The Billionaire Architect He Called A Housewife

I found the old phone at the very bottom of Peter Montgomery's safe. It didn't even have a password.

It took three seconds to boot up. But those three seconds were enough to smash my seven-year marriage into dust.

The wallpaper wasn't our wedding photo, but a candid shot of a young woman.

She was sitting at a piano, her profile soft, almost luminous. Peter was standing in the shadows behind her, the deep affection and painful restraint in his eyes so potent they were enough to drown in. That was a Peter I had never met.

The woman was Delilah Finch, a scholarship student Peter and I had quietly supported for years.

My hands and feet went numb. I opened the Notes app.

[2018: I married Aurora. Shes stable, suitable. Good for the family legacy. But God... do I love my little protge?]

[2020: Delilahs back. We talked. Its mutual. Seeing her cry broke me.]

[2023: If Aurora gets pregnant, Delilah will be crushed. We wont have kids. I need to make sure.]

The phone slipped from my fingers.

I finally understood why, in seven years of marriage, I had only conceived oncea loss I grieved aloneand then never again.

When Peter walked in, I was still kneeling on the hardwood floor, clutching the old phone in my hand.

He was carrying a box from the bespoke bakery downtown, the warmth of the house instantly chased away by the cold air he brought in.

His motion of kicking off his shoes froze when he saw the object in my hand.

The small, practiced smile of tenderness on his face cracked, shattering completely.

Aurora, he said, his voice flat and cold, who gave you permission to go through my things?

No explanation. No panic.

His first word was an accusation.

I lifted my head. My eyes were dry and burning, but not a single tear would come.

Peter, seven years.

My throat was desperately dry. I pointed to the screen.

Is everything written here true?

Peter strode over. He grabbed my wrist, twisting the phone out of my grip.

He quickly powered it down and slid it into his coat pocket, his brow deeply furrowed. Everyone has a past, and things they dont want people to know. Aurora, you went too far.

I almost laughed. My heart was a tight knot of sickening pain.

Things you dont want people to know? Hiding your feelings for another woman inside our marriageyou call that going too far?

You married me just to satisfy your family? You prevented me from having a child because you thought Delilah would be sad?

Peter Montgomery, you are disgusting.

Enough!

He roared the word, tossing the cake box onto the marble coffee table. It landed askew, and the buttercream smeared across the polished surface.

He took a deep breath, visibly trying to contain his fury, and instantly reverted to that cruelly rational demeanor I knew too well.

Delilah has always been delicate, you know that. She cant handle stress or surprises.

If I was going to be with her, it would have happened ages ago. I married you because you were suitable, and because He paused, a flash of irritation in his eyes. Because I didnt dislike you. Haven't I been a good husband? You have the Montgomery name, unlimited credit cards, anything you wanted, I provided.

I looked at the man standing over me.

Only yesterday, he would wake up no matter how deep his sleep was if my leg cramped in the middle of the night, massaging it until I fell back asleep.

He always drove the car to the shallowest part of a puddle on a rainy day, lifting me and carrying me across the curb so my expensive Italian shoes wouldnt get wet.

I had believed that was love.

It turned out, it was all an act.

I didnt dislike you I whispered the words, a piece of my soul feeling like it had been violently ripped out. Peter, is that your answer to seven years of my life?

He rubbed his temple, reaching out to take my hand. Stop the drama, Aurora. Delilah had a tough day at the gallery and is upset. I need to go check on her.

You stay here. Cool off.

When youve collected yourselfwhen you know what questions are appropriate and what arentthen well talk.

With that, he turned to leave.

The hem of his cashmere coat brushed my cheek, carrying a wave of cold air.

Peter Montgomery! I yelled at his retreating back. If you walk out that door right now, were getting a divorce!

He stopped at the threshold.

But he didnt turn around.

Aurora, dont try to use divorce to scare me. You think you can live like this without the Montgomery name? Dont be childish. Grow up.

I woke up with a fever.

It must have been the stress, or sitting on the cold floor all night.

My temperature hit 103F. I felt like I was burning alive and freezing to death all at once.

In a daze, I instinctively called Peters phone.

Before, if I felt the slightest bit ill, he would stop a transcontinental conference and rush home.

But this time, the phone rang for a long time.

Hello?

The voice that answered wasnt his.

It was Delilahs. Soft and cloying, with the lazy, breathy purr of someone just waking up.

Oh, its Aurora? Peter is in the shower right now.

The shower. At Delilahs place. In the early morning.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to hold on to my last shred of composure. Tell him to pick up the phone.

Oh, Aurora, dont be angry. Delilah giggled softly. I accidentally spilled coffee on him yesterday. You know how he is about his clothes, so he had to spend the night in the guest room. Hes such a thoughtful caregiver... I was so exhausted last night. Thank God he was here.

Each word was a scalpel blade to my chest.

Delilah, my voice was trembling uncontrollably. Put him on the phone.

Whats wrong?

Peters low, just-woken-up voice came through the line.

Then Delilahs saccharine whine: Peter, Auroras calling to check up on you. She sounds mad.

