Playing Rich Wife？I'm the One He Actually Married

I'd just finished dinner with my childhood friend Blair and was about to leave when someone blocked our way, demanding I pick up the tab for another table. I refused, saying I didn't know them. The woman went ballistic. "The fuck? I'm doing you a favor letting you pay! You've got the balls to disrespect Sinclair Group in New York? You wanna die?" Before I could get a word in, she got even more brazen. "You know who I am? I'm the wife of Julian Sinclair—CEO of Sinclair Group! Scared yet?" I paused for a beat, then pulled out my phone and called Julian directly. "Hear you've got another wife over at the company?" ... The second I hung up, the woman completely lost it. She snatched my phone out of my hand and hurled it to the floor. "You've still got the nerve to call for backup? Want to bet you don't walk out of this restaurant?" "Back off!" Blair stepped in front of me, shielding me with her body. "So this is how Sinclair Group people are raised? Cornering strangers into paying your bill, then roughing them up when they refuse?" The woman flushed red under Blair's tongue-lashing. "Raised? In this town, the Sinclair name *is* the pedigree!" "Me letting you pay is me doing you a favor, got it?" "You wanna talk rules with me? My word *is* the rule!" I laughed out loud and looked up at Vivienne. "Sinclair Group might be big, but I doubt they taught you how to shake people down in the middle of a restaurant." Vivienne let out a cold snort, hands on her hips like some cheap fishwife. "Letting you settle this tab is giving you a leg up in this town! People fall over themselves to pick up my check, and I don't even give them the time of day!" A leg up. That was rich. Since when did the Rothwell family need a leg up from anyone in New York? I glanced at Blair, whose face had gone dark. The heiress of one of Boston's oldest money families—she'd probably never imagined she'd get pushed around like this in New York by some no-name Sinclair Group nobody. Vivienne sneered and waved toward the door. "I'll say it once—in New York, Vivienne Lockwood *is* the rule! Grab these two clueless bitches and hold them down!" The words had barely left her mouth when seven or eight bodyguards in black suits came pouring in and surrounded us in seconds. Blair instinctively pulled me behind her, her eyes sharp as knives. But there were too many of them. Before she could throw a punch, two bodyguards had her arms pinned in an iron grip. "Blair!" I lunged forward, and something slammed into the back of my neck. My vision went black. Through the haze I saw Blair struggling, spitting out "You bastards"—then a fist crashed into the side of her face, and blood welled up at the corner of her mouth. They pinned me to the floor, and I could only watch helplessly as Vivienne kicked Blair in the stomach, cursing the whole time. "You wanna butt into my business? Today you learn—nobody touches Sinclair Group!" The bodyguards' fists rained down on me, dull throbs of pain spreading through my body. Blair had only come to New York for fun, and now she was tangled up in this ridiculous mess. I forced my voice through a raw throat. "Vivienne Lockwood—I am Julian Sinclair's legally married wife. Autumn Rothwell." I nodded toward Blair, still pinned beside me. "And she's Blair Ashford, of the Boston Ashfords! Let us go right now and we can still let this slide!" Vivienne's foot froze mid-kick. Then she burst out laughing. "Julian's wife? Ashford family? Did they beat the brains out of you two already?" Her whole entourage cracked up behind her. "All of New York knows Mrs. Sinclair is Vice President Vivienne." "This bitch really commits, huh? She'll say anything." "Ashford? Boston? Never heard of them—probably made it up on the spot to scare us." Vivienne bent down and grabbed a fistful of my hair, her eyes vicious. "Say you're his wife one more time, and I'll tear that mouth right off your face." "I'm going to teach you what's real and what's fake." "Julian's name is mine to speak. His woman is only me." Blair, still pinned to the ground with blood dripping from her lip, drawled out a mocking laugh. "Oh, Autumn. So your whole marriage has been a joke, huh?" "She's out here claiming your husband to your face, and you—the actual wife—are the one being pushed aside like some dirty secret?" The remark caught me off guard. Then I laughed too—except mine came out with an edge. Vivienne was still yanking at my hair when I suddenly whipped my head sideways and sank my teeth into her wrist. She shrieked, and her grip slackened. Using the momentum, I drove my knee straight up into the crotch of the bodyguard behind me. The second he doubled over, I grabbed a wine bottle off the nearest table and smashed it across another bodyguard's forehead. By the time Vivienne registered what was happening, I was already on top of her, and my clenched fist crashed into her face. The counterattack caught her flat-footed. She stumbled back two steps, and blood came gushing from her nose. "You fucking hit me?!" Vivienne, shocked and furious, reached out to claw at my face—but I caught her arm and slammed her hard to the floor. I straddled her and started swinging, punch after punch. The Sinclair Group employees, reeking of liquor, rushed in to pull me off her. "You hit VP Vivienne? You've got a death wish!" Blair, somehow already free of her captors, kicked one of them out of the way and shouted at me. "Fuck 'em up! I haven't taken this kind of shit in my whole goddamn life!" In the chaos, someone grabbed a chair and swung it against my back. I grunted, but I didn't stop. Vivienne was screaming and thrashing, clawing wildly at my hair. "Sinclair boys! Kill this bitch for me! Anything goes wrong, I'll cover it—triple bonuses!" The employees swarmed like rabid dogs—one yanking my arm, one grabbing my waist, another sneaking kicks at the back of my knees. Taking advantage of the pile-on, Vivienne suddenly kicked me hard in the stomach. I stumbled backward, ready to lunge again, when a voice cut through from the doorway. "Everybody freeze!" ---