The billionaire chosen bride

Mary's POV

The scent of crayons and chalk dust still clung to my clothes as I locked the preschool door behind me. The day had been long, but I didn't mind the exhaustion. If anything, it kept my mind from wandering to the things I couldn't control-like the stack of unpaid bills sitting on the kitchen counter or the leak in our ceiling that dripped every time it rained.

I adjusted my purse on my shoulder and made my way to the bus stop. The city hummed around me, cars honking, people rushing home, laughter spilling from the cafés lining the street. It was comforting in a way, this noise, this life because it distracted me from my own.

When the bus finally came, I slid into an empty seat by the window, resting my forehead against the cool glass. Another week, another paycheck barely stretching far enough. But at least her friend Wanda wedding was coming up soon, and for once, there would be something to celebrate. She deserved that much.

I smiled to myself, thinking about the way her eyes had lit up when she found her wedding dress. It was secondhand, but she loved it as if it had been made just for her. She had twirled in front of the mirror, laughing, making me and Amanda promise a hundred times that she didn't look ridiculous.

The thought warmed me all the way home. But as soon as I stepped into our front yard, that warmth vanished.

The lights in our apartment were on.

Not just on-blazing, every single one of them.

Something was wrong, I just knew it.

My stomach twisted as I climbed the stairs, my footsteps quickening on instinct. I pushed the door open, my heart hammering.

Inside, my father was pacing, sweat glistening on his forehead. Amanda sat stiffly on the couch, her lips pressed into a thin line. The air was heavy, suffocating, thick with something... something she couldn't quite place her finger on at the moment.

And then I saw him.

A man stood near the window, hands in his pockets, watching me like I was some kind of toy he was figuring out how to play and have fun with.

He was tall and effortlessly elegant in a dark suit that screamed wealth. His jet-black hair was slicked back, and his sharp features were enhanced by the glow of our cheap ceiling light. He didn't belong here, not in our small, crumbling apartment, not in our world of barely scraping by.

But that wasn't what sent a chill down my spine.

It was his eyes. Cold, ruthless, and then, he spoke.

"Ah," he mused, his voice deep and smooth, "you must be Mary."

A shiver crawled up my spine. He knew my name.

I turned to my father. "What's going on?"

He flinched at the sound of my voice. My mother looked away.

The man stepped forward, exuding an air of quiet dominance. "Your father owes me money."

My blood ran cold.

I glanced back at my father, searching for denial, for some kind of explanation that would make this all make sense.

But he wouldn't even look at me.

The man–Jason Martin, I realized suddenly studied my reaction with mild amusement. Everyone in the city knew his name. He was a businessman on paper, but in reality, he was far more than that. A man who collected debts, businesses, and lives.

And now, he was standing in our living room.

"How much?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jason took his time answering like he enjoyed drawing out the suspense. "Three hundred thousand."

I nearly staggered back.

That was impossible. It was more money than I could even fathom, more than we could earn in ten lifetimes.

"How?" I asked, my voice cracking.

Jason sighed, like this whole conversation bored him. "Your father made a deal with me," he said simply. "I held up my end. He didn't."

I turned to my father, desperation clawing at my chest. "Dad?"

Tears welled in his eyes. "I'm sorry, my little girl."

The words were barely a whisper, but they slammed into me like a hammer.

Jason watched me, waiting for the reality to sink in. Then he said, "I'm a reasonable man, Mary."

I tore my gaze from my father, glaring at him. "If you were reasonable, you wouldn't be here."

His lips curved into a smirk. "That's where you're wrong." He took another step toward me, his presence overwhelming. "I don't believe in taking what can't be repaid."

A flicker of hope ignited in my chest.

Until he spoke again.

"That's why I'm offering an alternative."

Amanda shot up from the couch before I could even process his words. "No."

Jason didn't even look at her. His eyes stayed locked on mine.

"Marry me," he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The room went silent.

I blinked, sure I had misheard. "W-What?"

Jason leaned against the arm of the couch, entirely too comfortable. "You marry me, and your father's debt disappears. Simple and easy."

Amanda grabbed my arm. "She's not doing that."

Jason's expression didn't change. He just shrugged. "Then I take my payment another way."

My stomach dropped.

My father paled. "Please, Mr Jason-"

Jason held up a hand, silencing him effortlessly. "You have one day to decide."

He turned back to me, his smirk returning. "But let me make one thing clear, Mary. If you refuse..." He tilted his head. "Your father and mother won't like the consequences."

His words weren't a threat.

They were a promise.

He didn't wait for a response. He just turned and walked to the door, leaving behind an unbearable silence.

As soon as he was gone, my knees gave out, and I collapsed onto the couch.

Amanda knelt beside me. "We'll find another way."

I wanted to believe her. I needed to believe her but deep down, I already knew the truth.

I had no choice. Tomorrow, I would become Jason Martin's wife.