Married to billionaires boss

The chance to edit this chapter: 1

The editor will review it. Thanks for yo

The morning sun filtered through the worn curtains of a tiny, crumbling apartment in the heart of Red Willow District, casting golden light over a scene of quiet despair. The scent of damp wood and old bread filled the room. Sitting by the window was Elena Harper, an eighteen-year-old girl with tangled brown hair and soft green eyes, wearing a patched-up blue dress that hung loosely on her slender frame.

Elena clutched a threadbare book to her chest, though she hadn't read a word for the past hour. Her mind was heavy with worries - heavier than usual. The rent was due. The bakery where she worked part-time had cut her hours again. And her mother's cough had worsened, a rattling, painful sound that kept Elena awake at night. The few coins in her worn leather purse wouldn't buy enough medicine.

Her younger brother, Tommy, just ten years old, sat at the rickety kitchen table, trying to finish a piece of stale bread. Their mother, Margaret Harper, lay on the old sofa, bundled under thin blankets, her breathing labored.

"Elena," Margaret called weakly.

"I'm here, Mama," Elena said, rushing to her side and taking her mother's frail hand.

"I'm sorry, darling," her mother whispered. "You shouldn't have to bear all this."

Elena swallowed the lump in her throat. "We'll get through it. I promise."

But promises didn't pay rent or buy medicine.

That afternoon, Elena's uncle, Victor, came to visit. He wasn't truly family - just an old friend of her late father - but he had stepped in after her father's death five years ago. Victor was a portly man with graying hair and small, sharp eyes that always seemed to be calculating something.

He sat down heavily on the only sturdy chair in the room and looked at Elena with a strange mixture of pity and determination.

"Elena, listen carefully," Victor said. "I've found a solution to your... situation."

Elena stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Victor leaned forward, his voice low and serious. "There's a man - powerful, wealthy beyond imagination. His name is Alexander Blackwood. He owns half the city, it seems. Factories, hotels, even hospitals."

Elena frowned. She had heard the name before. Everyone in Red Willow had. Alexander Blackwood was a billionaire, notorious for his ruthless business deals and his cold heart.

"He's looking for a wife," Victor continued. "Not for love. For... appearances. For business reasons."

Elena's blood ran cold. "What does that have to do with me?"

Victor's gaze didn't waver. "He's willing to pay. A lot. Enough to clear your family's debts, buy your mother the best care, send Tommy to a good school."

Elena shook her head violently. "No. No! I'm not some... item to be sold."

Victor sighed. "It's not selling. It's survival. You marry him. You save your family."

Tears blurred Elena's vision. How could he speak so casually about something so monstrous?

"I won't," she whispered. "I can't."

"You don't have a choice, girl," Victor said, his voice hardening. "The landlord's coming next week. You owe months of rent. Your mother needs a doctor now, not next year."

Margaret, who had heard the conversation from the sofa, tried to sit up but only managed a feeble cough.

"Elena," she rasped, "if this is what it takes to save Tommy... to save me... do it."

"No!" Elena cried. "There has to be another way!"

But deep down, she knew there wasn't. They had no relatives. No money. No miracles waiting to save them.

Victor stood up and handed Elena a crumpled piece of paper with an address on it.

"Tomorrow at noon. Dress as best you can. He'll be waiting."

And just like that, he left.

That night, Elena sat awake by the window, staring at the city lights in the distance. Somewhere out there, Alexander Blackwood lived in a palace of glass and steel, untouched by hunger or sickness. And tomorrow, she would be handed over like some desperate offering.

Her heart broke again and again as she thought of her dreams - dreams of becoming a teacher, traveling the world, falling in love.

All ashes now.

When the sun rose, Elena bathed in cold water, brushed her hair, and put on her best dress - a simple white one she had worn to church services. It hung a little looser now, evidence of many skipped meals.

She kissed her mother's forehead, hugged Tommy tightly, and walked out into the bright, uncaring world

The meeting place was a grand hotel in the heart of the city, a place Elena had only ever seen from afar. Its marble floors gleamed under chandeliers the size of carriages. Men in crisp suits and women in silk gowns passed by, glancing curiously at the thin, trembling girl standing awkwardly by the entrance.

