He's billion dollar bride

I should've known something was wrong the moment Caleb texted, "Let's talk." Just two words. No heart emoji. No "babe." No "I miss you." Just... cold.

Still, I held on to hope like a fool.

I thought maybe he was planning something big. Maybe a surprise. Maybe he'd finally take me to that rooftop restaurant he always promised he'd take me to "when the time is right."

So I got ready like it was a fairytale.

I curled my hair, added a touch of gloss to my lips, and slipped into that peachy silk dress-the one he said made me look like "a sunset wrapped in skin." I even wore the gold heels that killed my feet but made me feel expensive.

I walked into the rooftop restaurant feeling like the main character.

But in the end, I was just a side note in Caleb's story.

He was already seated, staring at the skyline, twirling the condensation on his glass like he was bored. He didn't even stand up when I walked over. Didn't smile. Didn't say, "You look beautiful."

He just looked at me, cleared his throat, and said, "Reina, we need to talk."

And the way he said my name-so formal, so flat-I knew.

This wasn't a proposal.

This was a funeral.

> "I think we want different things," he began, not meeting my eyes. "You're sweet and... loyal. But I'm not in the right place for something serious."

My chest tightened. "What does that even mean, Caleb?"

He finally looked at me. And it hit me then-there was nothing in his eyes. No guilt. No sadness. Just... nothing.

> "It means I don't want to be in a relationship anymore."

I blinked. "After two years, you're just done?"

> "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said like it was a script. "I just need to figure myself out."

Liar.

I didn't cry. Not then. I sat in silence while he flagged the waiter and handed over a fifty like it was charity. He stood, offered me a pitiful look, and walked away.

He didn't even hug me goodbye.

The waiter came over, awkwardly hovering, and I realized he'd only paid for himself. My untouched pasta was still steaming in front of me, the bill sitting beside it like a final insult.

I paid. I left. I didn't even make it home before I started crying.

I cried in the cab. I cried on the elevator. I cried until my mascara made war paint down my cheeks. And when I got to my tiny apartment, I threw my heels across the room and screamed into a pillow like some overdramatic movie character.

I mean, who breaks up with someone like that? Just... ends things like it was a casual Tuesday?

But the universe? Oh, she wasn't done with me yet.

Because two days later, while I was deep in heartbreak mode-eating Doritos for breakfast and wrapped in a blanket burrito-I made the worst mistake of all.

I opened Instagram.

And there it was.

A photo that slapped me harder than Caleb's breakup.

Caleb.

Grinning like an idiot.

Standing next to Savannah-my cousin, my childhood frenemy, my parents' golden child-and she was showing off a massive engagement ring like she won the freaking lottery.

> "The beginning of forever 💍 #EngagedToTheCEO"

I stared at the screen like it was a lie. Like maybe I'd accidentally clicked on one of those AI-generated gossip pages. But no. It was real. The comments were flooded with "OMG congrats!!" and "Power couple!!" and heart emojis.

My heart felt like it shattered all over again.

And then I read the tag in the photo.

@XanderKnightCorp.

Wait.

Xander Knight?

Not Caleb.

Not the emotionally constipated furniture store manager.

Savannah wasn't engaged to my ex. She was engaged to Caleb's billionaire boss.

The Xander Knight.

The one with the cold stare and the private jet. The one everyone whispered about in the business world. The one who was on the cover of Forbes last month for sealing a nine-figure deal in Dubai.

And somehow, Savannah had bagged him.

I laughed. Then I cried. Then I laughed while crying. Because of course she did.

Of course she'd one-up me.

I couldn't even keep Caleb. Meanwhile, she landed a billionaire with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.

And as if the universe wasn't done dragging me, my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I sniffled, wiped my face, and answered like a zombie. "Hello?"

> "Miss Reina Moreno?" A voice so smooth and deep it made my skin prickle.

"Um... yes?"

> "This is Xander Knight. We need to talk."

I blinked. "Wait-what?"

> "I assume you're aware of my engagement to Savannah Evans?"

His voice was like ice wrapped in velvet. Calm, confident, but dangerous.

"Yeah. Instagram kinda broke the news to me."

> "Meet me tomorrow. The Sterling Hotel. Penthouse. 8 p.m. Don't be late."

He hung up before I could even ask why.

I stared at my phone like it had just insulted me.

What. The. Actual. Hell.

Why was Xander freaking Knight calling me?

What could he possibly want with me?

Was this some weird billionaire intimidation tactic?

Or maybe... maybe Savannah had done something.

I didn't know. But I was going.

Because when a man like Xander Knight tells you to show up, you don't say no.

Even if he's your cousin's brand-new fiancé.

Especially if he's your cousin's brand-new fiancé.

