Married to a cold billionaire

Chapter 1: The proposal

Elena POV

"Marry me."

My fingers froze in the middle of stirring my tepid coffee as the words lingered in the air like a thunderclap. The guy seated opposite from me in his well made charcoal suit, Adrian Blackwood, caught my attention. He spoke in an unromantic tone, and there was not the slightest trace of emotion in his eyes. They were fixated on me, inscrutable, and piercing, as if they were daring me to flinch.

I eventually managed to put down the spoon before it clattered out of my shaking fingers, saying, "You can't be serious."

His mouth marvelled, not quite a grin, but almost so. "Miss Hart, do I appear to be the type of man who jokes?"

No. He didn't. Adrian Blackwood, a corporate tycoon who was renowned for consuming his rivals with the efficiency of a wolf, was a name that was whispered in terror and awe. Nevertheless, he was proposing to a lady who was drowning in debt and despair at a small, barely lit café on the outskirts of town.

"Why me?" I tried to calm my voice, but it faltered. "You could probably find someone-"

Leaning closer, he interrupted, "More suitable?" His movements were deliberate and precise, like the approach of a predator. "You are just what I need." No hidden agendas, no links to make everything more complicated. An independent variable is you.

independent variable. I almost chuckled at the ridiculousness. I was just a component of his vast equation, not a person in his eyes.

"What can I gain from it?" The answer was brutally clear, yet I asked.

Adrian made no hesitation. The sum is three million dollars. paid throughout the course of the year in installments. Enough to reconstruct your life, pay off your obligations, and pay for your father's medical care. You will take on the role of my wife in return. You'll go to events, pose for pictures, and play the part in public. We'll maintain our distance in private. No more than a commercial agreement.

Three million dollars. The clatter of dishes and the buzz of talk around us were muffled by the number that kept repeating in my mind. The medical expenditures that were mounting like a mountain of shame might finally be paid off. Without me worried about whether we would lose the home, my father could get the attention he need.

But at what price?

"And a year later?" My question was hardly audible above a whisper.

"We part ways," he stated with ease, as if talking about a straightforward business deal. A non-disclosure agreement will be a part of our deal. I'll have done what I was supposed to do, and you'll be free to go on.

"Duties for what?"

Before his mask of indifference returned, his eyes became piercing, a glimpse of something unsaid flickering through them. "You shouldn't worry about that."

It wasn't, of course. No one, least of all me, needed an explanation from Adrian Blackwood.

I looked out the window and saw the storm building inside of me reflected in the dismal sky. This was insane. For a year, I sold my life, my freedom, and my name. However, I realized I didn't have the luxury of pride as the weight of my reality-my father's hollow cheeks, the incessant calls from creditors-pressed down on me.

I forced myself to look him in the eye and replied, "I'll need time to think."

He cocked his head in a barely noticeable nod. There are twenty-four hours in your day. The offer ends after that.

24 hours. My stomach rumbled. At that moment, he may as well have asked me to make the world's destiny.

Adrian took out a neat folder from his briefcase. I recoiled at the little scratch of leather on wood as he slid it across the table.

"Go through it," he said. "Every condition, every clause. The final page is my lawyer's number in case you have any questions.

I kept my hands off the folder. With its smothering connotations, it sat between us like a loaded cannon.

"What are you doing?" I said the question before I could stop myself.

His eyes seemed to darken, but his face remained the same. "Because I require a spouse." You also need an escape route.

He then rose to his feet, his massive body looming over me. His actions were as exact as everything else about him as he fixed his tie. "I'll be anticipating your response by tomorrow night."

He turned and left, his footsteps resonating against the tiled floor, and I was unable to reply.

The folder was still there, a subtle reminder of the choice that might make all the difference-or break me.

That evening, I sat with the folder open in front of me at the kitchen table in our little apartment. The legalese was muddled together, and I was too tired to concentrate. The gentle snores coming from the next room served as a reminder of why I couldn't afford to make a mistake.

I grabbed my phone and called the one person who could help me see things from a different angle.

I said, "Lila," as soon as she answered.

"What's the matter?" Her calm, loving voice helped to ground me.

"I... I believe I've done something insane.

She said, "Define crazy," with a hint of worry.

After hesitating, I revealed everything: the contract, the money, and Adrian's proposal. There was a lengthy pause on the other end after I was done.

At last, she murmured, "Elena, this sounds-"

"I understand," I said. Crazy. Careless. However, what options do I have? Just the medical bills-

"There's always an option," she said. "You only need to confirm that this is the correct one. Don't allow him to coerce you into doing anything you'll later regret.

