The Landon Billionaires (7 stories)

CHAPTER THREE: THE PERFECT PLAN

It was time. Chase heaved a sigh of relief as he looked at the file his secretary had given him. Looking out of his office window, he allowed himself the luxury of savoring that wonderful moment; he was enjoying the view again.

The anticipation of what was going to follow was so exquisite that it brought a s******c pleasure. The much-awaited moment when Demetria Jewel Hilton would finally be ousted from his life. It had been seven months since they had been married, as predicted nothing had changed between them.

They were still strangers; Chase was not the one complaining though. He had also made no effort to bond with his beautiful bride, only socializing her when they had to make public appearances. Even then, they’d barely managed a few words mostly for the staff’s benefit. What had rattled him was the fact that Demetria had made no move towards him; she appeared to be content living her life like a trophy wife.

Not that he’d had anything to complain about his dear wife. Not at all. He had gotten a Stepford wife after all.

Too perfect in her beauty. In her tasks. In her duties. That had rattled Chase; she was too fake for his own good. At first, Chase had wondered if there was a more substantial woman hidden under the surface. Was it all a façade?

There were times when he would catch an extreme vulnerability about her which he could not quite decipher. Like during the wedding when she had allowed him a small peck. Just after that, she had looked like somebody who had lost something precious. Chase had felt the ridiculous need to protect her, to ensure her that everything would be alright. He wanted to make sure he would make it alright.

A sentiment which made him frown now. How could Demetria, the one who asked if her hair was intact several times during a party feel anything other than vanity? He must have imagined that emotion on their wedding day. Whatever she felt was always covered by her fake smile, so much that he no longer knew which was the real her. Not that he cared anyway. The further he stayed away from Demetria, the better off he was.

Surprisingly enough, she kept her distance too. Until Chase had eventually assumed that nobody could fake a personality for that long; it must have been her real self. All that petty, empty talk and the lack of emotions. It was all so tiresome.

Chase had decided it was time for her to go. He would never be able to contemplate a lifetime with her anyway. Now was the moment when his father had no hold on him. He was holding the paper which gave him full ownership of Landon enterprise. His brothers had been disinherited, and their father had not felt even a modicum remorse about it. As far as he was concerned, his other sons were insignificant.

Not to Chase. His brothers still mattered. Unlike what they assumed; he had not appropriated the family wealth out of greed. He had done it to disempower Peter Landon. That had been his condition when he had agreed to marry the flamingo. He would never allow his father to have the upper hand on him again.

Now that he had everything he had worked for all his life, he would do as he pleased. He would seek his brothers and force them to take their shares. Even if they hated him for having supported their avaricious father in his quest. Chase did not care about bringing the family back now; all that mattered was that he did what he thought was right.

Before his mission, he had to get rid of his precious wife. He knew what it would take to make her run in the opposite direction at hundred miles per hour. He did not have to be a genius to deduce what made his wife tick. Money. All she talked about even in their briefest encounters was about social events and how it could benefit them in the social world.

Chase knew that if she got an inkling about him inheriting Landon enterprise, she would stick to him like a leech, sucking all his wealth from him before he would be able to do anything for his brothers. He must not allow that.

Even if he knew it was too late for him to mend the differences among his brothers, he still had hope that when they see him not as greedy as their father, they would understand that whatever he had done was for the sake of his family. In a unanimous way.

So, getting rid of Demetria was more than protecting his personal interests; it was preserving his siblings’ inheritance and that was something he was not ready to bargain with. So he had to act quickly. Before the word spread in the business world that he was now one of the richest men in Philly. If William Hilton got the news before he could do anything, his plan would be doomed.

Still, he was too honorable to break off the marriage; it would mean breaking off the deal his father had made. Peter Landon had given his word that Demetria Hilton would be his daughter-in-law. Chase did not want his father to look bad not after all the effort he had made to ensure his position in the society. The old rat had been right; since his marriage to the Hilton heiress, the rich were more attuned towards him and willing to conduct business with him.