I should've known something was wrong the moment Caleb texted, "Let's talk." Just two words. No heart emoji. No "babe." No "I miss you." Just... cold.

Still, I held on to hope like a fool.

I thought maybe he was planning something big. Maybe a surprise. Maybe he'd finally take me to that rooftop restaurant he always promised he'd take me to "when the time is right."

So I got ready like it was a fairytale.

I curled my hair, added a touch of gloss to my lips, and slipped into that peachy silk dress-the one he said made me look like "a sunset wrapped in skin." I even wore the gold heels that killed my feet but made me feel expensive.

I walked into the rooftop restaurant feeling like the main character.

But in the end, I was just a side note in Caleb's story.

He was already seated, staring at the skyline, twirling the condensation on his glass like he was bored. He didn't even stand up when I walked over. Didn't smile. Didn't say, "You look beautiful."

He just looked at me, cleared his throat, and said, "Reina, we need to talk."

And the way he said my name-so formal, so flat-I knew.

This wasn't a proposal.

This was a funeral.

> "I think we want different things," he began, not meeting my eyes. "You're sweet and... loyal. But I'm not in the right place for something serious."

My chest tightened. "What does that even mean, Caleb?"

He finally looked at me. And it hit me then-there was nothing in his eyes. No guilt. No sadness. Just... nothing.

> "It means I don't want to be in a relationship anymore."

I blinked. "After two years, you're just done?"

> "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said like it was a script. "I just need to figure myself out."

Liar.

I didn't cry. Not then. I sat in silence while he flagged the waiter and handed over a fifty like it was charity. He stood, offered me a pitiful look, and walked away.

He didn't even hug me goodbye.

The waiter came over, awkwardly hovering, and I realized he'd only paid for himself. My untouched pasta was still steaming in front of me, the bill sitting beside it like a final insult.

I paid. I left. I didn't even make it home before I started crying.

I cried in the cab. I cried on the elevator. I cried until my mascara made war paint down my cheeks. And when I got to my tiny apartment, I threw my heels across the room and screamed into a pillow like some overdramatic movie character.

I mean, who breaks up with someone like that? Just... ends things like it was a casual Tuesday?

But the universe? Oh, she wasn't done with me yet.

Because two days later, while I was deep in heartbreak mode-eating Doritos for breakfast and wrapped in a blanket burrito-I made the worst mistake of all.

I opened Instagram.

And there it was.

A photo that slapped me harder than Caleb's breakup.

Caleb.

Grinning like an idiot.

Standing next to Savannah-my cousin, my childhood frenemy, my parents' golden child-and she was showing off a massive engagement ring like she won the freaking lottery.

> "The beginning of forever 💍 #EngagedToTheCEO"

I stared at the screen like it was a lie. Like maybe I'd accidentally clicked on one of those AI-generated gossip pages. But no. It was real. The comments were flooded with "OMG congrats!!" and "Power couple!!" and heart emojis.

My heart felt like it shattered all over again.

And then I read the tag in the photo.

@XanderKnightCorp.

Wait.

Xander Knight?

Not Caleb.

Not the emotionally constipated furniture store manager.

Savannah wasn't engaged to my ex. She was engaged to Caleb's billionaire boss.

The Xander Knight.

The one with the cold stare and the private jet. The one everyone whispered about in the business world. The one who was on the cover of Forbes last month for sealing a nine-figure deal in Dubai.

And somehow, Savannah had bagged him.

I laughed. Then I cried. Then I laughed while crying. Because of course she did.

Of course she'd one-up me.

I couldn't even keep Caleb. Meanwhile, she landed a billionaire with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.

And as if the universe wasn't done dragging me, my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I sniffled, wiped my face, and answered like a zombie. "Hello?"

> "Miss Reina Moreno?" A voice so smooth and deep it made my skin prickle.

"Um... yes?"

> "This is Xander Knight. We need to talk."

I blinked. "Wait-what?"

> "I assume you're aware of my engagement to Savannah Evans?"

His voice was like ice wrapped in velvet. Calm, confident, but dangerous.

"Yeah. Instagram kinda broke the news to me."

> "Meet me tomorrow. The Sterling Hotel. Penthouse. 8 p.m. Don't be late."

He hung up before I could even ask why.

I stared at my phone like it had just insulted me.

What. The. Actual. Hell.

Why was Xander freaking Knight calling me?

What could he possibly want with me?

Was this some weird billionaire intimidation tactic?

Or maybe... maybe Savannah had done something.

I didn't know. But I was going.

Because when a man like Xander Knight tells you to show up, you don't say no.

Even if he's your cousin's brand-new fiancé.

Especially if he's your cousin's brand-new fiancé.