I'm sorry. Long after we hung up, the term continued to linger. Although I wanted to think I could go, I knew I couldn't every time I saw my father's faint grin and the despair in his eyes.

I closed the folder and gazed at the signature line of the contract as the sun began to peek through the blinds. With my heart thumping in my ears, my pen lingered.

I took a deep breath before signing my name.

Adrian's office, a glass-walled fortress with a city view, is where I met him the next evening. His face was blank as he looked at the signed contract in my hands.

With more of a statement than a question, he replied, "You've made your decision."

"Yes," I said, sounding more composed than I really was.

He accepted the folder, and with well-honed efficiency, flipped through the pages. He closed it, satisfied, and turned to face me.

"All right. Tomorrow, we will make the engagement public.

Tomorrow. My heart thumped. I started to object, but he interrupted me with a raised hand.

"Miss Hart, there is no more time for doubt. I own you.

His tone was so definitive that it made me shudder. However, he moved closer before I could comprehend the gravity of what he had said, his voice becoming almost whispery.

With his gaze fixed on me, he said, "And by the way, you're not the only one who signed a contract." You will be surprised if you believe that this is only a financial matter.

Chapter 2: The Contract Wife

ELENA POV

With a gentle chime, the elevator doors opened, exposing Adrian Blackwood's penthouse. As I entered the vast room, which was very different from the dilapidated flat I had left behind, my breath caught.

The brilliant metropolitan skyline was framed by floor-to-ceiling windows, giving me the impression that the world was just outside my door. The space had a stark, even inhospitable feel to it thanks to sleek furnishings in subdued shades of gray and black. It was indeed lovely, but as chilly as the guy who owned it.

Adrian walked out behind me and stated, "Your room is down the hall," in a curt voice. "The second left door."

I grabbed my bag's strap and turned to face him. "I'm grateful."

He crossed the living room without answering, started untying his tie. He walked with the dexterity of someone who owned the room, everything in it, and everyone in it.

With my heels muffled by the soft carpet, I walked down the hall and pushed open my room's door. With immaculate white walls, a king-sized bed with immaculate sheets, and a walk-in closet larger than my kitchen, it was bigger than my whole apartment.

I took a deep breath and placed my luggage on the bed. For the following year, this was my new existence. Luxurious, fantastical, and very unlike from anything I had ever experienced.

At supper that night, the rules were presented as orderly as the cutlery on the table.

Adrian said, sounding as impersonal as if he were talking about a business merger, "We will maintain separate living spaces." "My room is mine; yours is yours. No exclusions.

I said, "Understood," as I prodded the well cooked steak on my plate.

As my wife, you will go with me to all public gatherings. No changes to the script. Our partnership has to seem genuine.

Even though the idea of cameras and questioning made my stomach turn, I agreed.

A monthly stipend will be available to you for personal use. Make good use of it.

His piercing, evaluating eyes darted to me as if he dared me to voice my displeasure.

I looked him in the eye and replied, "I'm not here to shop."

His lips twitched at the corner, but it wasn't a grin. "Well done."

His posture was as stiff as the chair he was sitting in, and he slumped back. Additionally, Elena, prudence is crucial. If there is any departure from our agreement, the deal is null and invalid. Does it make sense?

I tried to ignore the knot that was becoming tighter in my chest as I said, "Crystal."

Weeks passed, each one characterized by the unrelenting routine of Adrian's home life. I felt like an outsider in my own life, even if the penthouse was a castle.

I was left to walk the quiet hallways by myself while Adrian was either at work or locked in his office. I made an effort to establish a pattern, reading in the vast library and running in the private gym, but the place's emptiness bothered me.

Our public appearances were a very other matter.

The first occasion was a charity gala, and I was dazzled by the brightness of photographers as soon as we got out of the vehicle. Adrian put his hand on the small of my back in a way that felt like a leash yet seemed kind to onlookers.

"Elena, please smile," he said, so softly that only I could hear.

Even though it hurt my cheeks, I faked a grin.

The questions were quick and to the point.

"How did you two get together?"

"How does it feel to be married to one of the city's wealthiest men?"

"Are you going to have children soon?"

With calculating charm, Adrian responded to each one, and as I stumbled, he tightened his arm around my waist.

He dismissed an inquiry regarding my history with a suave "she's still adjusting." "But I have no doubt that she will succeed."

