Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss (Venus and Aaron) novel Chapter 43

Chapter 43

VENUS

The next morning, we boarded the plane.

Aaron was still mad at me. He was silent and unreadable. All the progress we made in Rome gone.

Fair enough.

It was my first real takeoff. Conscious this time, at least.

And even though he was hell-bent on icing me out, he still let me hold his hand as the plane roared to life.

His fingers didn’t move. Didn’t squeeze. Just stayed there Solid, warm, infuriatingly steady. I let go the moment we lifted off. Pride’s a funny thing.

I turned on my phone. It had mysteriously shut down at 76% last night. Now, it sprang to life, flooding with notifications.

Either I turned it off, which I didn’t or Gerald did.

And if he did? That was a violation I wasn’t ready to unpack.

Rome was massive. What were the odds I bumped into Gerald like that?

Am I overthinking? Probably.

But the knot in my stomach said otherwise.

Then came the articles.

Click after click-photos of Aaron and me all over Rome. Walking, laughing, shoulder to shoulder.

Candid. Too candid.

Not from my phone. Definitely not selfies. So much for “no paparazzi in Rome.”

One thing was omitted though. Our wedding photos But the headlines were all about the ring-speculation, guesses, viral chaos.

Timestamps were 11 p.m. last night.

So that’s why he was furious. Not just the man in the shadows.

The exposure.

Someone out there knew who we were. Knew me now.

I tried to talk to him during the flight. Nothing, Not a glance. Not a word.

When I mentioned going back to work, he raised a brow… then returned to his laptop like I was background noise.

Surprised I’d want a job?

What did he expect-me sipping champagne in silk robes all day?

I remember those penthouse days, wasting away like a ghost in a gilded cage.

Sure, I have money now. But lounging?

It’s not in me. It never was.

We landed in New York at 4 p.m. sharp. The second we stepped off the plane, the city swallowed us whole.

Bodyguards. SUVS. Dark glass. Tighter formation than a presidential convoy.

It was Rome all over again-but louder.

Then came the storm.

Paparazzi.

A crush of flashes, yelling, chaos.

My name was butchered, screamed and turned into headlines before I could blink.

The girl with the ring. The mystery wife.

A living spectacle.

Aaron didn’t blink. Didn’t twitch. He moved thrown if bike to work the mise.

Successfully unlocked!

Me? I felt stripped bare. Like I’d walked into someone is le

The SUV door slammed shut. Silence dropped like a head.

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I turned to him.

“Those pictures… they weren’t from my phone.”

“Obviously,” he said, not even glancing at me.

“Then someone followed us.”

His jaw tightened. Still no response. Just the pressure of something building, simmering under the surface.

“You knew before I even got back, didn’t you? You saw the articles.”

“I’ve always known, Venus,” he said at last. Cold. Brittle. “What I didn’t expect was for you to parade through Rome with another man and hand them a narrative on a silver platter.”

Oh.

So that’s what this was. Not just exposure. Not just headlines.

Betrayal.

“Gerald was a coincidence-”

“There are no coincidences,” he snapped, turning to face me fully. “You still don’t get it, do you? You’re not invisible anymore. You’re not just you. You’re mine. And everything you do reflects on me. On us.”

I stared at him. “You think I’m… a PR liability?”

“I think,” he said, voice low and razor-sharp, “you don’t realize how dangerous visibility can be.”

And just like that, I shut up.

Because that wasn’t just ego. That wasn’t just control. That was fear-quiet, buried, but real. A fear I hadn’t seen in him before. A past he hadn’t let me near.

The SUV pulled into the underground garage. The bodyguards melted into shadows.

The elevator ride was silent, like the calm before a war.

When the doors opened into the penthouse, I dropped my bag and kicked off my shoes like I was reclaiming territory. “So,” I said, turning to him, “are you gonna talk to me now?”

Aaron loosened his tie. “I don’t have the energy.”

“Well, make some,” I snapped. “You’ve been pissed since last night. I apologized. I explained. Hell, I even said I’d get a job to distract myself from how empty this marriage feels-”

That did it.

He turned. Slowly. Like a storm gathering behind glass.

“Empty?”

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I folded my arms. “You think I want to be your glass-doll wife in a penthouse prison while you work like I don’t exist? I need purpose, Aaron. I need air. I need to matter.”

He crossed the room in three quiet, deliberate steps.

“You want purpose?” His voice was low. Lethal. “Try surviving in my world. Every move outside that door is a power play. Every word you speak can be twisted and weaponized.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“No,” he said. “You’re just naive.”

I slapped him.

The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t move.

Just stared at me like he was finally seeing who I really was.

Then he kissed me.

Hard. Bruising. Desperate.

Like punishment.

Like protection.

Like a claim he couldn’t take back.

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And I kissed him back because I was angry, and hurt, and starving for something that felt real

When he pulled away, his eyes were pure fire

“You want a job?” he said, voice dark. “Fine. You’ll work for me.”

I blinked. “You’re joking.”

He tilted his head. “Do I look like I joke?”

Oh, hell no.

He was serious.

“What, as your assistant again?”

He gave a cold, amused chuckle. “Hardly. You’ll be my shadow. My second brain. My eyes in every room. You’ll sit in every meeting, learn every move. You want purpose? I’ll give you one.”

He leaned in, lips brushing mine, voice soft and terrifying.

“But understand this, Venus… if you make one mistake-”

A pause. A breath.

“I’ll fire you. As my wife and as my employee.”

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