Faking It With My Billionaire Husband

Do you ever regret this?

The following days and weeks were a whirlwind. Max immersed himself in his business, and I found myself navigating a new world of luxury, power, and social expectations. Our days were filled with events, meetings, and constant networking, and my role as his wife became increasingly demanding. I learned to dress the part, to hold my own in conversations with influential people, and to maintain a veneer of poise and confidence, even when I felt like an imposter. Despite the relentless schedule, I made time to visit my mother at the hospital whenever I could. The sterile environment and the beeping machines were a stark contrast to the glamorous life I was leading, and each visit reminded me of the precariousness of our situation, and the importance of the promise I made. I would sit by her bedside, holding her hand, and tell her about my days, the absurdities of the social events, the demanding expectations, and the small kindnesses I was beginning to see in Max. Her eyes, though often clouded by pain or medication, would light up with a flicker of pride and gratitude.

Despite the facade, I began to see glimpses of the man behind the mask. He could be charming, intelligent, and surprisingly kind. During a particularly difficult gala, when I felt overwhelmed by the crowd and the pressure, he noticed my discomfort and discreetly guided me to a quieter area. He offered a simple, "Are you alright?", his voice laced with genuine concern. It was a small gesture, but it made me question everything. He also began to make subtle changes to the life we shared, like requesting that our penthouse be filled with flowers, or subtly asking me what my favorite coffee was. These small acts made me feel more seen.

One evening, as we sat in the opulent dining room of our penthouse, I couldn't hold back the questions that had been swirling in my mind. "Max, why me? Why did you choose me for this arrangement?"

He leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "You're intelligent, adaptable, and discreet. You fit the image I needed, and you have a certain... resilience." He paused, his eyes meeting mine. "And you needed this, didn't you?"

His words were a reminder of the harsh reality of our situation. I thought of my mother, still confined to her hospital bed, her face pale and drawn. The relief I felt, knowing her medical bills were covered, mingled with a deep sadness. Each day, I clung to the hope that she would regain her strength, that she would be able to smile again, and that she would see me through this arrangement. "My mother's medical bills are substantial, and the money is helping her," I replied, my voice thick with emotion.

"I am glad to be able to help," he replied with a small smile. "How is she doing?"

"She is stable. Hopefully, she'll get better soon. I went to see her today, she loves all the things you sent, all the flowers and the fruit baskets."

Our conversations, though guarded, became more frequent. I learned about his ambitions, his past, and the complex world he operated in. He, in turn, seemed to take an interest in my passions, my dreams, and my fears. We were still bound by a contract, but a strange kind of connection began to grow between us, built on mutual respect and a shared understanding of the burdens we carried.

One weekend, Max announced we were going away for a couple of days. He told me that he wanted me to relax a little because he didn’t want anyone to suspect anything. So, we escaped the city and went to a secluded cabin in the mountains. Away from the prying eyes and constant demands, we finally had a chance to breathe. We hiked through the woods, shared meals by the fireplace, and had conversations that were less about business and more about life. We talked about our favorite books, the places we dreamed of visiting, and the things that made us laugh. I worried about my mother but I knew she was in good hands.

During one of these moments, as we sat on the porch watching the sunset, I asked, "Do you ever regret this, Max?"

He was silent for a long moment before he said, "Sometimes, I wish things were different. But, I don't regret you."

His words sent a warmth through me. Could there be more than a contractual obligation between us? Did he see me as more than just a means to an end? Did he care for me? As I looked at Max, his expression unreadable, a small part of me hoped that I wasn’t the only one feeling this strange, undefined pull. The answer remained elusive, hidden beneath layers of secrecy and unspoken truths. The contractual year was far from over, and there were still many more questions than answers. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: our story was far from finished, and my hope for my mother's recovery, fuelled by Max's generosity, burned brighter than ever. The mountains felt like a world away from the hospital, yet I knew, when we returned, that each day was a step closer to a time when she would get to experience it all with me.