Billionaire's Unlucky Wife

PROLOGUE CHANEL’S POV I glanced at the oversized Stockard 35” wall clock in the kitchen, an exasperated sigh leaving my lips. It was forty minutes past eleven and up till now my husband of two years was not home yet, something that had never happened before. Usually, the latest he would walk into the house would be seven and he would inform me prior. There was no message, no call from him and that worried me to death. Was he caught up in a meeting perhaps? I tried to take console from that thought but nothing about it felt right.   I reached my phone, the anxiety finally wearing me down as I dialed his number but even after three calls, he still never picked up. Something must have happened to him at work. He never missed calls or came home this late. What could I say? Dane was the perfect husband and every night before I fell asleep, he was quick to remind me just how much he loved me. He was the kind of man you proudly bragged about to your friends because his love for you was so damn obvious even to those around you.   I must have dosed off on the diamond-buttoned 4-seater Banquette sofa rendered in gold leaf detail and moss green velvet fabric only to wake up to the sound of someone crashing against the table, releasing a stream of angry, drunk cusses. Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes, reaching for my glasses on the table before I scanned the room only to find Dane tottering into the living room, drunk out of his mind. Shock hit me hard at the sight of my husband in that state. As crazy as it sounded, Dane was one of those few extremely rich men that abhorred the taste of alcohol. He never drank nor smoke or used any kind of drug. Wine was even a no go for him though personally I would never dare say no to a glass of sweet red wine.   “Honey,” I muttered, pushing my feet into the grey Scuffette slippers.   He slumped on the nearest L-seater to him as I rushed towards him. Panic raced through me as I looked at him, wasted, his eyes already closed with his right hand swinging lazily over the edge. I quickly loosened the tie around his neck, took his phone from his pocket and shoes but before I could move away, he grabbed my arm, eyes barely open, with tears in his eyes.   “Cynthia,” I felt my world stop. Cynthia? Who the hell was Cynthia?   “What? No, I’m not Cynthia. Its me, your wife Chanel,” I muttered, my voice croaking slightly.     “I’m so sorry, Cynthia. I wish I had fought harder for us. I miss you so f*****g bad and I want you back. Promise me you’ll stay this time. I can’t live without you because you’ll always be love of my life. I want you back,” Tears streamed through the narrow-split ends of his gray eyes, the raw emotions in his voice taking me aback.   I pulled my hand away from his grip, staggering back in shock as I felt my heart grow numb for a whole minute, the blood rush in my head sounding too loud.  I was aware of my own heart beat growing erratic as tears slowly welled up in my eyes.   “No, no, no,” I chanted under my breath, trying not to believe what I’d just heard. This had to be a f*****g joke. It was impossible to believe that everything I’d known about my husband could possibly have been all an act.