowd chanted, demanding the newlyweds lock lips.

The girl in the white gown lowered her eyes, a blush creeping up her neck. Preston cupped the back of her head, pulling her in to drag out the kiss.

My nails bit into my palms until the skin turned white, my eyes locked on the two figures making out on the stage.

One of Preston's groomsmen glanced over his shoulder. His jaw dropped. "Genevieve."

The music seemed to cut out. The rowdy cheers died in throats, replaced by a suffocating silence.

I stepped forward, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. The college girl fumbled, shrinking behind his broad shoulders.

Preston didn't flinch. Not a single muscle in his face twitched with guilt. He wrapped an arm around the girlMackenzieand pulled her flush against his side. A smirk played on his lips.

"Mackenzie threw a fit about having a wedding. Relax, Genevieve. We didn't sign any legal papers. The title of my actual wife is still reserved strictly for you."

We grew up on the same wealthy estates. The ink on our college diplomas had barely dried before our families locked down the engagement. But Preston built a reputation. A new model or actress on his arm every other week, parading his affairs in front of the cameras while I swallowed the humiliation.

I forced a dry smile. Reaching into my clutch, I pulled out a velvet jewelry box and snapped it open. "This is the heirloom sapphire necklace, the one meant for the future matriarch of your family. I'm returning it."

Preston took the box and weighed it in his palm. A scoff slipped past his lips. "You're actually pulling out the necklace this time just to force me to break it off?"

He didn't buy a word of it. His eyes mocked me. I looked him dead in the center of his pupils.

"The engagement is off, Preston. We're done. You can marry whoever you want, and I'll do the same. We have nothing to do with each other anymore."

The smirk wiped right off his face. "Genevieve. Say that again."

The groomsman from earlier rushed forward, waving his hands. "Genevieve, hold on. Take a breath. This whole setup is fake."

"Preston's just messing around. You're the one walking down the aisle with him when it counts."

I stared at the mock altar. The tulle, the flowers, the groom who belonged to me. I didn't shed a tear. I just turned on my heel and walked out the door.

As I headed down the hall, their voices echoed behind me. "Preston, man, go after her."

Preston scoffed, his tone dripping with absolute arrogance. "Why bother? It's not like she hasn't thrown these fits before."

"Give her a few days. She'll come crawling back."

"You didn't go as far as throwing a whole damn fake wedding before! No woman's gonna stomach watching her guy marry someone else. You better go check on her."

I didn't turn back, but the sharp click of the venue doors couldn't block out Mackenzie's voice. She tugged at his jacket, her tone laced with undisguised greed. "Can I try on that necklace?"

Stepping out of the venue, my heels struck the pavement with sharp, clinical precision. I headed straight for an exclusive private lounge, ordered a bottle of top-shelf liquor, and dialed my best friend, Zara.

When she slammed her purse on the table, her eyes fell on the two empty bottles of bourbon. She let out a heavy sigh.

"Spit it out. What did Preston do this time? Did he get caught with another D-list actress or some frat girl?"

A sharp spasm twisted in my chest, making it hard to draw a full breath. I stared at the amber liquid in my glass. "He got married today."

Zara slammed her hand on the table, her fingers wrapping tight around the neck of an empty bottle like she was ready to use it as a weapon. "You should have dumped that trash years ago! Give me your phone."

"I'm adding you to an exclusive matchmaking thread for Manhattan's elite. Only top-tier bachelors. Pick whoever the hell you want."

My phone screen lit up, buzzing relentlessly against the marble tabletop. I glanced down. In less than sixty seconds, I had over thirty new friend requests.

"I need to use the restroom," I muttered, sliding out of the booth.

In the shadowy corner of the hallway, a tall, imposing man stood leaning against the wall. He wore an obscenely expensive, tailored suit, the collar of his dress shirt left casually unbuttoned, revealing the hard, explosive lines of his chest muscles.

He took a slow drag from a cigar, radiating a dangerous, high-voltage Alpha energy that seemed to suck the oxygen right out of the corridor.

Sensing my gaze, he shifted. His dark eyes locked onto mine, his brow furrowing slightly.

Roman? What the hell was he doing here?

Chapter 2

I walked over, a faint smile on my lips. "Roman, got a spare light?"

He arched a brow. "I thought you played the perfect, obedient fiance ever since you got with Preston. Aren't you terrified he'll catch you smoking?"

I didn't say a word. He leaned in, his tone begging for a slap. "Rumor has it he threw a massive, fairy-tale wedding for some other girl today. You two finally call it quits?"

I stepped directly into his space. Leaning in, I lit my cigarette right off the glowing cherry of his cigar. I exhaled a slow, hazy plume of smoke, looking him dead in the eye.

"Roman, my penthouse tonight?"

Our eyes locked. We were adults; the invitation couldn't be any clearer.

Roman pinched the lit end of his cigar, crushing it out. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

It suddenly hit mehe had a ruthless reputation in our circle for being completely untouchable when it came to women. I opened my mouth to backtrack, to say it was just a joke. But before the words left my tongue, he actually agreed.