A tall man in a dark suit approached. "Miss Harper?" he asked.

"Y-yes," she said, her voice barely audible.

"This way."

He led her through the hotel to a private lounge. And there, sitting in a black leather armchair, was Alexander Blackwood himself.

He was even more intimidating in person. Dark hair, sharp jawline, piercing gray eyes that seemed to see straight through her. His suit looked like it cost more than her entire apartment.

He regarded her silently for a long moment.

"You're younger than I expected," he said finally, his voice deep and emotionless.

Elena said nothing, too afraid to speak.

Alexander stood and walked toward her, his movements precise and controlled.

"You understand why you're here?" he asked.

Elena nodded, her throat too tight to form words.

"This is not a love match," he said, his tone cool. "It's a contract. You will be Mrs. Blackwood in name only. You will attend events with me, smile when needed, and stay out of my way otherwise. In return, your family will be taken care of. Generously."

Elena stared at him, hating him, hating herself, hating the entire world that had led her to this moment.

"Do you accept?" he asked.

Elena thought of her mother's sunken face. Tommy's hopeful eyes.

She swallowed her pride, her fear, her dreams.

"I accept," she whispered.Alexander's gray eyes didn't change when she spoke. No flicker of sympathy. No sign of triumph. Just a cold, mechanical nod, as if he had just closed another business deal.

"Good," he said. He motioned to the man who had led her in. The man, who introduced himself as Mr. Hawthorne, placed a thick file on the glass table between them.

"These are the terms," Alexander said, without sitting back down. "You will live at Blackwood Manor. You will not leave the premises without permission. You will attend all public events scheduled. You will not interfere with my personal life. In return, your family will receive monthly financial support, and full medical coverage for your mother."

Elena stared at the document as if it were a snake. She felt her hands trembling by her sides.

"Read it carefully," Alexander added. "Or don't. It makes no difference. You're free to walk away now... but your family's fate will remain as it is."

It was a knife to the heart.

Elena reached for the pen lying on the table. She gripped it tightly, willing her hand to steady. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run, to fight, to refuse. But louder still was the memory of her mother's labored breathing, Tommy's hungry eyes.

She signed.

Page after page, line after line, her name bled onto the paper, binding her tighter and tighter into a future she hadn't chosen.

When it was done, she placed the pen down with a shaky breath.

Alexander simply nodded again. "The wedding will be tomorrow. Civil ceremony. No media attention."

Tomorrow.

The room tilted slightly, and Elena had to grip the edge of the table to stay standing.

Mr. Hawthorne closed the folder with a snap. "We'll arrange transportation to Blackwood Manor tonight," he said.

"Tonight?" Elena echoed, her voice cracking.

"You belong there now," Alexander said.

The word belong made her stomach twist.

The ride to Blackwood Manor was a blur.

The car - a long black limousine - glided through the city like a silent beast, eating the distance between her old life and her new prison. Elena stared out the tinted window as skyscrapers gave way to sprawling estates, each more magnificent than the last.

Finally, they arrived.

The mansion was like something out of a dream - or a nightmare. Towering stone walls, iron gates, manicured gardens stretching into forever. A fountain gushed water in the shape of a rearing horse at the center of the driveway.

But it wasn't the beauty of the place that struck Elena. It was the coldness. The perfect symmetry. The utter emptiness.

Mr. Hawthorne led her inside. Servants in crisp uniforms bustled about, none of them meeting her eyes.

"This way," Hawthorne said.

He showed her to a room - a bedroom larger than her entire apartment. A king-sized bed, soft lighting, shelves full of books that looked untouched.

"This is yours," Hawthorne said. "Mr. Blackwood's quarters are in the west wing. You are not to disturb him unless summoned."

Elena turned slowly, taking it all in. This could not be her life. This silent, sterile palace.

"I'll send someone with dinner," Hawthorne said before leaving her alone.

The door clicked shut.

Elena sat down heavily on the bed. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to breathe, trying to believe that this was real. That she had agreed to this. That tomorrow, she would become Mrs. Alexander Blackwood.

Her soul screamed in protest.

That night, Elena couldn't eat the fancy dinner left for her on a silver tray. She sat curled up by the enormous window, staring at the unfamiliar sky. The stars seemed farther away here, colder somehow.

