The Heiress Who Tried to Buy My Husband

I was the designer behind the show.

Vanessa Reed pointed at my secretly married husband and ordered her assistant around like she was picking something off a menu:

“That male model, I’m booking him tonight, so tell him to clean himself up and come upstairs with me to shoot a private short film.”

Backstage went deathly silent.

I almost laughed from anger.

My cold, elegant husband was wearing a temporary pass today, and somehow, he had really been mistaken for a male model with a price tag.

The staff member’s face turned pale.

“Miss Reed, that man isn’t one of our signed models…”