For the past seven months, he had maintained his vow by financially helping William to build back his empire, recovering maximally from the loss. Both the Landons and the Hiltons had benefited massively from the union; it had been a conducive strategy. The society would never forgive him if he shunned Demetria now that the purpose was completed. They would call him worse names than they had when he was only a rookie.

Peter Landon was cruising away on his world tour with his wife – a condition Chase had insisted upon before accepting to marry. His mother deserved a little bit of happiness no matter how transient. If anything else, his father deserved it as well for having worked so hard all his life.

Now that his parents were out of picture, he had to devise a scheme for his wife’s acquiescence to depart from his life. He found himself smiling at the outstretched view as an idea formulated in his mind; the Hiltons would not know what hit them until it was too late.

Feeling inspired, he opened his locker and placed the secret file safely inside not trusting anyone to divulge the information about his inheritance. He was ready to meet his wife for the evening – something which happened rarely since he usually got home after nine when she was already asleep.

Chase knew he had been making a point to avoid her to the extreme of treating her horribly after the wedding. On their wedding night, he had politely requested her to have her dinner downstairs, had asked Mrs. June, his housekeeper, to cater for her needs. Then he’d disappeared in his room feeling sure that his bride would come looking for him to complain about his attitude.

She never came though, something which had intrigued him; was she playing some kind of game or was she simply indifferent? The latter fact had annoyed Chase as he knew he was one of the most demanded catches in the society and that any other woman would have been pleased to become his wife. Not Demetria though. She was too high-and-mighty to consider him a good match, so he had resisted the urge to find her to belittle her. It would be insignificant to gloat to her about her helplessness; not when his silence was even more condemning.

Even after one month, he got no reaction from her. Not after goading her about her situation or her poor choice of groom. Not once had she reacted to his comments. That had made him meaner. Even then, she had smiled demurely through it all, making him feel bad for being so callous.

After a month, he had stopped his attitude, concluding that Demetria was a spineless doll, and he fled to Rome for business. He had stayed there for two months before coming back to the States for a couple of days, had flown again to Morocco only three days after his short visit.

After three weeks, Chase had returned from his business trips to find no weeping bride asking him where he had been or why he had not even bothered to call. It was as if Demetria had expected such behavior from him and so he had fallen into some sort of pattern after that. He could not run away again since he had a business waiting for him. The tongues would waggle about how a Landon had treated one of the rich so abominably.

So instead, he had stayed in the States, making sure that he met his wife only on rare occasions, mostly during social events that they were invited to. Those occasions, too, had set up a trend; utter silence during the drive from and to with minimal talk except of course if they were addressed with direct questions about their wedded life.

Demetria would then beam brighter than the lamp lights on Broad Street and would never fail to elaborate on how perfect he was. How perfectly he treated her. How perfect their couple was. Chase had to grit his teeth at the absurdity of it all. How the hell was he supposed to perpetuate that kind of arrangement throughout his life?

It was impossible. The only time he had felt Demetria looking at him with anything other than bored indifference was when someone had asked him about his maternal grandmother. Chase had always been passionate about his Noni. When every Italian kid had been close to their mother, he had doted all his affections on his grandmother instead.

Not that his grandma had minded. She had been the center of his world. Until she had died last fall, Chase had never realized how lonely life could get. His Noni was surely cringing in her grave at his insipid wedding. With his insipid wife.

That was the reason he was more than shocked to hear that his wife was in the garden when he got home. When Mrs. June informed him that he would find his wife in the backyard, Chase had not hesitated to make his way there. Shocked was too feeble a word to describe his feelings at the sight in front of him. While he had believed her to be ordering his gardener around, she was instead on her fours with her back to him. She was nothing like the Demetria he knew. She looked human with dirt covering her simple cotton dress, and he frowned at the sight.