Ironically, given how seldom we spoke outside of these occasions, he had a lot of faith in me.

Our encounters were excruciatingly awkward behind closed doors. His remarks were as calculated as his moves, and he was courteous yet aloof. I once brought him coffee when he was working late in his office in an attempt to close the distance.

Without raising his eyes from his laptop, he murmured, "Thank you."

Unsure whether to say anything more, I stood at the doorway. "Are you ever able to take a break?"

Then he looked at me, his face inscrutable. "If I can avoid it, no."

Like so many conversations, it stopped there.

It was more difficult to ignore the tension between us, however. Beneath the surface, it boiled, unsaid but tangible. His dark, unfathomable eyes would sometimes linger on me when he thought I wasn't looking. And sometimes, the atmosphere between us seemed tense, like a storm about to erupt, when he stood too near.

The façade broke down at one of those difficult times.

As I fiddled with the zipper on my dress, Adrian adjusted his cufflinks in the mirror as we got ready for another gala.

His voice was gentler than normal as he said, "Do you need help?"

I responded, "I got it," but the zipper would not budge.

He turned me gently by the shoulders and walked across the room without saying anything. As he pushed the zipper up, his fingertips stroked my back, and I stopped, the air between us suddenly dense.

"There," he replied, taking a step back. However, his hands lingered for a little too long, and as I glanced up, I saw something in his eyes that I couldn't make out.

Weeks later, one night was the tipping moment.

Adrian's harsh, clipped voice awakened me up, followed by another person's anxious, muffled voice. I got out of bed out of curiosity and went over to his office.

The door was open, and I paused, feeling guilty about listening in.

Adrian said, "I don't care what it takes." "I want to bury this. Nobody is able to know.

After a pause, the second speaker said, quickly and in a low tone.

"Adrian, it's not that easy. If this is discovered...

The floor creaked under my foot as I bent closer, trying to hear.

The voices ceased.

"Elena?" Adrian's voice was piercing and authoritative.

The door opened and my heart sprang into my throat. A shudder ran down my spine as he stood there, his face a mask of anger and something more.

He shouted, "What are you doing here?"

"I-" My mind was racing for an explanation as I stumbled.

He didn't wait for my response, however. He moved in closer, shadowing me with his massive form.

His voice was dangerously low as he replied, "You'll forget whatever you think you heard if you value the terms of our agreement."

The weight of his warning hung over me like a noose, and as I looked into his eyes, my heart pounded in my ears.

"Adrian, what are you concealing?" Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out of my mouth in a murmur.

His mask came off for the first time since I'd met him. And instead of wrath, I saw terror in his eyes.

His voice was like ice when he ordered, "Go back to bed, Elena."

One notion, however, lingered in my thoughts as I turned to go.

Even Adrian Blackwood would have been terrified by the size of whatever he was concealing.

Chapter 3: Beneath the Ice

Elena POV

Adrian whispered, his breath warm on my neck, "Stand still."

The cold weight of the diamonds suddenly seemed heavier than it should have, and I froze as his hands repositioned the delicate necklace around my collarbone.

I hurriedly answered, "It's fine," in a tighter voice than I had meant.

Ignoring me, he pressed his fingers to my flesh and secured the clasp. The sudden proximity made my heart beat. Adrian Blackwood was a guy who didn't linger; he moved with efficiency and purpose. However, his hands lingered for an excessive amount of time before he took a step back.

He murmured, his voice pinched once again, "Perfect."

I looked at him, trying to gather myself. His dark hair was brushed back nicely, and his black tuxedo was perfectly fitted, making him seem flawless as always. However, there was a gentler, almost hesitating quality to his look tonight.

I managed to smooth down the silk of my robe and said, "Thank you."

His cold mask slipped back into place securely as he bowed his head. "You'll succeed."

The moment was gone in an instant.

Like all the previous events we went to, the gala was filled with flashing lights, whispered greetings, and a sea of strangers acting as if they were friends. Adrian performed his role with ease, his charm as polished and piercing as his cufflinks.

I stood by his side, laughing when he asked me to and smiling when he asked, but in reality, I felt like a mannequin on exhibit. I was still an outsider, an actress in someone else's life, regardless of how beautiful the dress or how costly the jewelry.

It was quickly brought to my attention by someone.

A tall, well-groomed lady with a champagne glass in her hand purred, "Adrian." Her gaze passed over me with hardly disguised contempt, then shifted to his. "You married Charity, but you didn't tell me."

