My CEO Husband Handed Me A Mop — He Had No Idea He Was Talking To His Billionaire Investor

Part 2

I stared at the man who had ordered me to clean up his mistress’s coffee just ten hours ago.

He extended his hand to greet me, his most charming smile plastered across his face.

I simply looked at his outstretched hand and refused to take it.

Brian stepped in smoothly, announcing that royal protocol forbade me from shaking hands.

Craig pulled his hand back, completely unfazed, laughing that he hadn’t realized I was royalty.

I quietly replied that there was a great deal he was not aware of.

Heather strutted up to his side, hooking her arm possessively through his as she eyed me with suspicion.

She wore a silver dress that looked expensive but screamed desperation.

Craig nervously introduced her as his associate.

Heather bristled, correcting him and stating she was his partner in every sense.

I shifted my gaze to Heather, letting the silence stretch until she shifted uncomfortably.

I mused aloud about her father’s textile company and the massive tax fraud investigation from last year.

Heather’s jaw dropped in absolute horror.

Craig laughed nervously, trying to change the subject, completely oblivious to the trap closing around him.

He eagerly suggested we move to the VIP table to discuss the future of the merger.

I agreed, following him to a raised dais that overlooked the entire ballroom.

Craig sat to my right, pouring vintage wine as he prepared to sell me a 15% stake in his crumbling company.

I waved the glass away, stating I required a clear head when dealing with snakes.

Craig paused, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth.

He stammered that his organization was completely transparent.

I leaned forward slightly, the candlelight catching the fire in my rubies.

I asked him to explain the two hundred thousand pound consultancy fee paid to a shell company in the Cayman Islands.

Craig choked on his water, his face draining of all color.

He knew that money was hush money for a previous affair.

He sputtered that it was sensitive proprietary research overhead.

I smiled coldly and revealed that my analysts tracked that IP address straight to a boutique lingerie shop in Paris.

Heather slammed her fork down, demanding to know if we were here to audit the books or sign a deal.

I didn’t even look at her as I stated that a man who lies about his money lies about everything.

Craig was sweating profusely now, terrified that his company was slipping through his fingers.

He frantically offered a 51% controlling stake.

Just then, a terrified young waiter reached over to refill Craig’s glass and his trembling hand knocked the pitcher.

Red wine splashed aggressively across the white tablecloth, staining Craig’s sleeve.

Craig stood up instantly, his fury redirecting to the helpless boy as he screamed for him to get out.

In a moment of pure muscle memory, a reflex honed by years of cleaning up his messes, I took the cloth from the waiter.

I dabbed the wine from his cuff with expert precision, murmuring in my familiar, submissive cadence that we would get it out.

I adjusted his broken cufflink with the specific twisting motion that only his invisible assistant knew how to do.

Time stopped completely as Craig looked down at my hands and recognized the familiar gesture.

The glamour of the red queen faded for a split second, and he finally saw the ghost of the wife he had discarded.

He stepped back in absolute horror, gasping my real name as the devastating truth crashed down upon him.

He knew my secret now, but would he realize that his entire empire was already mine before the police arrived?