My Billionaire Husband Brought His Pregnant Mistress Home After 4 Years, But He Didn't Know I Own His Empire With The City’s Deadliest Kingpin

The Stroud Winter Gala was Boston high society’s supreme battleground. Held inside the neoclassical marble ballroom of the Museum of Fine Arts, crystal chandeliers cast blinding reflections across diamond necklaces, vintage couture, and men who traded international debt over flutes of vintage Dom Pérignon.

Nolan stood by the ice sculpture, wearing a Tom Ford tuxedo, Brynn hanging heavily on his right arm in a shimmering gold maternity gown that accentuated her belly for every photographer to capture.

""Look at the cameras, darling,"" Brynn whispered proudly. ""Everyone is watching us. They know you're back.""

""They're watching because the stock dropped two points when the rumors hit,"" Nolan muttered, scanning the crowd anxiously. ""Where is Silas Rowan? And where the hell is Maren?""

""Forget Maren,"" Brynn pouted. ""She probably realized she doesn't belong here anymore. What could she do anyway? Sit in the corner and look like an abandoned secretary?""

Suddenly, the chatter near the grand staircase died down to an eerie, electric hush.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

Maren descended the marble steps. She wore a backless emerald silk gown that pooled at her feet like liquid venom, showcasing the toned curve of her spine and the porcelain perfection of her skin. Around her neck was a diamond choker that hadn't come from the Pryce family vault. Her auburn hair tumbled in loose, glossy waves over one shoulder. She looked regal, untouchable, and devastatingly expensive.

Beside her, holding her gloved hand with quiet possession, was Silas Rowan.

He wore midnight-black formalwear, his broad frame towering over the surrounding crowd, his legendary cold eyes sweeping across the ballroom until they locked directly onto Nolan Pryce. Silas did not attend charity galas. He had never brought a woman to an event in his entire public life.

Nolan’s champagne glass nearly slipped through his fingers. ""What the...""

""Is that... Silas Rowan?"" Brynn breathed, her knuckles whitening around Nolan’s arm. ""Who is the woman with him?""

""That’s Maren,"" Nolan hissed, his jaw dropping in genuine shock. ""That’s my wife.""

Murmurs rippled through the elite crowd. Hazel Stroud, the matriarch of Boston society, immediately stepped forward, greeting Silas with unprecedented warmth before taking Maren’s hands. ""Maren, my dear! You look breathtaking! Silas, you rogue, you kept her all to yourself during the land commission meetings!""

Nolan shoved his way through the circle of high-society patrons, dragging Brynn behind him. His face was flushed with humiliated rage.

""Maren!"" Nolan barked, loud enough to cause several council members to turn. ""What is the meaning of this? You were supposed to meet me at the entrance forty minutes ago!""

Silas stepped forward, positioning his broad shoulder between Nolan and Maren. The height difference was only two inches, but the aura was that of a lion confronting a golden retriever.

""Lower your voice, Pryce,"" Silas said, his voice quiet, lethal, and carrying across the ballroom. ""You’re making a scene, and this is Hazel’s party.""

""Stay out of this, Rowan,"" Nolan snapped, trying to puff his chest out. ""This is a private family matter. Maren is my wife.""

Maren stepped out from behind Silas, her gaze dripping with icy amusement. ""Am I, Nolan? Yesterday morning in my foyer, you informed me that our marriage was merely 'on paper.' You informed me that Brynn was the future of the Pryce family. So tell me... why should I walk in on your arm?""

Brynn flinched, shrinking back as high-society dowagers began whispering behind their crystal glasses. ""Nolan... please, everyone is looking...""

""Maren, you work for my grandfather!"" Nolan gritted out, his teeth grinding. ""You represent Pryce Development! Mr. Rowan, I’ve been looking for an opportunity to discuss the Harbor Point bids with you. As the incoming CEO—""

""You're not the incoming CEO,"" Silas interrupted flatly, taking a sip from his glass. ""And even if you were, Pryce Development doesn't hold the deep-water docking rights.""

Nolan froze. ""What are you talking about? Harbor Point belongs to my grandfather!""

""It did,"" Maren said, tilting her head, her emerald earrings catching the light. ""Until the city required twenty million dollars in collateral last March while you were in Ibiza. Walter couldn't provide it. So I bought the rights through a private holding company. With Silas’s financing.""

Nolan stared at her, the color completely draining from his face until he looked like a walking corpse. ""You... you did what?""