Betrayed By Husband And Son: Rise Of A Billionaire Wife novel Chapter 17

Detroit ~

The sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the grand steps of the Marbella Auction House, a local landmark for opulence, scandal, and secrets.

Cameras clicked nonstop as elegant bodies walked down the aisle. And suddenly, everyone froze. Even time obeyed too.

It wasn’t the car that drew attention. Everyone present had one. It wasn’t even the timing. Many arrived late for obvious reasons – to steal the show.

It was the plate number. WEST. It wasn't supposed to be at a place like this.

“Am I seeing things?” a reporter mumbled.

“That plate number is exclusive to West Corporation’s CEO,” another whispered, almost reverently. “Detroit West doesn’t do public events. He buys them.”

“Have you seen him before? Do you know him?”

“I don't, but we've heard stories. Everyone has heard stories.”

The car door opened with a soft click, and a polished black shoe stepped onto the cobblestone. Then another. The world held its breath.

Out stepped a tall, impossibly cold man in a sharply tailored navy suit, darker than the night itself. His eyes, icier than the moonlight.

He wore no jewelry, no pin, no signal of allegiance. Just a silver wristwatch ticking like a time bomb.

“Get the camera,” a seasoned reporter hissed.

“Wh– who is he?” someone whispered.

“I don't know.”

Silence devoured the crowd. Phones trembled in hands. Even seasoned socialites clutched their pairs.

He didn't say a word to threaten anyone. No, It was the aura. The silence that descended like fog over the crowd as a name whispered through the minds and trembling veins of anyone with power or ambition.

Detroit West.

No one had seen his face. Not really. Not unless you were SOMEONE. Not unless you’d crossed a line or sat in a room too important for press releases. He wasn’t public. He wasn’t social.

He was a legend. An identity whispered in boardrooms and feared behind podiums.

A man who had made peace between feuding oil empires. A man who made presidents sweat. A man who never showed up in person.

Until now.

The spell was broken when a hand, soft and unhurried, reached for his, from inside the car. Her fingers slid into his palm like they belonged there.

Then she stepped out, and the crowd's jaws fell with a clank on the polished marble floor and red carpet.

Adele.

The bodice of her deep midnight-blue dress clung to her upper body like a second skin. The impossibly soft fabric fell like a waterfall from her waist, flowing around her legs in liquid elegance. The shimmering silver embroidery only amplified the beauty and it simply looked demure.

Her plus-sized figure was shaped like a song… full hips, generous bust, soft belly, thighs that didn’t apologize for taking space. Her light caramel skin shimmered like velvet under the archway lights, her diamond neckline was nothing short of elegance, barely occupying the wide space around her bare shoulders.

Her face… God!

Her face left men breathless – full lips painted in rich wine, wide brown eyes framed by thick lashes, and soft cheeks that glowed like dusk.

And she smiled, nervous, radiant, and breathtakingly unaware of just how many jaws were on the floor.

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