The Billionaire Husband Who Faked His Death for His Mistress

After the disfigurement, I became a makeup-tutorial influencer online, doing free makeup for girls with facial scars.

My schedule was booked solid, more than I could handle, and I was about to post a notice that I'd stopped taking new clients.

Then my inbox got flooded by one person's DMs.

【I'm getting married tomorrow, but a fire left my face disfigured.】

【Could you do my makeup, just once? I want to be beautiful at my wedding.】

The same thing that had happened to me. It made my chest clench.

I made an exception and agreed, following the location she'd sent to find the place.

But the face in front of me was porcelain-pale, without a single trace of a scar.

Faced with my confusion, the girl stuck her tongue out sheepishly.

"Actually, it's my husband who's disfigured. He's too self-conscious to ask himself, so I resorted to this."

I couldn't say anything harsh to a fan.

My eyes followed her words to the husband she meant, and every drop of blood in me froze.

The scar on the man's face was exactly like the one my dead boyfriend had.

……

Our eyes met, and there was nothing on his face.

He simply turned his gaze to the girl and said softly,

"Angelica Fox, you're leaking. There's a spare gown in the dressing room."

Angelica's ears went pink, and she gave his chest a light punch.

"And whose fault is that, after you just—"

"I'll go change into my gown first. You stay right here and be good while she does your makeup."

She turned and winked at me.

"Idol, keep an eye on him for me. If he steps out of line, I'll deal with him when I get back."

"Wouldn't dare."

Edgar smiled warmly, watching the girl leave, before he pulled his eyes back.

He looked at me again and knit his brows with a helpless little frown.

"Sorry, Dessie."

"This part wasn't in my plan."

The old pet name made my chest tighten.

Edgar Simmons.

The boyfriend I'd been with for three years.

Three months ago, he died in a plane crash.

And now, here he was, alive right in front of me.

How funny. Now he was getting married.

Marrying another woman.

My fingertips dug into my palm as I lifted my eyes.

"Then what was in your plan?"

Faking your death?

Marrying Angelica?

"You'd better give me an explanation."

He sighed.

"I'm sorry. I know I should've taken some time to sort things out between us."

"But Angelica's pregnant. I had to give her a home."

"You're too hard to shake off. Faking my death was the best way."

Edgar and I grew up together.

The year he turned eighteen, his parents died in a plane crash.

The other kids called him a jinx and kept their distance.

I was the only one willing to go near him, to tend to his wounds.

At eighteen, Edgar cried and held me tight.

Begging me to come closer, and closer still.

At twenty-eight, Edgar found me too hard to shake off.

Enough to fake his own death to be rid of me.

I let out a scornful laugh.

Crack. My palm landed hard across his face.

"You think far too much of yourself."

"I, Desiree Harding, have always known how to pick things up and put them down."

He worked his jaw, then pulled me into his arms without a word.

"Be good, Dessie. I'm only getting married. It's not like I've stopped loving you."

"Marriage is just a piece of paper. If she wants it, let her have it."

"My heart for you has never changed."

His heart never changed, and yet his body could roll around with someone else.

Sensing my coldness, he frowned.

"Honestly, you can't really blame me for this."

"Your face… no man could stay hard looking at it."

"I'm a normal man too. You understand that, right?"

Something clamped down hard on my chest.

Back when the Simmons house caught fire, I risked my life to drag Edgar out.