Second Chance with My Billionaire Boss

Aubrey's POV

The bruise my husband dear gave me has faded to yellow at the edges, but the center still holds deep purple.

I lean closer to the bathroom mirror, tilting my jaw toward the light. I dab concealer onto the discoloration, blending in slow circles until the shadow disappears beneath foundation.

My reflection watches me with tired gray-blue eyes, but I keep going. Layer upon layer. The woman in the mirror looks almost normal when I'm finished.

From the bedroom comes the electronic chime of slot machines—that hollow, cheerful sound that has become the soundtrack of our collapsed marriage. Daniel lies on the bed with his phone held above his face.

I chose a navy blouse, the most professional thing I own, and fastened the buttons with unsteady fingers. Howell Capital is my last chance at financial stability. The interview is in two hours, and if I don't get this job, we will lose the apartment by month's end.

I emerge from the closet and my husband finally looks up. His tone is casual, almost pleasant, which somehow makes it worse.

"You're wearing that?" Daniel sets his phone on his chest, studying me with detached interest. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter—you'll anyway blend into the background like you always do. Just like any other office plankton."

"I thought you liked this blouse." I smooth the fabric over my stomach, a nervous habit. "You said it brought out my eyes, remember? When we went to your mother's birthday dinner?"

I hate the hope in my own words—the way I'm reaching for a version of him that surfaces less and less with each passing day.

Daniel's mouth curves, but it isn't a smile. "That was before you lost your curves, babe."