The Moment They Realized the ‘Dishwasher’ Was the Billionaire’s Wife… (3 of 3)

There was a flicker of confusion. Then panic.

He entered the kitchen—still in his tux, eyes scanning, expression unreadable—until they landed on me.

Soapy hands. Wet apron. Damp hair clinging to my temples. And suddenly, all the chatter outside turned to stunned silence.

Daniel smiled.

He walked over, took the dish from my hand, and set it down. Then, in front of every caterer, planner, and guest peeking through the doorframe, he kissed my forehead and said, “I was wondering where my favorite person disappeared to.”

The planner dropped her clipboard. Someone actually gasped.

I didn’t say a word. I didn’t need to.

Because in that moment, they were the ones exposed—not me.

And let me tell you something: I’ll never see a shrimp platter—or a socialite’s smirk—the same way again.