I wasn't sure what scared me more-Xander Knight's sudden phone call or the fact that I was actually showing up.

The Sterling Hotel was the kind of place you didn't just walk into. You had to belong there. I didn't. Not with my thrift-store clutch and secondhand heels. But still, I stepped through the glass doors like I had a reason to be there.

Fake it till you make it, right?

The elevator ride to the penthouse felt like an eternity. My stomach twisted with nerves, my palms were sweating, and I kept checking my reflection in the mirror-lined walls. Did I look okay? Was my mascara smudged? Should I have worn a different dress?

Too late now.

The elevator dinged.

I stepped out into a private hallway lined with black marble and gold accents. At the end, a tall man in a charcoal-gray suit stood by an open door. His expression was unreadable.

"You're Miss Moreno?" he asked, his voice clipped.

"Um, yeah. Reina."

He nodded once and stepped aside. "Mr. Knight is waiting."

My heart practically did a backflip as I walked in.

The penthouse was unreal. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Crystal chandeliers. Everything dripped luxury like it was born to impress.

And then I saw him.

Xander Knight.

He stood by the window, back turned to me, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a whiskey glass. He was tall-taller than Caleb. Broader, too. His posture screamed power, but not the kind you flaunt. The kind you own.

He turned slowly, his icy blue eyes landing on me like lasers.

"You came," he said simply.

I swallowed. "You called."

His lips twitched like he was mildly amused. "Have a seat."

I walked over to the velvet couch, doing my best not to trip in my heels. I sat, unsure where to put my hands, my legs, my face. This man was gorgeous. In that intimidating, untouchable, 'he'll ruin your life and you'll thank him' kind of way.

He sat across from me, crossed one leg over the other, and set his glass down on the table.

"I'll get straight to the point," he said. "I want you to marry me."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said-"

"I heard what you said," I cut in, eyes wide. "I just think I'm hallucinating. Did you say marry you?"

"Yes."

I stared at him. Was this a prank? Was Ashton Kutcher about to jump out and yell Punk'd?

"Look," I said slowly, "you're engaged to my cousin. Which, by the way, is weird as hell. So why are you asking me to marry you?"

He didn't flinch. "Because Savannah is no longer part of the plan."

"...What plan?"

He leaned forward, steepling his fingers like a villain in a drama. "Let's just say I had my reasons for getting engaged to her. But she's proven... unreliable."

"Unreliable?" I scoffed. "She's a professional gold digger. What did you expect? Loyalty?"

His lips twitched again. "Exactly why I'm choosing you."

"Okay, back up. This sounds like a bad Netflix plot," I said, hands in the air. "You dump Savannah and come to me-her cousin-out of nowhere? Why me?"

He tilted his head. "Because you're not a gold digger."

"You don't know me."

"I've done my research."

Well, that wasn't creepy at all.

"I know your family's in debt. Your father passed away two years ago. Your mother works two jobs to keep the house. You're in student loan hell, and you work part-time at a bookstore while studying interior design."

I stared at him, speechless.

"I also know you've been with Caleb Carter for two years, and that he recently broke up with you."

I bit my lip. My cheeks were burning now. "Did you hire a private investigator or just stalk my Instagram?"

"I don't do social media."

Of course he didn't.

He stood up, walked over to a sleek black briefcase on the counter, and returned with a folder. He placed it on the table in front of me.

I looked down.

Marriage Agreement.

"What is this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"A contract. A marriage of convenience. You marry me. We stay married for one year. You get ten million dollars. Five upfront. Five after the year ends."

I almost choked on my own breath. "Ten... million?!"

"Tax-free," he added, like he was offering me free fries with my burger.

I stared at the folder like it might bite me.

Was this real?

A billionaire was offering me ten million dollars to marry him.

Me. Reina Moreno. The girl who just got dumped by a man who still lived with his mom on weekends.

I shook my head, standing up. "This is insane. I can't marry someone I don't even know."

Xander remained calm. "You'd be doing more than just solving your family's financial problems. You'd also be helping me avoid an international scandal."

I blinked. "Scandal?"

"My board expects a marriage by the end of the fiscal quarter," he said, as if that explained anything. "It's complicated. I don't need feelings. I need results. And you're perfect for the role."

"Why not just hire an actress?"

"I need someone discreet. Not fame-hungry. Someone who won't sell their story to the tabloids."

"And you think that's me?"

"You're desperate. But you're not stupid."

I hated how accurate that was.

Ten million dollars.

That would wipe my mom's debts clean. Pay off my loans. Change our lives.

But still... marriage?

"Do I have to... you know, be your wife?" I asked carefully.

He raised an eyebrow. "Define 'be.'"

"You know what I mean."

