Married to the Billionaire CEO Who Hates Me

The thin walls of the little flat creaked under the weight of stillness. Maisie Ellison sat on the edge of a worn out sofa, and there were a lot of unread invoices on the coffee table that was already old. The crumbling wallpaper was covered in lengthy shadows from the one bulb, which whispered stories of neglect. The scent of cold coffee and paint filled the air. Her final unfinished painting was on the floor.

Her phone rang loudly, breaking the silence. She looked down. The screen showed a fresh message: "Payment overdue." "Final notice." Her fingers tightened on the gadget, making her knuckles become white. The guy on the other line, one of the numerous creditors, left another menacing message this morning.

Her eyes were burning with anger, but when she answered the phone, her voice was cold and hard. "Hey, I told you." "Give me more time."

The speaker said with a sneer, "You've had time, Miss Ellison." "You have to pay or you're out."

"I'm working on it." Please.

"Please don't stop the eviction, sweetheart." The call went dead.

Maisie threw the phone down on the table. Her chest became tight, but she pushed herself to look angrily at the broken mirror on the wall. "I won't break." "Not yet," she said to herself, a silent revolt brewing under her tiredness.

She was startled by a knock at the door. She stopped moving. Nobody ever arrived. She looked through the peephole and saw an empty corridor. Her heart raced even faster. "Just nerves," she said under her breath.

But the emotion kept eating away at her. Like the past was becoming closer than she wanted to accept.

The light from the phone's screen lit up Maisie's face, which was pale and sharp against the dark surroundings. A viral tabloid headline flashed across the screen: "Maisie Ellison's Secret Scandal Exposed!""Below it, a gallery of images, a clandestine kiss, and a shadowy hug with a guy she had hoped no one would ever remember.

Her fingers shook as she scrolled faster. The comments came in waves: "Fallen artist," "Who's the mystery man?""Will this ruin her?""The words hurt more than any wound."

Maisie's breath stopped in her throat. Her pulse was hammering like a battle drum when she slammed the phone shut. "No." "Not again," she says in a voice that is almost a whisper.

The cracked walls behind her appeared to press in on her, making it hard for her to breathe. She put her palms on her temples and begged the cacophony to stop. But the past kept coming back.

There was a loud knock that resonated through the flat. This time, it was louder and more insistent. Maisie's heart raced as she tiptoed to the door and looked out carefully.

Not a soul.

The welcome mat has a folded envelope on it. She grabbed it and wrapped her fingers tightly around the paper. The note written in a hurry said, "We know who you really are." "Be quiet or be killed."

Maisie's eyes moved quickly over the deserted corridor. Her eyes showed both fear and anger. "They want me to go away."

And deep inside, she promised herself that she wouldn't go away without a fight.

Levi Winslow sat back in his slick leather chair, the frigid light from the monitor making his sharp features stand out. The video started again, and his voice pierced through the room like ice. "Marriage? A cage. "That's a joke for fools." His lips twisted in disgust as the video played again and over.

The room seemed colder now, and the shadows surrounding his towering, strong body became darker. His dark hair was flawlessly tousled, and his steel blue eyes seldom showed any emotion. People saw him as a giant, cruel, untouchable guy who established empires with pure will. People who knew better saw him as a fortress that had been hurt by treachery.

His phone was buzzing with texts coming in. Prices of stocks went down. The headlines screamed anger. "Billionaire's Bitter Words Backlash."

His assistant stuck her head in and spoke in a shaky voice. "Levi, the public relations team wants to talk." Now.

He didn't even glance away from the TV. "Tell them I'm already listening." His voice sounded shrill, like a whip breaking.

"They want to fix things." Perhaps an apology in public?"

He laughed in a dark way. "Say sorry for being honest? "Never."

But within, uncertainty ate away at him. Could he truly get through this storm without losing everything?

The door clicked and opened. His main PR strategist, a self assured lady, walked in. "There's a way out." But it's dangerous.

He lifted one eyebrow. "I hear you."

Her words hit like a bomb. "A marriage that isn't real. To a lady with a controversy that is just large enough to make you seem bad.

Levi's eyes narrowed, and his thoughts were already racing. "Get me her file."

Outside, the city's tumult gobbled up the next move of his dominion.

Levi couldn't even pour his scotch when the door burst open. The voices in his boardroom were loud, and Tessa Wakefield, who was wearing storm gray silk, led the way. A group of advisers came into the room behind her like smoke.

"We don't have any time. "This is nuclear," Tessa remarked, throwing the iPad on the table. "Going viral in six countries."

Levi didn't move. "Let them go."

"Investors are furious. The legal head, Gideon Marx, said, "One has already pulled out." "This isn't just for show. This causes panic among shareholders.

"We bury it," Levi said as he drank.

"How? While sitting atop a family based luxury enterprise, you spit on marriage. You think moms would purchase cribs with diamonds on them from the guy who said love was an illusion?"

Levi leaned back, his jaw tense. "Then come up with something better."

The room was quiet. Tessa's eyes sparkled.

"There is one way," she said. "Very." But it works, if you want it to.

"Say it."

"A fake marriage. We identify someone whose scandal is worse than yours. Tie your picture to hers. It weakens both flames.

Levi cautiously put down his drink. "You want me to marry someone I don't know to safeguard the bottom line?"

Tessa said, "I want you to live through the firestorm." "This isn't about promises. "It's all about optics."

"Who?""His voice became quieter, but the edge was still sharp.

"I have a list. People who are social, influencers, and ladies who will smile for money.

He looked at her and snorted. "Fake smiles don't work on the camera."

"Then let me find someone who is really in need."

He looked at her. "You think that being desperate sells?"

"In the US?"She said coolly. "It's the most popular story."

He went to the window and looked out at the sparkling skyline. His dominion flickered below, flashing with danger.

He responded, "Get me a woman who can lie like she means it." "But make sure she has more to lose than I do."

Maisie pushed the rusty studio door open with her elbow while holding a takeaway cup and her keys. The apartment was her safe haven, with paint splattered flooring, bare brick walls, and lofty windows letting in fading light.

She kicked the door shut and stood still.

There was a simple white envelope on the floor. No stamp. No writing by hand. It was like a menace with a pulse, just sitting there.

She dropped the coffee, and when she crouched down and ripped it open, the hot liquid splashed all over the pavement.

"You've finished. Get out of the city.

Her chest became tight. No sign. Four words: direct, deadly, and intimate.

She got up slowly, fists clenched, and her breath was shallow.

She said, "Cowards don't write names." "Real threats show their faces."

Her fingers moved. She had received hatred before, like when her name was trending or when the past came back like rotten flesh. But this? This was closer. Someone had been here.

She looked around the room. Nothing was damaged, and nothing moved. But she could feel it, maybe with her eyes. She couldn't get rid of the cold.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Another number I don't know. She responded and there was more stillness.

Maisie threw the phone against the wall. "Forget this."

She walked across the room and got the switchblade that was concealed behind a paint rack. It wasn't much, but it helped her stop shaking.

"They want me to be scared?"She shouted it out loud, and her voice became louder. "Do they think I'm going to pack up and leave?""

She walked to the window and pulled the curtains shut.

"You chose the wrong girl."

The glass showed her face back to her. Hair messy from anxiety and wind, eyes tired but still blazing.

She was done being scared.

After that, the lights blinked once.

And again.

She stopped moving, her heart racing.

No wind.

No storm.

The only thing on the wall behind her was her name in red.