Husband Abandoned Me, I Married Billionaire

My husband Preston smashed up the solo art show I'd spent three years building for Vivian, the poor girl we had sponsored through college.

"Chloe! What the hell did you send Vivian?!"

"She read your goddamn text and suffered a depressive episode! She nearly jumped off the rooftop!"

I looked at his furious face and the whole thing struck me as absurd.

"Preston. What exactly did I send? I told her that today was the opening of my show and asked her not to call you during it."

"She's sick! Why do you have to make every little thing a fight! If anything happens to her because of you — I'll never forgive you."

With that, he didn't even glance at me. He turned and bolted back out into the storm.

I didn't cry. I didn't even have the energy to be furious.

I turned to leave, but in the rain, I ran into Rowan—a classmate from college. He used to be the most popular guy at our school — sweet and hot. But now he was severely injured.

The torrential rain had soaked his shirt, revealing his perfect abs beneath.

Without hesitation, I took him back to my apartment.

Preston showed up pounding on the door, eyes red with rage. "Chloe — I'm gone for an hour and you drag some guy off the street into our bed?"

I sneered and stepped in front of Rowan. "If you can play free therapist to some other woman, why can't I try being a philanthropist?"

I stood in the wreckage of my gallery, staring at the broken glass on the floor and the slashed canvases.

This was supposed to be the debut of the solo show I'd spent three years preparing.

A room that should have been full of flowers and applause looked like a dump.

Half an hour ago, my husband Preston had come storming in like a man possessed and trashed the place.

"Chloe! What the hell did you send Vivian?!"

"She read your goddamn text and suffered a depressive episode! She nearly jumped off the rooftop!"

I looked at his furious face and the whole thing struck me as absurd.

"Preston. What exactly did I send? I told her that today was the opening of my show and asked her not to call you during it."

Vivian had sent me a mocking text a half hour earlier with a selfie attached — her in Preston's shirt, one shoulder bare, stretched out on a hotel bed.

She'd even followed it up with a voice message: "Preston said I was feeling unsafe, so he stayed the night. In my room."

"Chloe, honey. I'm going to need him a little longer today. You'll cut your own ribbon, right?"

Out of sheer spite I'd messaged back: If you like his leftovers, help yourself.

I hadn't even started to blow up yet. She was the one already making a scene.

When I didn't answer him, Preston kicked over one of the flower baskets