Aurora? Peters voice instantly went cold. What are you causing trouble about this early?

Hot tears streamed down my temples, soaking into my hair.

Peter, I have a fever. Im really sick I need to go to the hospital.

Even after reading those notes, even after the explosive fight yesterday.

In that moment, I still clung to that ridiculous sliver of hope. Seven years. Youd have some kind of bond with a houseplant.

The line was silent for two seconds.

Then I heard the sound of fabric rubbing together, and Peters tone softened slightly. How high is the fever?

One hundred and three.

Take some Tylenol first. Have the driver take you. His voice was still agonizingly calm. Delilah hasnt finished hanging her pieces yet, and she cant reach. Ill come back once I help her finish.

The painting wasnt finished.

I was burning up, close to passing out, and my husband was helping another woman hang a painting.

Peter, I gasped weakly. If I dont get to the hospital, I could die Im allergic to penicillin. The at-home meds are

Ah! A sudden yelp from Delilah interrupted me.

Then, the crash of something hitting the floor.

Delilah! What happened? Peters voice was instantly filled with a panic and urgency I had never heard him use for me.

My hand Peter, the frame fell on my hand! It hurts so much Delilah sobbed.

Dont move! Let me see! Its bleeding Hold on, Im wrapping it up and taking you to the clinic immediately!

Chaos erupted on the other end.

I was completely forgotten.

Peter I tried to speak, to tell him that I was hurting, toothat my heart was bleeding.

But the line was dead.

I held the phone, staring at the glittering chandelier on the ceiling, my vision blurring.

In his world, a scraped finger on Delilah Finch was a catastrophe.

My life-threatening fever was just me causing trouble.

I forced myself to stand up, swaying as I tried to get downstairs.

Halfway down the stairs, a wave of blackness crashed over me.

My body tilted, and I fell, rolling uncontrollably down the steps.

Excruciating pain. In the last moment before I lost consciousness, I thought I saw eighteen-year-old Peter.

He was wearing a white shirt, carrying me on his back across the school track because Id twisted my ankle, his face drenched in sweat.

He had said, Aurora, dont worry. Im here. Ill never let you get hurt.

Liar.

Peter Montgomery, you are a complete and utter liar.

When I woke up again, I was in a hospital room.

I wiggled my fingers; my entire body felt like shattered glass.

Youre awake?

Peter was sitting by the bed, peeling an apple.

Seeing my eyes open, he cut a small piece and held it to my lips, his expression as gentle as if yesterday had never happened.

How could you be so clumsy? Falling down the stairs?

Mild concussion and a fractured right tibia.

Aurora, youre an adult. Can you stop causing me so much stress?

His tone was half-reproach, half-weary exasperation. That same condescending tone of high-status inconvenience.

I turned my head away, avoiding the piece of apple.

Is Delilahs finger wrapped up? I asked, staring out the window, my voice hollow.

Peters hand stopped mid-air.

Then, he tossed the apple into the trash can.

Aurora, how long are you going to keep this up?

Delilah was injured while hanging a piece of art! Her hands are her life! Shes an artist! You? You had a fever. Did you really need to put yourself through this to fish for sympathy?

Fish for sympathy?

I turned my head and stared him down.

Peter, was it my choice not to go to the hospital?

I begged you to come home, and you said you had to help her hang a painting!

When I was rolling down the stairs, nearly breaking my neck, you were busy coddling her and telling her to stop crying!

Fishing for sympathy? You dont deserve my sympathy, even if I was dying!

Peters face went instantly dark.

He stood up, looking down at me. Watch your tone, Aurora.

Im your husband.

Not for long. I met his gaze without flinching. Ill have the divorce papers sent over.

You wouldnt dare!

Peter gripped my chin, his fingers digging in so hard I thought my jawbone would snap.

His eyes burned with rage and a disbelief that I had actually defied him.

Aurora, if you divorce me, where will you go? Back to the Hale family who havent given a damn about you in years? Or sleep on the street?

Everything you have was given to you by me! Your design studio, your contacts, every piece of clothing on your back!

Without Peter Montgomery, what are you, Aurora Hale?

I was once the most promising architecture student in my Ivy League program.

I had won international design awards.

But for him, to be a good Montgomery wife.

I had turned down project after project, dimmed my own light, and centered my world on the kitchen and the home.

Now, he was asking, What are you?

Well see about that.

I pulled my chin out of his grip, every word clipped and firm.

Lets see if I starve to death without you, Peter.

Fine. Very well.

Peter laughed, a tight, angry sound, and smoothed the wrinkle on his sleeve. Since you have so much backbone, lets see you stand tall.

Cut off all her credit cards, he instructed the assistant standing by the door.

Pull all the funding from her little studio projects.

I want to see how long you last.

He slammed the door shut on his way out.

Outside, Delilahs voice drifted in. Peter, dont be angry. Aurora is just sick and confused I made you some soup

Youre the only one whos sensible.

Peters voice softened instantly, and the sound of their footsteps faded away.

I closed my eyes.

Two lines of tears ran down my face.

No one came to pick me up on the day I was discharged.

