Married to the billionaire for revenge

Prologue

~ Camilla's POV~

I heard the click of my heels before I heard the airport.

That sharp, impatient rhythm followed me across the terminal floor, cutting through the hum of voices and rolling suitcases. My carry-on kept slipping from my shoulder, my suitcase dragged like it resented me, and all I could think was that I was one mistake away from disaster.

Not because I overslept.

Well... not exactly.

Last night had been worth every stolen minute of sleep. Skin on skin. Words breathed so close they were more felt than heard. I'd fallen asleep in my fiancé's arms and woken still tasting him on my lips.

My father wouldn't forgive me if I missed this flight. This trip wasn't for fun, it was for business. His business. Chicago, a meeting with one of the company's top marketing teams. Every seat at that table had weight, and mine had been hard-earned. Missing it wasn't an option.

The departure board flickered ahead, taunting me with the minutes I was running out of. I picked up my pace, heat gathering under my collar.

At the counter, I set my suitcase upright, forcing my voice to sound steady. "Please tell me you have a seat left on the eight-thirty to Chicago."

The woman behind the glass didn't look up right away. Her manicured nails tapped against the keyboard in an unhurried rhythm, each click a reminder that she wasn't the one in a rush.

"I don't care where it is," I added, leaning forward slightly. "I just need to be on that flight."

Her gaze finally lifted, cool and impersonal. "One seat left. Standby only. No guarantee."

Standby wasn't perfect, but it was better than missing the meeting. "I'll take it."

The transaction was quick, and the ticket felt like a fragile lifeline in my hand. I moved toward security, my bag bouncing against my hip. My phone buzzed from inside it, and I reached for the zipper. It caught halfway, teeth locking stubbornly. I slowed to wrestle it open, muttering under my breath.

That pause was all it took.

I collided with someone hard. The jolt rattled through my shoulder, the handle of my suitcase slipping from my grasp. The bitter scent of coffee hit me before the heat did. It splashed across my blouse, soaking through to my skin in a burst of sharp, scalding pain.

"Ow!" I gasped, clutching at the damp fabric.

"Are you blind?" The voice was deep, smooth, and laced with irritation.

I looked up, ready to apologize, but the sight of him killed the words. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a navy suit that fit like it had been made for him. He stood there as if the terminal bent around him, as if the rushing crowd were nothing more than background noise to his world.

"That question should be answered by you," I shot back, brushing at my soaked blouse. My skin stung, but my temper burned hotter. "Were your eyes at the back of your head?"

His gaze swept over me slowly, detached and assessing, before the faintest curl touched his mouth. Not an apology. Disdain.

"You should learn to walk in heels before charging through a terminal like a bulldozer," he said. "Some of us have actual business to attend to."

My mouth fell open. "And I don't?"

I turned slightly, catching the way a few travelers had slowed, their eyes flicking between us like they were watching their favorite show. Heat rose in my cheeks. I snapped back.

"I don't need a lecture from a coffee-slinging stranger who stands in the middle of a walkway," I said sharply.

His expression barely shifted, though there was the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You're the one who bounced off me like a tennis ball. Maybe slow down. Stop acting like the terminal owes you something."

I was ready to tell him exactly what the terminal owed me when a crisp voice interrupted.

"Is there a problem here?"

A flight attendant stepped between us, her sharp gaze moving from my soaked blouse to his calm, unreadable face.

"She spilled her coffee on herself," he said, as if even explaining it was a waste of his time.

The attendant's brow arched. "And I'm sure you standing in the middle of a busy walkway had nothing to do with it."

He didn't reply.

Her attention shifted to me, her voice softening. "Ma'am, are you alright? We can get you something to change into and a cold pack."

I breathed out, willing my voice to stay even. "Yes... thank you."

I followed her without looking back, the hum of the terminal washing over me. My pulse was still thudding in my ears.

Just as we passed, his voice followed, low enough to feel like it brushed against my skin.

"Try not to spill on me next time, sweetheart."

I stopped mid-step. The audacity in his tone, the way he called me sweetheart like it was a private joke, made my fingers tighten around my suitcase handle. I turned, but he was already walking in the opposite direction, slow and unbothered, like time bent for him.

"He's such bad luck," I muttered.

The attendant gave a small, knowing smile. "Airports are full of them. You'd be surprised how many think the rules don't apply to them."

I sighed, following her through the crowd, trying to push him from my mind. I told myself I didn't want to ever see him again.

~Camilla's POV ~

Morning sunlight streamed through the thin, sheer curtains as I stood in front of the mirror.