She thought of home - the cracked ceiling, the squeaky floorboards, Tommy's laughter, her mother's lullabies.

She thought of the little dreams she had nurtured in secret: opening a small school for children in Red Willow, traveling to Italy someday, learning to paint.

All of it was gone now.

Tears fell silently down her cheeks. She hugged her knees to her chest and wept, alone in the palace of stone and glass.

Morning came with brutal clarity.

A maid woke her gently at dawn, helping her into a simple white dress. No lace, no flowers. Just a plain gown, as cold and practical as the man she was about to marry.

She stood before the mirror, hardly recognizing herself. Her hair had been brushed into soft waves. A touch of pale powder dusted her cheeks. She looked like a doll - a fragile, breakable thing.

Mr. Hawthorne arrived to escort her to the study, where the civil ceremony would take place. No church. No music. Just papers and signatures and the binding of lives that should never have touched.

Alexander was already there, standing like a dark tower of ice.

The officiant, a stiff-looking man in a black suit, wasted no time.

"Do you, Elena Harper, take Alexander Blackwood to be your lawful wedded husband?"

Elena's voice caught in her throat.

She forced it out.

"I do."

"And do you, Alexander Blackwood, take Elena Harper to be your lawful wedded wife?"

"I do," he said without hesitation.

The papers were signed. Rings were exchanged - simple bands, devoid of emotion.

It was done.

Elena Harper became Elena Blackwood.

Afterward, Alexander turned to her, his expression unreadable.

"You will find that the less you expect, the easier this will be," he said quietly.

Before she could respond, he walked away, leaving her standing there - a bride with no wedding, a wife with no husband, a soul adrift in a gilded cage.

Elena stood frozen, feeling the weight of the new name she bore, the chains invisible but suffocating.

Somewhere deep inside her, a small fire still burned - anger, fear, sorrow, hope - but for now, she buried it beneath layers of duty and despair.

Because she was no longer Elena Harper.

She was Mrs. Blackwood now.

And there was no going back.

The chance to edit this chapter: 1

The editor will review it. Thanks for your patience.

2023 word(s)

Published

A Deal Sealed in Desperation

The morning sun filtered through the worn curtains of a tiny, crumbling apartment in the heart of Red Willow District, casting golden light over a scene of quiet despair. The scent of damp wood and old bread filled the room. Sitting by the window was Elena Harper, an eighteen-year-old girl with tangled brown hair and soft green eyes, wearing a patched-up blue dress that hung loosely on her slender frame.

Elena clutched a threadbare book to her chest, though she hadn't read a word for the past hour. Her mind was heavy with worries - heavier than usual. The rent was due. The bakery where she worked part-time had cut her hours again. And her mother's cough had worsened, a rattling, painful sound that kept Elena awake at night. The few coins in her worn leather purse wouldn't buy enough medicine.

Her younger brother, Tommy, just ten years old, sat at the rickety kitchen table, trying to finish a piece of stale bread. Their mother, Margaret Harper, lay on the old sofa, bundled under thin blankets, her breathing labored.

"Elena," Margaret called weakly.

"I'm here, Mama," Elena said, rushing to her side and taking her mother's frail hand.

"I'm sorry, darling," her mother whispered. "You shouldn't have to bear all this."

Elena swallowed the lump in her throat. "We'll get through it. I promise."

But promises didn't pay rent or buy medicine.

That afternoon, Elena's uncle, Victor, came to visit. He wasn't truly family - just an old friend of her late father - but he had stepped in after her father's death five years ago. Victor was a portly man with graying hair and small, sharp eyes that always seemed to be calculating something.

He sat down heavily on the only sturdy chair in the room and looked at Elena with a strange mixture of pity and determination.

"Elena, listen carefully," Victor said. "I've found a solution to your... situation."

Elena stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Victor leaned forward, his voice low and serious. "There's a man - powerful, wealthy beyond imagination. His name is Alexander Blackwood. He owns half the city, it seems. Factories, hotels, even hospitals."

Elena frowned. She had heard the name before. Everyone in Red Willow had. Alexander Blackwood was a billionaire, notorious for his ruthless business deals and his cold heart.

