Chapter 2

FLORENCE’S POV

The last thing I needed was more problems. 

All I wanted was to take a long bath and hopefully sleep off this dilemma. But fate, as usual, had other plans. My phone suddenly rang, and the caller ID was blocked. 

“Hello?” I answered. 

A voice I was all too familiar with came over the line, heavy and threatening: “Where’s the money for this month? Or do you no longer care about your father’s comfort in prison?”

“Marco… please, just give me a few more days, please don’t hurt him! I’ll send you the money as soon as I can!” 

“You have 48 hours, Missy. After that… who knows?” 

The click on the other end told me he had hung up. It was never a long conversation with Marco—usually, he would make demands, and I would just listen. 

I checked my account balance and realized I was short… very short. 

Being the wife of a billionaire comes with perks: a hefty monthly allowance to maintain my figure, clothes, hair, and nails. Most wives spend this on spas, fancy gym memberships, designer shoes, and expensive hair and skin treatments. Lately, though, I had been on a strict budget and doing everything myself so I could send a larger portion to Marco. 

But it was the beginning of the month, and Mason hadn’t sent me the money yet. My thumb hovered over his contact on my phone. I didn’t like calling to beg for money… especially after the way he stormed out of the house. 

But what choice did I have?

I clenched my phone in my hand. No matter how much I hated this, it wasn’t just about me. It was about my father. And somewhere, I felt the Whitehills owed him this favor. 

My father had worked for the Whitehill family business for decades. He was one of the oldest employees there, so Whitehill International was as much his baby as it was theirs. They built it together, and our family would always be thankful to theirs. 

But five years ago, policemen beat down the doors of our house and arrested my father for financial fraud. He was imprisoned without a fair trial, and nobody would give us any clarity on what happened. 

Just as I was about to despair, Mason’s father, Howard, became all too eager to get me and Mason married. It sounded like a trap, but in my grief over daddy’s imprisonment, and happiness over marrying my childhood love, I was blinded. 

I remembered standing at the altar, my hands trembling in Mason’s, my heart pounding as I looked into the eyes of the man I had adored since childhood. I had rehearsed this moment so many times, dreaming of the day I would finally say these words to his face.

“Mason,” I said, my voice steady despite the emotions clawing at my throat. “From the moment I met you, I admired you. Not just for your brilliance or your strength, but for your kindness and generosity. I have loved you in every way a person can love another. And today, I vow to stand beside you, to be your partner in all things. To cherish, respect, and support you through every triumph and every hardship for the rest of my life.”

The priest turned to him expectantly. “Mason, now your vows.”

Silence.

A heavy, agonizing silence.

I felt my heart sink, the weight of the moment pressing down on me as the whispers among the guests started.

The priest, now uncomfortable, cleared his throat and moved forward. “Florence Hart, do you take Mason Whitehill to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love, honor, and cherish him, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and pushed forward. “I do.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but I didn’t care. I only cared about him. About us.

The priest turned back to Mason. “And Mason, do you—”

“Yes.”

It sounded like he was agreeing to a business deal. 

Even so, I refused to give up. I vowed to myself that I would be the best wife I could be. That one day, he would look at me with the same love I had always carried for him.

But Mason had other priorities. 

With Jade gone, he threw himself into his work. He built his own fashion empire, separate from his family’s, and called it Eternity. He kept himself busy and always in the spotlight, silently forcing me to remain in the shadows. Despite being married to a fashion tycoon for five years, most people in the fashion industry don’t know I exist. 

Still, I pretended things were perfect. Despite having a staff of 20, I always made him breakfast myself. I would ask him about his day, prepare his clothes for the next day, pack his suitcases for work trips… you name it. 

All to distract myself from the fact that our marriage was built on Jade’s death and my father’s alleged crime. 

Mason likely saw me as a tagalong third-wheeling friend who got lucky. That makes me sound like a gold digger, but nobody knows where his money has been going. I haven’t bought myself a pair of heels or a new dress in 4 years. 

It’s all been going to Marco to make sure my father stays safe in prison. 

Marco wasn’t just some random thug with a grudge against my father. He had been our family’s “fixer” back in the day—someone you called when discreet help was needed. A bribe here, a favor there. My father wasn’t proud of it, but in the cutthroat world of finance, people like Marco were a necessary evil.

At least, that’s what I thought.

When my father got arrested, Marco showed up at our door, offering his “help” to make sure things didn’t get worse. 

I should have known better.

He would “ensure” my father was left alone in prison—safe from violent inmates and dangerous guards—but only if I paid him a monthly sum. If I didn’t, Marco made it clear that prison could be a very dangerous place.

My savings soon disappeared. And when I married Mason, Marco saw an opportunity and kept blackmailing me for more. 

“Prices go up,” he would sneer over the phone threateningly. “You think keeping someone alive in a place like this is easy? Your old man isn’t exactly popular, Florence.”

Those words pricked at me. It was all the more reason I absolutely needed to get the money. 

I had no choice but to ask Mason. I texted him my request, and as soon as I sent it, my news alert for Mason went off. Without thinking, I clicked the notification and saw a livestream of a charity gala happening… in our town. Not Chicago. I watched him as he removed his phone, frowned at something, and put it back in his pocket. 

Of course, he cannot be bothered by me right now. 

I watched him smile and sip his champagne, not a care in the world, while I sat alone on the living room floor. 

The angle changed, and I saw the woman he was sitting with… a beautiful, elegant woman in a maroon silk gown and thick, jet-black hair. 

Jade Thorne. 

Was I hallucinating!!?