I leaned on my crutches, slowly making my way out of the hospital.

The cards were stopped. My phone couldnt pay for a ride.

I searched my pockets and found only a few crumpled dollar bills.

I flagged a taxi and took it back to the house Peter and I had shared.

If I was going to leave, I needed my ID, and the few things my parents had left me.

I pushed open the door. The living room was filled with laughter.

Delilah, wearing my silk monogrammed robe, was curled up on the sofa, feeding Peter grapes.

Peter was looking at his laptop, occasionally opening his mouth to take a grape, his eyes filled with a doting affection.

Seeing me, Delilah startled, trying to stand up, only to accidentally tumble into Peters arms.

Oh! Aurora... youre back?

Peter casually wrapped an arm around her waist, looking up at me.

His eyes were cold, like I was a stranger.

Decided to come home? I thought you were going to be a martyr forever.

I ignored his sarcasm and walked past him, crutches tapping the floor, heading straight for the master bedroom upstairs.

Stop. Peters voice was frigid. Who said you could go up there?

I paused, turning around. Im here for my things.

You dont have anything here.

Peter toyed with a strand of Delilahs hair. I had someone throw out all your things.

My entire body went rigid. I stared at him in disbelief.

Threw them out? Peter, those were my parents relics! And all my original design blueprints!

And so what?

He sneered. I told you, this house doesn't keep dead weight. We needed the closet space. Your junk was taking up her dressing room.

Junk?

My parents only keepsake, a vintage pocket watch, and the blueprints I had pulled countless all-nighters to perfect.

In his eyes, they were trash, disposable, to make room for Delilahs clothes.

Rage roared in my head. I threw my crutches aside and scrambled toward the stairs like a madwoman.

The dressing room was empty.

The closets that had held my custom-tailored suits were now packed with Delilahs airy, bohemian dresses.

My drafting table, my easelall gone.

In their place was a pristine white grand piano, Delilahs favorite.

I rushed to the balcony, looking down.

Next to the industrial-sized trash cans in the yard, a pile of black garbage bags lay open.

I could faintly see the edges of familiar sketch paper.

Soaked through by the rain, they were beginning to dissolve into a sodden mess.

Ignoring the agonizing pain in my leg, I stumbled down the stairs and rushed outside.

I dove onto the wet grass, tearing open the bags in the mud.

It was all ruined.

Every piece.

I clutched the shattered pocket watch, kneeling in the cold mud, sobbing uncontrollably.

Peter! Youre not human!

Give them back to me!

Footsteps sounded behind me.

Peter stood under the portico, holding an umbrella, Delilah wrapped in his arm.

He frowned, as if my anguish was simply an unpleasant noise.

Aurora, stop acting like a fishwife.

A few pieces of ruined paper, a broken watchwhats the value? Ill write you a check.

Delilah shrunk into his chest, murmuring. Peter, Aurora looks so pitiful Did I do something wrong? I shouldnt have moved in

Nonsense. This has nothing to do with you.

Peter lowered his head and kissed her hair. She brought this on herself. A woman this ungrateful needs a serious dose of reality.

He looked up at me, his eyes glacier-cold.

Aurora, for the sake of the last seven years, Im giving you one final chance.

Right now, apologize to Delilah.

Say that youll never pull this stunt again and that youll be the compliant wife I expect.

Ill let you back in this house to be Mrs. Montgomery.

Otherwise

He kicked at the mud near my feet.

Take your trash and roll out of my life.

The rain intensified.

The fracture in my leg must have reopened. The pain was searing.

But I no longer felt the cold.

My heart was utterly, completely dead.

Slowly, I stood up from the mud, still clutching the broken watch.

I wiped the rainwater from my face and looked at the perfectly matched pair in front of me.

I smiled.

Peter Montgomery.

You think I actually want to be your wife?

You think Ill starve without you?

I walked toward them, dragging my injured leg, step by step.

Peter instinctively recoiled, startled by the intensity of the hatred in my eyes.

What are you doing?

SLAP!

I used every ounce of my remaining strength and slapped his face with brutal force.

His head snapped sideways. The imprint of my fingers immediately bloomed on his cheek.

Delilah shrieked, You hit Peter!

Shut up! No one asked you!

I turned and slapped Delilah across her face.

She was stunned, clutching her cheek as she tumbled backward into the dirt, crying.

Peter finally reacted, raising his hand in a furious rage. Aurora! Youre asking for a death wish!

I lifted my chin, staring hard at his descending hand.

Hit me then!

Peter, if you dont kill me today, I swear I will make you and her kneel before me. I will pay back every single ounce of pain Ive carried, a hundredfold!

His hand froze in the air.

He looked into my eyes, and a flicker of genuine fear crossed his face.

I stared at him coldly, spitting a mouthful of blood and rainwater onto the ground.

Peter Montgomery, remember what you said today.

I am ungrateful. I am asking for trouble.

From this moment forward, I am cutting all ties with you, and with the Montgomery name.

The rain, mixed with mud, streamed down my pants.

I dragged my throbbing right leg, step by agonizing step, out of the Montgomery estate gates.