It made him feel something. Something he did not like. Of course, he knew that she was not expecting him and had felt free to do whatever she wanted. Never in his wildest dreams would he have guessed that she was going to be in his garden tending to his flowers. His frown got deeper when he took a step back and admired his garden. It was exquisite; nothing like he had seen before although he swore he employed a full-time gardener to care for his garden.

Apprehensive, he fled from the sight. It was too much to take in. He knew he was acting like a coward, but he did not want to revise his opinion of her. Not now. Not when he had finally reached his destination. Chase went up to his room working on how he would enact his plan.

He chided himself for his impulsive urge to get home unexpectedly. What the hell would he tell her? That he was suddenly broke? That he had made a bad deal, it had unfortunately gotten out of his hands and now he was bankrupt? For that had been his intention.

He wanted Demetria to believe that he was ruined, then if his calculations were correct, she would be out of his life without the merest effort from him. The fact that she had been gardening during his absence was making him uneasy. If she had been as artificial as she had acted, she would be out shopping when he was not here. Or socializing. Or in a beauty parlor. Not gardening!

Chase rubbed his chest where his heart was beating in a suspiciously erratic way as he calculated whether to carry out his plan or not. Sighing, he poured himself a glass of his strongest scotch and gulped down the whole glass without even flinching. It gave him courage enough to calm his raging nerves, tampering his unease.

By dinner time, Chase had already devised a Machiavellian plan and was fully prepared for what awaited him. Or so he thought.

When he joined her for dinner, she was as immaculate as ever – somebody must have informed her of his arrival most obviously. Chase had an uncanny feeling that his staff was fond of her and that Mrs. June had already warned her about his presence. They greeted each other politely but the amount of frost present could have frozen hell over.

They ate in silence as food was served, the ineptness a trivial practice in his home. The awkwardness he was feeling now was familiar instead of the rapid heartbeat he had experienced earlier. What unnerved him was the fact that he had not even bothered to call to inform about his arrival, and it had not pissed her off.

Just like that, a feast had been prepared in his honor, leaving him to wonder whether it was purely for his benefit.  Of course it was. He was the master of the house, and perfect wives were expected to cater for their husbands’ needs when they got home.

“I don’t even like pumpkin,” he suddenly said out of nowhere and closed his eyes in dismay. That was definitely not what he had planned!

He sounded as insensitive as a jerk. Disregarding the effort his staff had made for his benefit. Above all, it was the monstrous lie. He adored pumpkin especially when in gravy like it was prepared now with lots of cheese. He would have to hit the gym later on, but he did not care – he was a cheese lover. For some unknown reason, he was angry.

Demetria did not move a muscle. She continued to probe her food without really eating; a habit of hers he had noticed. She barely ate anything, and Chase assumed that it was because she wanted to maintain her figure. Without even looking up at him, she spoke while cutting off a small piece of her steak.

“Well, you should make a list of the things you like, I will make sure that next time the food is prepared when you arrive.”

Sir. It was the only word missing from the sentence. Anyone would think he was an ogre or something at her attitude, Chase did not know why he cared. He should drop it, however the vision of her crouched back in his garden had stirred something inside him. His rage.

“Sure,” he mocked, making sure all the condescension he was feeling was laced in his voice as an undertone, fiercely glad when she shot him a look of surprise.

It would seem that he had managed the impossible; to shake her out of her shell. Well, not much because she recovered quickly, he could not help the satisfaction of having been able to gauge a reaction from her. Chase knew he was behaving out of character, but he did not care. He wanted to find out if there was more to the heiress than what she let people believe. Especially him.

He waited for her to say something – anything but she averted her eyes again, continuing to s***h through her meat with more force than necessary. It was all so infuriating. He continued to stare at her; she would c***k at some point.

