Page 6 of The Billionaire’s Secret Twins (Love for the Holidays #11)

“Yes, we’re a bit short-staffed this week, so I’m a Girl Friday of sorts. I’m covering a number of different stations this week.”

The blonde man smiled, flashing even white teeth.

“Well, a generalist is always appreciated, no matter the sector,” he said. “Ned White,” he added, holding out a firm, square hand. “It’s nice to meet you again.”

I nodded and shook his hand, my heart fluttering in my chest.

“Angela Harris,” I said. “But everyone calls me Angie.”

“Angie,” Ned said thoughtfully, rolling the syllables over his tongue before flashing me another movie-star smile. “I like it.”

My knees felt weak, and perspiration broke out in the hollow between my breasts.

But Ned didn’t seem to notice, and before I realized what was happening, he asked me out on a date.

It turns out that he wasn’t some sketchy businessman passing through Austin for a week.

He’s a resident of the city, but as a successful realtor, he’d just sold his own apartment for a staggering sum, and was a long term guest at the hotel until he found his next apartment.

I was swept off my feet. It’s the only way to put it because I felt like a princess in a fairy tale.

I was literally the chambermaid, scrubbing toilets and mopping floors, when I was whisked to a better life by a handsome, rich, and charming man.

Even crazier, Ned proposed marriage after a whirlwind courtship, and I accepted.

What girl wouldn’t? Ned White was eligible, attractive, wealthy, and debonair.

There was no reason to say no, and I was head over heels for my fiancé.

Unfortunately, the fairy tale ended soon after we were married. In fact, it ended right after we got back from our ceremony at City Hall.

“Angie, where are my slippers?” he asked when we stepped into his apartment. By then, Ned had found new accommodations, and I was excited to start playing house with my handsome husband. I shrugged and smiled without a care in the world.

“I’m not sure, Ned. What would you like for dinner— oh !”

That’s when it happened. One moment, I was standing before the hall closet, hanging up my jacket, and the next, I was on the floor with my ears ringing.

I was so shocked that I didn’t comprehend what had transpired.

Did I lose my balance unexpectedly? Did an earthquake strike, knocking me to the ground?

But when I looked up, Ned was towering over my prone form, his patrician features twisted in a murderous rage.

“ What the fuck ?” he hissed. “What is wrong with you?”

I stared at him, still uncomprehending.

“What’s wrong with me? What do you mean? What happened?” I murmured, rubbing at my aching head. “How did I fall?”

My handsome husband let out a sharp bark of laughter.

“You didn’t fall, Angela. You’re such a dumb fuck that I had to knock some sense into you! What do you mean, you have no idea where my slippers are? I expect my slippers to be waiting by the door the moment I set foot in the house. Do you understand?”

I stared at my new husband as a horrific realization dawned.

Then, astonishment replaced the realization, followed by abject fear.

This man hit me? This is the same man with whom I just exchanged marriage vows where we promised to honor and cherish each other for the rest of our lives?

My head spun because it was too ugly to be true. I wouldn’t let myself believe it.

“I’m sure your slippers are in your home office—” I began.

The second blow was immediate. This time, I saw his hand coming down, but I didn’t duck because I was still in a state of shock. But the blow was so forceful that I was knocked to the ground again, this time with my face pressed to the tile as my ears rang with a hollow sound.

“ Fuck you !” he exploded. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? My slippers are supposed to be by the door waiting for me as soon I get home. If those fucking slippers are in my office, then it’s a fucking problem!”

Tears smarted in my eyes as I sprawled on the floor, still trying to comprehend.

My white dress was smudged, and my heels looked a bit twisted.

My ivory veil spilled from my purse, making a mockery of me because what have I done?

I married Ned White after only a few months of dating, and now, the true nature of my husband was revealing itself.

He’d led me to believe that he was Prince Charming personified, but behind that suave exterior, the man was a monster.

On the outside, everything appeared fine.

To our friends and neighbors, we were a happy couple.

Ned never hit me where it showed, and I never had to cover a bruise with make-up or wear long-sleeved turtlenecks.

Instead, I played the part of a happy newlywed because I didn’t know what else to do.

I smiled; I laughed; and I quit my job as a maid because it wasn’t “fitting” for the wife of a successful realtor.

But at the same time, my friends grew distant, and slowly, I lost contact with everyone except Kristie.

But I was too ashamed to confide in Kris because I’d been over the moon when Ned and I dated.

I was embarrassed to reveal that my radar had been so off, and that I’d goofed so badly.

So the abuse continued behind closed doors.

I cried quietly in my bedroom, while my husband was at work.

I became a recluse of sorts, although I made sure to post regularly to Facebook and Instagram to reassure others that I was alive and well.

But behind it all, I was a mess because Ned made me feel like I didn’t deserve better.

I was no longer a vivacious woman. I was a shadow of my former self, existing in pain, and coming near to ending it all.

But the end didn’t come for me; it came for him instead.

We were driving in Ned’s Tesla when a truck ran a red light and t-boned us on the driver’s side.

Ned died instantaneously upon impact, whereas I was jolted badly, but uninjured.

To be honest, the condolences were almost worse than when he was alive because no one knew what the true Ned had been like.

Instead, I had to listen to endless accolades praising my deceased husband.

Many people spoke about how he was a caring man who served his community, and a loyal friend.

But I knew the truth, which is that the caring man was also abusing his wife behind closed doors.

I think that’s why I am the way I am these days.

I’m always a bit nervous, as if I’m expecting a man’s hand to descend in violence.

I’m always unsure of myself, and shy and receding to the point of being an anxious avoidant.

But this isn’t something that Prozac and Wellbutrin can fix.

Instead, it’s going to take a lot of therapy because I endured violence at the hand of my husband, and the memory will stay with me always.

Tears brim on my lashes as I take in the view of Central Park.

It’s a gorgeous day, and the sun warms my skin as a breeze ruffles the blonde strands loose at my temples.

But beneath it all, I’m cold and frozen because once upon a time, I was a young girl with hopes and dreams .

.. but said dreams were smashed, and I’ll never be the same again.