"He's looking for a wife," Victor continued. "Not for love. For... appearances. For business reasons."

Elena's blood ran cold. "What does that have to do with me?"

Victor's gaze didn't waver. "He's willing to pay. A lot. Enough to clear your family's debts, buy your mother the best care, send Tommy to a good school."

Elena shook her head violently. "No. No! I'm not some... item to be sold."

Victor sighed. "It's not selling. It's survival. You marry him. You save your family."

Tears blurred Elena's vision. How could he speak so casually about something so monstrous?

"I won't," she whispered. "I can't."

"You don't have a choice, girl," Victor said, his voice hardening. "The landlord's coming next week. You owe months of rent. Your mother needs a doctor now, not next year."

Margaret, who had heard the conversation from the sofa, tried to sit up but only managed a feeble cough.

"Elena," she rasped, "if this is what it takes to save Tommy... to save me... do it."

"No!" Elena cried. "There has to be another way!"

But deep down, she knew there wasn't. They had no relatives. No money. No miracles waiting to save them.

Victor stood up and handed Elena a crumpled piece of paper with an address on it.

"Tomorrow at noon. Dress as best you can. He'll be waiting."

And just like that, he left.

That night, Elena sat awake by the window, staring at the city lights in the distance. Somewhere out there, Alexander Blackwood lived in a palace of glass and steel, untouched by hunger or sickness. And tomorrow, she would be handed over like some desperate offering.

Her heart broke again and again as she thought of her dreams - dreams of becoming a teacher, traveling the world, falling in love.

All ashes now.

When the sun rose, Elena bathed in cold water, brushed her hair, and put on her best dress - a simple white one she had worn to church services. It hung a little looser now, evidence of many skipped meals.

She kissed her mother's forehead, hugged Tommy tightly, and walked out into the bright, uncaring world

The meeting place was a grand hotel in the heart of the city, a place Elena had only ever seen from afar. Its marble floors gleamed under chandeliers the size of carriages. Men in crisp suits and women in silk gowns passed by, glancing curiously at the thin, trembling girl standing awkwardly by the entrance.

A tall man in a dark suit approached. "Miss Harper?" he asked.

"Y-yes," she said, her voice barely audible.

"This way."

He led her through the hotel to a private lounge. And there, sitting in a black leather armchair, was Alexander Blackwood himself.

He was even more intimidating in person. Dark hair, sharp jawline, piercing gray eyes that seemed to see straight through her. His suit looked like it cost more than her entire apartment.

He regarded her silently for a long moment.

"You're younger than I expected," he said finally, his voice deep and emotionless.

Elena said nothing, too afraid to speak.

Alexander stood and walked toward her, his movements precise and controlled.

"You understand why you're here?" he asked.

Elena nodded, her throat too tight to form words.

"This is not a love match," he said, his tone cool. "It's a contract. You will be Mrs. Blackwood in name only. You will attend events with me, smile when needed, and stay out of my way otherwise. In return, your family will be taken care of. Generously."

Elena stared at him, hating him, hating herself, hating the entire world that had led her to this moment.

"Do you accept?" he asked.

Elena thought of her mother's sunken face. Tommy's hopeful eyes.

She swallowed her pride, her fear, her dreams.

"I accept," she whispered.Alexander's gray eyes didn't change when she spoke. No flicker of sympathy. No sign of triumph. Just a cold, mechanical nod, as if he had just closed another business deal.

"Good," he said. He motioned to the man who had led her in. The man, who introduced himself as Mr. Hawthorne, placed a thick file on the glass table between them.

"These are the terms," Alexander said, without sitting back down. "You will live at Blackwood Manor. You will not leave the premises without permission. You will attend all public events scheduled. You will not interfere with my personal life. In return, your family will receive monthly financial support, and full medical coverage for your mother."

Elena stared at the document as if it were a snake. She felt her hands trembling by her sides.

"Read it carefully," Alexander added. "Or don't. It makes no difference. You're free to walk away now... but your family's fate will remain as it is."

It was a knife to the heart.

Elena reached for the pen lying on the table. She gripped it tightly, willing her hand to steady. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run, to fight, to refuse. But louder still was the memory of her mother's labored breathing, Tommy's hungry eyes.