Finally, after what seemed like a decade, she put her fork and knife down appearing nonplussed, her movements deft and swift, not before Chase caught sight of her trembling hands though. When she looked at him, however, there was no indication that she was feeling something. She looked like a zombie – someone without expression.

“What is the matter?” she finally asked when he continued to stare, rudely wanting to dismantle her from her glacier mode. For one fleeting second, he imagined how she would look completely out of control with her hair in disarray and her n***d legs around him in utter abandon.

He could have killed himself for that thought which came out of nowhere and gave him a hard one. Why the hell was he thinking of her in that way? He must be starved from s****l abstinence; it had been more than a year since he had bedded someone.

Ironically, he had always managed to hog the gossip columns with a string of mistresses in every country he visited but all he did with those beautiful women was dine with them for business purposes. He hated the idea of keeping a woman as his mistress since he found it repugnant. He was a family man at heart, and he treated his women with respect.

Of course, he dated, but casual s*x was too empty for him, so he had stopped even that for the past year. It was too unfulfilling especially after the only anchor of his life had gone. His Noni.

Not that anybody was aware of that; the trend in rich society was to sleep and leave them. The more the merrier. As they put it. He considered s*x to be an act of love more than that of the flesh. Not that he had ever been in love, he had to however feel a modicum of feelings for someone before bedding her. He was damned if he shared that thought with anyone.

Every lady he had dined with had believed that she was only one left out, so they’d deliberately spread the rumors about sleeping with him only to save face. Although he had minded at some point, now he no longer cared. What difference would it make if it looked like a charlatan? It served his purpose of driving the flamingos away. So, he had never bothered to clear the assumptions or challenge the assertions so far.

So having carnal feelings for Demetria –that too at the dinner table was highly inappropriate. Maybe he should unleash his desires on someone else but now he had to concentrate on his task.

Finally, she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze which must have reflected his erotic thoughts and she cleared her throat uncomfortably.

“Chase…” she began and frowned at him.

“Demetria,” he replied back in a neutral tone, giving her a dose of her own medicine. If she wanted to behave like there was nothing between the two of them, so could he. He would play dumb as well pretending not to understand what was going on. It was interesting to see her reaction.

She cleared her throat again. “What’s the matter?” she asked finally seeming to pick up his unusual mood.

He had her full attention now. Even if he had not set out to do so, he felt enthused.

“We need to talk,” he simply said before asking her to join him in his study, which she did.

He took his own sweet time, poured himself another glass of scotch, sniffing the intoxicating smell of the liquid before tasting it. A habit of his which he had picked up from his Noni. “I’m ruined,” he announced, his back still turned to her for he knew he would not get any reaction.

He was wrong though. He heard an audible gasp and smiled to himself as his arrow found his target. It was too gullible to believe that Demetria would not be affected by the fact that he was no longer a rich man. It was, after all, the sole reason for which she had agreed to marry him.

“I don’t understand,” she said in a small voice very different from the usual neutral tone she had almost driven him crazy with.

Good for her. She would have her world shifted under her feet, while he would not even be blamed for that. He whirled the scotch before taking a long sip. It was really weird how he found himself enjoying his drink more than usual. It had a different taste today something akin to victory.

“You heard me right,” he finally turned around to watch her but disappointment filled him when he saw that her expression had not changed one iota. She stood there taking in the devastating information serenely, and Chase had the insane urge to kiss her out of her immaculate posture.

His grip tightened on his glass, and his determination to drive her away grew with each moment. There was no way he would accept Demetria Hilton as his permanent wife. He had had enough of living a lie, and he refused to do it for the rest of his life.

“I have no money left. There was a problem…” he indicated with an insouciant wave of his hand. “…and it aaaaall went dooooown,” he said, his words slurring. The effect of alcohol most probably, by that time he was beyond caring.

As the penny dropped, for the first time in his life, he saw Demetria Jewel Hilton look angry. Her face flushed in crimson red, she gaped at him like someone had just told her that Father Christmas was fake.