The second the elevator doors slid shut, Roman hooked a massive hand around my waist and slammed me aggressively against the polished steel wall of the car.

His large palm cupped the back of my head, and his mouth crashed down on mine.

"Genevieve, are you part dog? Bite a little gentler."

I furrowed my brow, breathless. "Can you shut up? Right now, your only job is to make sure I can't talk."

The entire night. Roman used every inch of his body to violently remind me why I shouldn't provoke a predator.

I didn't crash until the sun bled through the windows. Of course, that was exactly when my phone started vibrating relentlessly. My eyelids felt glued shut. I blindly dragged my hand across the tangled sheets, searching for the noise.

A low, raspy chuckle sounded beside me. Roman intercepted the phone. The moment he saw Preston's name flashing for a FaceTime call, the lazy amusement drained from his face, replaced by a cold, dark stare.

He handed the device over, pulling the heavy duvet up over my collarbone. I hit accept, forcing my heavy, sleep-blurred eyes open.

Preston sneered through the screen. "You played the ice queen so well yesterday. How is it that less than twenty-four hours later, you're already running to my mother to tattle, having her cut off Mackenzie's black card?"

"Who the hell went to your mother? Are you psycho? It's the crack of dawn. What are you barking at me for?"

The moment I spoke, I froze. My voice was ruined, raspy and hoarse.

Preston paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "Are you sick?"

I let out a dry, mocking laugh. "Don't play dumb."

The implication slammed into him. His face flushed with rage as he leaned aggressively into the camera, his voice spiking. "Where are you?! Who the hell are you with right now?!"

"Mr. Preston," I croaked. "We are absolutely done. Where I am, and who is in my bed, is none of your damn business."

I was too physically exhausted to deal with his fragile ego. I tapped the red button and killed the call.

Meanwhile, in a private club, Preston stared at his dark screen, his face twisted in ugly rage.

"Preston, man, did Genevieve actually just hang up on you? Is she seriously dead-set on breaking the engagement?"

"No way!" another guy chimed in. "This is just her old playbook for threatening Preston. As if she could ever actually bear to walk away from him."

"Yeah, this is so obviously an act. She's just pretending to be with another guy to trigger your jealousy, hoping you'll crack first and go crawling to her. People have been pulling that tired trick for decades."

The room roared with laughter. Only then did the grim tension on Preston's face finally fade.

Back in my penthouse, the lingering exhaustion was completely shattered by that phone call. I furrowed my brow, deeply annoyed.

Roman watched me, his dark eyes missing nothing. "What is so great about Preston anyway? He couldn't keep it in his pants before the wedding."

"He'll never stay loyal to just you after it. He's beneath you."

I looked up, confused.

Roman reached for the cigarette case on the nightstand. He tapped one out, lit it, and his expression suddenly turned deadly serious. "If we're talking about marriage, my business empire can give you ten times more than his family ever could."

Chapter 3

"What are you getting at, Roman?"

Roman's dark, piercing gaze locked onto mine. "I know you've been trying to swallow that multi-billion-dollar real estate project on the East Side of Manhattan. Taking on those stubborn old fools on the board by yourself is going to be tough. But if you become my wife, I'll drop that entire project right in your lap as a wedding gift."

Any lingering exhaustion vanished. I was wide awake now. "With the power of your empire, you could swallow it whole. Why offer me a slice of the pie?"

"Maybe I don't want you getting away with sleeping with me for free."

The corner of my mouth twitched. I considered the leverage for a few seconds before extending my right hand. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Forty minutes later, Roman and I walked out the heavy brass doors of City Hall. Staring at the legally binding marriage certificate in my hand, my head still spun in a surreal haze.

"Let's go."

"What? We're pitching to clients right now?"

Roman reached out, his large hand brushing through my hair. A low chuckle escaped him. "Honeymoon."

Later that afternoon, the resort concierge informed me my phone had been ringing non-stop. I unlocked the screen. Dozens of unread messages instantly flooded in.

[Ms. Genevieve, this is the manager of the DK Bridal Boutique. When would you be available for a fitting?]

[Ms. Genevieve, I'm the head wedding planner. What kind of floral arrangements do you prefer? We need to schedule the air freight.]

[Ms. Genevieve, Mr. Preston ordered a custom diamond ring for you at our boutique. When can you come in to try it on? We can adjust the sizing if necessary.]

A dress? Flowers? A ring?

The deeper I scrolled, the harder my brows knitted together. Did my private number get leaked to telemarketers?

Right then, the device vibrated aggressively in my palm. The screen lit up, flashing Preston's caller ID. I hit answer. "What."

He immediately launched into a demanding interrogation. "Where the hell are you? I've been calling you all day and you won't pick up. Human Resources said you took a whole month off."

"Where I go is none of your business. Did you suffer amnesia? We're done."