She signed.

Page after page, line after line, her name bled onto the paper, binding her tighter and tighter into a future she hadn't chosen.

When it was done, she placed the pen down with a shaky breath.

Alexander simply nodded again. "The wedding will be tomorrow. Civil ceremony. No media attention."

Tomorrow.

The room tilted slightly, and Elena had to grip the edge of the table to stay standing.

Mr. Hawthorne closed the folder with a snap. "We'll arrange transportation to Blackwood Manor tonight," he said.

"Tonight?" Elena echoed, her voice cracking.

"You belong there now," Alexander said.

The word belong made her stomach twist.

The ride to Blackwood Manor was a blur.

The car - a long black limousine - glided through the city like a silent beast, eating the distance between her old life and her new prison. Elena stared out the tinted window as skyscrapers gave way to sprawling estates, each more magnificent than the last.

Finally, they arrived.

The mansion was like something out of a dream - or a nightmare. Towering stone walls, iron gates, manicured gardens stretching into forever. A fountain gushed water in the shape of a rearing horse at the center of the driveway.

But it wasn't the beauty of the place that struck Elena. It was the coldness. The perfect symmetry. The utter emptiness.

Mr. Hawthorne led her inside. Servants in crisp uniforms bustled about, none of them meeting her eyes.

"This way," Hawthorne said.

He showed her to a room - a bedroom larger than her entire apartment. A king-sized bed, soft lighting, shelves full of books that looked untouched.

"This is yours," Hawthorne said. "Mr. Blackwood's quarters are in the west wing. You are not to disturb him unless summoned."

Elena turned slowly, taking it all in. This could not be her life. This silent, sterile palace.

"I'll send someone with dinner," Hawthorne said before leaving her alone.

The door clicked shut.

Elena sat down heavily on the bed. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to breathe, trying to believe that this was real. That she had agreed to this. That tomorrow, she would become Mrs. Alexander Blackwood.

Her soul screamed in protest.

That night, Elena couldn't eat the fancy dinner left for her on a silver tray. She sat curled up by the enormous window, staring at the unfamiliar sky. The stars seemed farther away here, colder somehow.

She thought of home - the cracked ceiling, the squeaky floorboards, Tommy's laughter, her mother's lullabies.

She thought of the little dreams she had nurtured in secret: opening a small school for children in Red Willow, traveling to Italy someday, learning to paint.

All of it was gone now.

Tears fell silently down her cheeks. She hugged her knees to her chest and wept, alone in the palace of stone and glass.

Morning came with brutal clarity.

A maid woke her gently at dawn, helping her into a simple white dress. No lace, no flowers. Just a plain gown, as cold and practical as the man she was about to marry.

She stood before the mirror, hardly recognizing herself. Her hair had been brushed into soft waves. A touch of pale powder dusted her cheeks. She looked like a doll - a fragile, breakable thing.

Mr. Hawthorne arrived to escort her to the study, where the civil ceremony would take place. No church. No music. Just papers and signatures and the binding of lives that should never have touched.

Alexander was already there, standing like a dark tower of ice.

The officiant, a stiff-looking man in a black suit, wasted no time.

"Do you, Elena Harper, take Alexander Blackwood to be your lawful wedded husband?"

Elena's voice caught in her throat.

She forced it out.

"I do."

"And do you, Alexander Blackwood, take Elena Harper to be your lawful wedded wife?"

"I do," he said without hesitation.

The papers were signed. Rings were exchanged - simple bands, devoid of emotion.

It was done.

Elena Harper became Elena Blackwood.

Afterward, Alexander turned to her, his expression unreadable.

"You will find that the less you expect, the easier this will be," he said quietly.

Before she could respond, he walked away, leaving her standing there - a bride with no wedding, a wife with no husband, a soul adrift in a gilded cage.

Elena stood frozen, feeling the weight of the new name she bore, the chains invisible but suffocating.

Somewhere deep inside her, a small fire still burned - anger, fear, sorrow, hope - but for now, she buried it beneath layers of duty and despair.

Because she was no longer Elena Harper.

She was Mrs. Blackwood now.

And there was no going back.