Even though the remarks hurt, I tried to keep my expression neutral.

Adrian's normal calmness cracked just a little as his jaw tensed. "Claire," he began with a smoothness that gave his voice a sharp edge I had never heard before, "I don't remember asking for your opinion."

The lady blinked in astonishment as her grin wavered. "Elena is my wife, and you will treat her with respect," Adrian said, placing a steady, strong palm on the small of my back.

Before she could reply, he pushed us away, holding on to me until we were out of hearing.

He looked into my eyes and said, "Are you okay?"

Even though Adrian asked such a simple question, it seemed enormous.

"Yes," I answered in a voice that was hardly audible.

He led me back into the throng after nodding, his face inscrutable.

Long after we got home, we couldn't shake the recollection of his defense. I mentally relived the scene, attempting to interpret the change in his attitude. Despite being a guy who prized control above all else, Adrian Blackwood had allowed his emotions to get the better of him in that particular situation.

Was it real worry? Or simply another well-thought-out attempt to preserve the appearance of a flawless marriage?

I discovered him at the library the next morning, holding a newspaper in one hand and a hot cup of coffee in the other. As I walked in, he glanced up, and his face was devoid of any hint of irritation for once.

To my surprise, he said, "Good morning."

I lingered in the doorway and carefully answered, "Good morning."

He pointed to the chair on the other side. "Come with me."

Uncertain of what to think of his unexpected kindness, I paused before seating.

I felt my skin tingle as he put the newspaper down and leaned back to examine me. "You did a good job managing yourself last night."

I responded, "Thank you," not knowing how to react.

"I mean it," he said in an unusually sincere tone. Claire is a lady who feeds on making others feel insignificant. You prevented her.

I acknowledged that I owed it to you.

The ice seemed to thaw for a minute as his lips curled into the tiniest hint of a grin.

But the warmth was gone as fast as it had arrived. Adrian stood up straight, his face stiffening again. Tomorrow, we have another event. Prepare by seven o'clock.

He then got up and walked out of the room, leaving me even more perplexed.

As the days went by, I started to see more rifts in Adrian's hard façade. Small gestures like softly saying my name when he thought no one was listening, adjusting my chair at a dinner party so I wouldn't strain under the long train of my dress, and silently holding the elevator door open for me.

These brief displays of compassion from a guy who generally looked emotionless were disarming.

Nevertheless, I couldn't get rid of the impression that everything was a well-planned front.

Late one night, the genuine twist was revealed.

I heard footsteps coming from where I was sitting in the library, reading a book. When I looked up, I saw Adrian standing in the doorway with his normally impeccable looks a little disheveled and his tie untied.

"Elena," he said softly.

I put the book down because of something in his tone. "Is everything okay?"

He looked away and didn't answer right away. Then he sighed and moved across the room to sit in the chair across from me.

"Have you ever felt stuck?" he said abruptly.

It was a surprise question. Did Adrian Blackwood, the affluent guy, feel stuck?

"Sometimes," I cautiously acknowledged. "Why?"

I was temporarily stunned by the unusually vulnerable gesture he made as he ran a hand through his hair.

"This life isn't as perfect as it seems," he said softly.

The troubled expression in his eyes prevented me from pressing him to explain what he meant.

Rather, I remarked, "You know, you could go. Get out of here.

He laughed bitterly. "It's not that easy."

Between us, there was a hush that was thick with spoken realities.

His phone rang just when I thought he could open up even more. His face darkened as he looked at the screen.

He stood up suddenly and said, "I have to go."

"Adrian-"

He responded curtly, "Goodnight, Elena," and started to go.

Something about his actions bothered me, even though I didn't see him again for the remainder of the evening. Adrian Blackwood was not who he seemed to be, and I was determined to find out what it was.

The next day, I went to his office because of that resolve.

I knew I shouldn't have been there while he was out, but my curiosity won out. Aside from one closed drawer, his desk was spotless.

I gazed at it, my heart pounding. I knew it was in there, whatever Adrian was concealing.

I started looking around the room for the key before I could stop myself.

Then I discovered it on his shelf, hidden inside a book.

I opened the drawer and yanked it open with shaking hands. A tiny, unmarked black packet and a stack of paperwork were found inside.

The consequences of my actions weighed heavily on me as I paused, but I was unable to halt at this point.

As I opened the envelope and read the words scribbled on the sheet, I gasped.

Then everything made sense.

Adrian had more than one secret to conceal. I was being concealed by him.