She Was Forced to Marry a 90-Year-Old Billionaire at the Altar — But When He Took Off His Mask, the Whole Chapel Froze

The following afternoon, the storm had passed, leaving the sky over the Newport coastline a pale, icy blue.

Evelyn sat in the grand library of the mansion, dressed in a soft cashmere sweater and dark trousers that Mrs. Gable had provided. The library was three stories high, filled with tens of thousands of leather-bound books, sliding oak ladders, and massive arched windows overlooking the roaring Atlantic Ocean.

For the first time in her life, she had time to read without worrying about an upcoming shift at the diner or a landlord pounding on her door.

Yet, she couldn't concentrate on a single page.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Julian’s silver eyes, felt his warm fingers against her skin, and heard the cold, absolute authority in his voice.

Fifty million dollars in two years.

It was an unfathomable sum of money. Enough to buy her father a small house far away, put herself through any university, and live comfortably for the rest of her life.

It's just a job, she told herself firmly, gripping the armrests of her chair. Two years of acting like his wife, and then I get my life back.

The library doors burst open with a loud, aggressive slam.

A tall, elegant woman in a red silk dress stepped into the room, flanked by two sharp-looking men in tailored suits. Her blonde hair was styled into a high bun, her face painted with expensive makeup, and her eyes sharp with malicious anger.

It was Victoria Sterling—Julian’s cousin and one of the largest minority shareholders in Hawthorne Holdings.

"Where is he?!" Victoria demanded, her voice echoing off the high book stacks. Her eyes locked onto Evelyn sitting by the window. She stopped in her tracks, her lips curling into a disgusted sneer. "And who on earth are you? A new maid?"

Evelyn slowly set her book down on the side table and stood up, drawing herself to her full height. Though she wore simple clothes, she carried herself with a quiet dignity she had forged through years of surviving hard times.

"I am Evelyn Hawthorne," she said clearly, her voice echoing through the vast space. "The mistress of this house."

Victoria’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock. She let out a harsh, shrill laugh. "Hawthorne? What kind of ridiculous joke is this? Nathaniel Hawthorne is ninety years old and bedridden! He doesn't have a wife!"

"Nathaniel Hawthorne is not my husband," Evelyn revealed, remembering Julian’s second rule about public defiance. "I am married to Julian Hawthorne."

Victoria flinched as if she had been slapped. Her pale skin turned blotchy with rage. "Julian? Married?! That's impossible! Julian has been in Europe for six months managing the private portfolio!"

"Julian returned three days ago, Victoria," a deep, smooth voice sounded from the upper gallery of the library.

Every head snapped upward.

Julian leaned over the dark mahogany railing on the second tier of the library, holding a crystal glass of scotch. He looked down at his cousin with an icy, dismissive calm that made Victoria step back half an inch.

He glided down the spiral staircase with fluid, dangerous elegance, his dark eyes fixed entirely on Victoria.

"You broke into my private residence, Victoria," Julian said softly as his feet hit the parquet floor. "That is a severe violation of the family charter."

"You married a common street girl behind the board's back!" Victoria shouted, pointing a long, red-nailed finger at Evelyn. "The trust explicitly states that any marriage by the chief executive must be approved by two-thirds of the family council!"

Julian stepped up beside Evelyn, slipping his broad arm casually around her waist. He pulled her flush against his side, his warm body radiating an intense heat that made Evelyn’s breath catch in her throat.

"The family council clause applies only to unmarried heirs before the age of thirty," Julian corrected smoothly, reaching down to take Evelyn’s smaller hand in his, lacing his long fingers through hers. "As my wife, Evelyn now holds thirty percent of the voting shares assigned to my branch of the family. Which means, cousin... you no longer have the leverage to force a sale of the Seaport dockyard."

Victoria gasped, looking between Julian and Evelyn with intense, poisonous hatred.

"You think you can play this game, Julian?" Victoria hissed, her voice shaking with rage. "She's a nobody! I'll have my investigators tear her past apart! By next week, the press will know she's the daughter of a degenerate gambler from Providence!"

Before Victoria could take another step, Evelyn stepped forward—drawing Julian’s arm with her—and looked Victoria straight in the eye.

"You can call my father whatever you want, Miss Sterling," Evelyn said, her hazel eyes flashing with a fiery defiance that surprised even Julian beside her. "But if you ever break into my home again, I won't call the family council. I'll have the security detail drag you out by your hair and toss you over the cliff gates. Do you understand me?"

The library went dead silent.

Victoria stood frozen, her mouth slightly open, utterly stunned by the raw, fierce authority radiating from the eighteen-year-old girl standing before her.