Marrying my secret admirer after my husband's fake death novel Chapter 51

Chapter 51

A faint, inscrutable smile played on Justin’s lips the entire time, a smile that made Beckett feel distinctly uneasy.

Justin shot Beckett a sidelong glance. “Sorry, there are no old men here.”

He paused, his voice cool and dismissive. “And you’re not coming in. I don’t want the place getting dirty.”

Back in Northcrest, Beckett was rarely spoken to in this kind of tone, much less by a bodyguard. The sheer audacity of it stoked something volatile in him. His expression shifted, and he let his gaze sweep Justin from head to toe, brazen and scornful.

“Go get your boss. I don’t talk to dogs-especially not the rude kind.”

Justin’s smile only deepened, the amusement in his eyes unmistakable. He rather enjoyed the fact that Beckett hadn’t recognized him. If it weren’t for the fact that Edith was upstairs, Justin might have been tempted to toy with him a little longer. But he didn’t have that kind of patience tonight.

“Mr. Vance,” he said, his tone suddenly businesslike. “I am the man who

owns this house.”

The sneer slid off Beckett’s face, replaced by something more unsettled as he took another, closer look at Justin.

Was this really the man Edith was going to marry? He couldn’t accept it. He’d been certain she was marrying some old geezer-someone bloated and wrinkled, who smelled of mothballs and could barely finish a sentence without wheezing. Not this tall, broad-shouldered man who looked, if anything, fitter than Beckett himself.

A hot, irrational anger flared in Beckett’s chest. No way in hell would he let Edith’s next husband outshine him in any way.

Justin watched the shifting emotions on Beckett’s face with open satisfaction. Honestly, this was more gratifying than closing a

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Chapter 51

million-dollar deal.

Beckett snapped, his voice rising. “You? You’re the owner? You’re marrying Edith? Are you out of your mind? Why would you want her? She’s divorced-she can’t even have kids! Are you insane?”

Justin’s eyes turned cold and sharp in an instant, narrowing as if he were sighting down a rifle. The look alone made Beckett backpedal, stumbling two steps away without meaning to.

But Justin advanced just as quickly, closing the distance and wrapping his hand around Beckett’s throat. Rain poured through the gap between their umbrellas, drenching Justin’s arm and soaking right through his white dress shirt, the fabric clinging to his forearm and highlighting the strain of his muscles as he tightened his grip.

Beckett hadn’t seen it coming. He choked, gasping for air, thrashing uselessly against Justin’s iron grip, his face turning red with fury and panic. He barely managed to croak out, “Are you insane? Let me go!”

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