He smirked. "You'll attend events with me. Smile for the cameras. Sleep in the same penthouse. Share the same name. But what happens behind closed doors... is up to us."

My heart did a weird little flip.

"I need an answer by tomorrow," he added, standing up. "I don't beg."

I grabbed the folder with shaky hands and walked toward the door, feeling like I was floating.

This couldn't be real.

But it was.

I was just offered ten million dollars to marry my cousin's ex-fiancé.

And for the first time in weeks... I didn't feel like crying.

I didn't sleep that night.

Like, at all.

I just kept staring at the marriage contract Xander gave me. The folder sat on my bed like a loaded gun, waiting to go off.

Ten million dollars.

Five million upfront.

Five million after one year.

I could hear my mom's voice in my head, stressed and tired, asking me if I'd remembered to pay the electricity bill. I thought about our fridge that barely stayed cold and the rent that kept inching higher.

I thought about Savannah's engagement photo, her smug smile, and that ridiculous diamond ring. She looked like she won life.

But what if I did one better?

What if I married the man she lost?

I groaned and flopped face-first into my pillow. "This is insane, Reina," I mumbled. "Absolutely. Freaking. Nuts."

But the money. The freedom. The chance to rewrite everything.

It was tempting. Like soul-selling, heart-wrecking, future-ruining kind of tempting.

By morning, I looked like I'd been dragged through a storm cloud. My eyes were puffy, my head ached, and my stomach twisted as I grabbed my phone and typed out the most life-altering sentence I'd ever send.

> Me: "I'll do it."

Xander didn't reply with a thank-you or even a smiley face (duh). Just a location and a time.

> Xander: "11:00 a.m. My lawyer's office. Come alone."

And just like that, I was engaged to a billionaire.

Kinda.

---

The law firm Xander used looked like it had been built by money itself-polished floors, gold accents, people in suits that probably cost more than my car. I walked in feeling like a fraud. A fraud in heels.

A receptionist led me to a sleek conference room where Xander already sat, dressed in all black like the business grim reaper. His presence sucked the air out of the room.

He didn't stand. Didn't smile. Just glanced at his watch.

"You're five minutes late."

I rolled my eyes. "Nice to see you too."

He slid a document toward me. "Read it. Sign it. We'll get started."

I looked down at the contract. Marriage terms. Public appearances. NDA clauses. Sleeping arrangements-separate rooms, thank God. Divorce date: exactly 365 days from our wedding.

A clean, emotionless deal.

"You're really serious about this?" I asked, looking up at him.

He met my eyes without blinking. "I don't play games, Reina."

God, he was intense.

I flipped through the pages, hands trembling. My name next to his. My signature next to his. This wasn't a joke. This was real.

"You sure you want me?" I said quietly. "I'm not like Savannah."

"Exactly why I want you."

His answer shouldn't have made my heart flutter. But it did. Just a little.

I signed.

He signed.

And suddenly, I was no longer just Reina Moreno. I was a woman with a billion-dollar last name waiting at the altar.

---

"You'll move into my penthouse tonight," he said as we stepped out into the sunlight.

"Wait-tonight?!"

"We're filing the marriage license tomorrow. I need you in place."

"I didn't even pack!" I whined.

"I'll have someone collect your things."

"What am I, a kept woman now?"

He looked at me sideways. "You're my wife."

Even fake, that word felt way too real.

He handed me a sleek black credit card. "Use this for anything you need."

I blinked. "Anything?"

"Clothes. Shoes. Hair. Makeup. You'll need to look the part."

I stared at the card like it was cursed. "Wow. So romantic."

"This isn't romance, Reina," he said coolly. "It's business."

Right. Business.

Except my heart didn't seem to get the memo.

---

His penthouse was a whole planet. White marble floors. Glass walls overlooking the entire city. A private elevator. A walk-in closet bigger than my bedroom. And my favorite part? A bed so fluffy it looked like a cloud made love to a marshmallow.

"This will be your room," he said, gesturing around.

"You mean we're not sharing?" I teased, raising an eyebrow.

He gave me a look. "I don't mix pleasure with paperwork."

My cheeks flamed. "Geez, calm down. It was a joke."

But the way he looked at me-like he could see straight through me-it made my stomach flip for reasons I didn't want to admit.

---

That night, I stood on the balcony in a silk robe he had delivered for me (seriously, the man moved like a military operation). I watched the city lights, my heart pounding, wondering what the hell I'd just done.

This wasn't just a deal.

This was a door. One I had walked through.

And behind me, the old Reina-the girl who got dumped, betrayed, and broken-was already fading.

Tomorrow, I'd be Mrs. Xander Knight.

Fake bride.

Real stakes.

And possibly the biggest mistake of my life.