Preston didn't take the hint. Instead, a smug, patronizing laugh came through the speaker. "You're just throwing a tantrum because I threw a wedding for Mackenzie."

"Fine, I'll throw one for you too. You should have gotten the texts and calls by now. Just tell them what kind of dress and venue you want, and they'll handle the rest."

My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. "Are you out of your damn mind?"

Even without seeing his face, I could perfectly picture the arrogant smirk sliding right off his features.

"Genevieve!" he snapped. "You threw a fit over the wedding, and now I'm offering to throw you a makeup one! What more do you want?"

"Haven't you played this victim card enough? Let me make this clearyou only get this one chance. If you don't want to marry me now, you can stay single for the rest of your life!"

This was Preston's classic playbook. Whenever he tossed you a breadcrumb of an apology, if you didn't drop to your knees and catch it, you were the villain.

"You're a clinical psychopath," I shot back coldly. "We're over. Stop calling my phone. Go marry whoever the hell you want."

Preston spat out the word "Fine" three times in a row on the other end. "Fine! Fine! Fine, Genevieve!"

"I gave you an out, and you threw it in my face. Do not come crawling back to me when you regret this."

Psycho.

Chapter 4

Roman finished buttoning his dress shirt. "Preston?"

I drew in a slow breath. "Yeah. He assumes I'm just throwing a tantrum over that fake wedding, so he's offering to throw me one too. I have no idea how I was ever blind enough to fall for that man."

Roman just let out a low chuckle, not bothering to reply.

Over the next month, we chased the Northern Lights in Iceland's ice caves and took hot air balloons over Cappadocia.

The day we landed back in the States, Zara dragged me out for drinks. I layered concealer on thick, but it still couldn't cover the dark, aggressive marks Roman left on my collarbone. I had no choice but to pull a silk scarf from my closet and knot it tightly around my neck.

The second she slid into the booth, she slammed her designer bag down and instantly downed two shots. "I am so pissed! Preston has lost his damn mind!"

"He booked every giant billboard in Times Square and paid an A-list pop star a fortune to sing 'Happy Birthday' to that girl Mackenzie! He's playing it on a loop for a whole month! He didn't even consider your reputation!"

I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, my tone entirely deadpan. "I got married."

Zara didn't buy it at first. Then I slid the legally binding marriage certificate across the marble table.

"Roman?!" she gasped, nearly choking on her drink. "He's famously untouchable! How the hell did you bag him?!"

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that Preston isn't even in the same league as him. I'd pay good money to see the look on Preston's face when he finds out you married Roman."

Her rage evaporated instantly. "We have to celebrate this. Drinks are on me tonight."

Zara couldn't hold her liquor. A few bottles later, she was visibly swaying in her seat.

I set my glass down. "Stay put. I'm going to get you a hangover cure."

Out in the corridor, I ran into Brody. He practically jogged over, oozing fake enthusiasm.

"Genevieve! You made it! Preston and the guys are in VIP Booth 6."

"Preston and I are done. Just call me Genevieve from now on. Have fun."

Brody completely ignored the boundary, assuming I was just holding a grudge. "Look, Preston definitely crossed a line with that whole stunt, but at least give him a chance to apologize to your face!"

"We're in Booth 6. I'll head back first. Come by in a bit, Genevieve!"

To get back to Booth 3, I had to walk right past Booth 6. Familiar voices bled through the heavy door. I stopped in my tracks, peering through the slight crack.

Preston lounged aggressively against the leather sofa, his expensive dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Mackenzie sat pressed flush against his side, her lips swollen and flushed red. Any idiot could see exactly what had just happened.

"Preston, I just bumped into Genevieve outside," Brody bragged. "I told you she couldn't stay away from you."

"Gotta admit, I didn't think Genevieve could hold out this long without calling you," another guy chimed in.

"It's only been a month. She obviously heard about Preston throwing that massive birthday bash for another girl, couldn't take it anymore, and came running."

Preston's face remained utterly cold. "Who told her to come? We're broken up."

"Come on, man, wrap it up. This is the longest Genevieve has ever iced you out, right? Be careful you don't push it so far you can't fix it."

"Yeah, Preston. You should probably tell this girl to leave before Genevieve walks in and throws another fit."

Preston cast a sideways glance at the submissive Mackenzie glued to him. She lowered her head, her voice trembling and pathetic. "Preston it's my birthday"

My fingers brushed against the silk scarf tied around my neck. I unknotted it, letting it drop, and shoved the heavy door wide open. Every eye in the room snapped to me.

The dark bruises on my collarbone were glaringly obvious. Even in the dim, neon lighting of the club, Preston's gaze zeroed right in on them.

He shot off the leather sofa like a loaded spring, his eyes narrowing into lethal slits. "What the hell is on your neck?"

The memory of Roman pinning me down last night, leaving his mark on me like a rabid dog claiming his territory, flashed through my mind.

I flashed a brilliant, deadly smile. "Hickeys