My Husband Called Me Repulsive After I Saved His Life—Then the Billionaire Who Owned His Company Summoned Me

I couldn't sleep that night.

At two in the morning, I sat in the guest bedroom of Gideon's Manhattan residence, staring at the city lights.

The gala had ended.

Preston had been taken to the company's legal office for questioning. Cassidy had left with her attorney. The board had officially suspended both of them from their positions pending investigation.

But none of that mattered now.

Not compared with what Cassidy had said.

Ask him why the building's fire alarms didn't work.

At eight the next morning, Gideon arrived with two cups of coffee.

He placed one beside me.

“Black, no sugar?””

I looked at him.

“How did you know?””

“Your husband used to order it for you during the early years of the company. I remember.””

I wrapped my hands around the cup.

“Tell me about the fire.””

Gideon sat opposite me.

“The building where you and Preston lived was owned by a property company connected to Hale & Sterling.””

I frowned.

“I thought Preston rented it before we got married.””

“He did. But the property was part of a redevelopment project funded through one of the company's subsidiaries.””

“What does that have to do with the fire?””

Gideon opened his laptop.

“Two weeks before the accident, an internal accountant named Samuel Price discovered irregular payments connected to that subsidiary.””

I stared at the screen.

“Who was Samuel Price?””

“He was the company's chief financial controller at the time.””

“Was he the person Preston was meeting?””

“Yes.””

I felt a chill.

“Why were they meeting in our building?””

“Samuel had arranged to give Preston copies of financial records. He believed Preston was involved in the missing money.””

I shook my head.

“That doesn't make sense. Preston told me he was working late that night.””

“He was.””

Gideon turned the laptop toward me.

A photograph showed the building's third-floor hallway after the fire.

Blackened walls.

Collapsed ceiling.

Broken windows.

My throat tightened.

I remembered the smoke.

The heat.

Preston screaming.

“Samuel was inside the building when the fire started,” Gideon continued.

“He died before firefighters reached the third floor.””

I covered my mouth.

“Was the fire an accident?””

“The original investigation concluded that it was caused by faulty electrical wiring.””

“And now?””

“An independent investigator found evidence suggesting the fire may have been deliberately started.””

I stared at him.

“Why?””

“Because Samuel had copies of the missing financial records.””

My coffee trembled in my hands.

“Are you saying Preston started the fire?””

“No. I'm saying we have reason to investigate whether someone arranged it.””

“Who?””

Gideon didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he removed a photograph from the folder.

It showed three men standing outside a construction site.

One was Preston.

The second was Samuel Price.

The third was a man I had never seen before.

“Who is that?”” I asked.

“Victor Lang. Preston's former business partner.””

I looked closer.

“What happened to him?””

“He disappeared six months after the fire.””

I lowered the photograph.

“Disappeared?””

“His company was dissolved. His bank accounts were emptied. His wife reported him missing, but the investigation went nowhere.””

I felt sick.

“Was he involved in the money?””

“His company received several transfers from the same accounts your husband used.””

I stood up.

“Why didn't you tell the police?””

“Because the evidence wasn't strong enough five years ago. And because someone inside the original investigation removed several key documents.””

I turned toward him.

“Who?””

Gideon closed the laptop.

“That's what we're trying to establish.””

I paced toward the window.

Five years earlier, I had believed the fire was a terrible accident.

I had believed Preston was an innocent man who had nearly lost his life.

I had believed my scars were the price of saving someone I loved.

Now every memory was changing shape.

“Was I supposed to die that night?”” I whispered.

Gideon stood.

“I don't know.””

I turned.

“But I promise you this. We will find out.””

My phone rang.

Preston's name appeared on the screen.

I stared at it.

Then I answered.

“Hello?””

“Vivian.””

His voice sounded different.

Less confident.

More desperate.

“Where are you?””

“Somewhere you can't insult me.””

“Don't do this.””

I almost laughed.

“Do what, Preston?””

“Destroy everything I've worked for.””

I looked at the photograph in my hand.

“Did you start the fire?””

Silence.

Then a sharp breath.

“What?””

“Five years ago. Did you know the fire alarms weren't working?””

“Who told you that?””

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“Answer the question.””

“You've been talking to Gideon.””

“That's not an answer.””

Preston lowered his voice.

“Vivian, you need to stop asking questions about that night.””

My stomach dropped.

“Why?””

“Because you don't understand what you're getting into.””

“Then explain it.””

“I can't.””

“You can't or you won't?””

Another silence.

Then he said something that made my blood turn cold.

“You should have stayed in the hospital.””

I closed my eyes.

There it was.

The man I had spent five years trying to love.

The man I had saved.

“Goodbye, Preston.””

I ended the call.

Gideon watched me.

“What did he say?””

I told him.

His jaw tightened.

“Daniel needs to know immediately.””

He reached for his phone.

But before he could make the call, another notification appeared on my screen.

It was an email from an unknown sender.

No subject.

No greeting.

Only one sentence.

*If you want to know why your husband survived that fire, look inside the blue medical file from St. Catherine's Hospital.*

Attached was a scanned photograph.

I opened it.

The image showed my hospital room five years earlier.

I was unconscious.

My back was covered in bandages.

Preston sat beside the bed.

But that wasn't what caught my attention.

Standing behind him was a woman in a white coat.

Her face was partially hidden by the medical chart she was holding.

I zoomed in.

Then I recognized her.

Dr. Helena Morris.

The surgeon who had performed my first emergency graft operation.

I remembered her.

She had been kind.

She had stayed beside me during the worst nights of my recovery.

She had even attended my rehabilitation sessions.

But I also remembered something else.

Three weeks after I woke up, she had abruptly left the hospital.

Nobody ever explained why.

I looked at the photograph again.

There was something written on the back of the scanned image.

A date.

And a sentence.

*Patient informed of additional findings — spouse requested confidentiality.*

I read it twice.

Then a third time.

“Gideon?””

He stepped closer.

“What is it?””

I turned the screen toward him.

His face went completely still.

“Where did you get this?””

“I don't know. It came from an anonymous email.””

He studied the photograph.

Then he picked up his phone.

“Daniel. I need you to contact St. Catherine's Hospital immediately. Find the original blue medical file from Vivian Hale's admission five years ago.””

He listened for a moment.

Then his voice dropped.

“And don't let anyone access it before we do.””

He ended the call.

I looked at him.

“What are you not telling me?””

Gideon hesitated.

Then he said something I would remember for the rest of my life.

“Vivian, when you were brought into that hospital, the doctors discovered something unusual about your injuries.””

“What?””

“Your burns were consistent with the fire. But the additional trauma recorded in your initial examination suggested that you had been struck before the ceiling collapsed.””

My blood ran cold.

“Struck by what?””

Gideon looked at the photograph.

“We don't know yet.””

I shook my head.

“No. Someone must know.””

He nodded slowly.

“And if that medical note is authentic, the person who knows the most may be the surgeon who disappeared from your life.””

My phone vibrated again.

Another email.

This time, there was no attachment.

Only a message.