It spilled into the bridal suite like warm, liquid gold. It made the ivory walls glow, the room radiating with the ray of sunlight over my dress, making the diamond stones sparkle.Olivia had chosen this wedding dress for me, and I can tell her fashion sense is no joke.

I had low fashion sense, or let's say I have no fashion sense. She took it upon herself as my best friend to dress me up even though I turn her down most times. And now she picked the perfect dress for me.

I turned to leave when my eyes caught the red velvet ring sitting on the dressing table beside scattered rose petals, my lips curved into a smile, my heart swelling as I thought of George and the moment he would slide the ring onto my finger.

A small light knock brought me out of my thoughts. The door creaked softly. My mother slipped in, her eyes glistening. She kissed my hair, her hands trembling slightly.

"It's time," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

I smiled, feeling the sting of tears. "Mama..."

"No, no-don't ruin your makeup," she said quickly, pulling out a delicate handkerchief to dab at my cheeks.

"I love you," I murmured, hugging her tight.

"I love you more, my Camilla." She pulled away, studying me like she wanted to memorize my face. "You look... perfect."

"Thank you, Mama," I said, sniffing. The realization of leaving my parents behind hit me.

"You're always welcome, my love," Mother said, squeezing me in another hug.

The door opened again, and Olivia, my maid of honor and best friend, walked in, her blue floral dress swaying.

"Oh my God... You look stunning," she breathed, her eyes wide with admiration.

"Thank you," I said shyly.

"I'll leave you two to talk," my mother said but paused at the doorway. Her smile faltered. "Camilla... call George. He should be here by now. You know how your father is."

I waved her off lightly. "It's fine, Mama. We talked until late last night-he probably just overslept."

She didn't look convinced, but she left anyway.

"Cam, baby!" Olivia squealed, grabbing my hands and spinning me around before tugging me down onto the bed.

"Liv!" I laughed, steadying myself.

"I'm so happy for you," she said, tracing her fingers over the lace on my sleeve. Then her smile dimmed. "But... I wouldn't be a real friend if I didn't say what's on my mind."

My own smile slipped. "Liv..."

"I'm not trying to ruin your big day," she rushed out, "but George still makes me uneasy. I hope he doesn't show up late. Especially not today."

I sighed. "Why does everyone feel that way about him? If you got to know him, you'd see how sweet he is. My father only dislikes him because of his family background. He didn't grow up with love; of course he struggles with people."

"It's not just your dad," she said softly. "George... he hides parts of himself. And sometimes... I wonder if you're holding on out of love or out of loyalty."

"That's not fair," I whispered, looking away.

"I'm not judging you. But I've seen how he talks you down sometimes. How he twists things when you question him. Just promise me you're sure, Cam."

I swallowed hard. "I know him, Liv. I've seen the side no one else does."

Her lips curled into a half-smile. "Fine. Just remember, I've got your back. If he ever hurts you... I'll hunt him down myself."

That made me laugh, though my chest still felt tight. Olivia had been my rock since college. But she had never liked George, not since that night he spilled a drink on her at a ball and she accused him of staring at her chest. He denied it, and I believed him. Still... she never forgot.

"We cool now?" I asked.

"Yeah, we are," she said, smiling.

Soon my other bridesmaids came in, most of them my colleagues from work and Olivia's friends.

"It's time, baby girl," Olivia whispered in my ears while I threw her a playful glare as we walked out.

On the surface, I was calm. But deep inside, my thoughts swirled restlessly.

For the last two years, I'd dreamed of this day. The flowers. The music. The promises. I'd fought for this love when no one else believed in it. And now, it was finally here.

I was getting married.

To George Miller.

The man I loved.

The man I'd chosen.

Outside, faint laughter from the garden drifted through the open window. I could already smell the roses. The guests were beginning to arrive.

By the time I stepped into the garden, it was like walking into a dream. Rows of white chairs tied with silk ribbons. Roses blooming under the summer sun. Guests moving in elegant waves, the air heavy with perfume and excitement. My father had spared no expense.

Music swelled as I began walking down the aisle. Guests rose to their feet. Cameras flashed like fireflies.

My heart pounded with every step.

I looked up at the altar; my smile dropped drastically.

And froze.

George wasn't there.

Only the priest stood under the floral arch, his gaze flicking nervously to the empty space beside him.

The air shifted. People began whispering.

I turned slowly, scanning the crowd. Olivia was rushing toward me, panic etched on her face, mouthing something I couldn't hear.

My legs went weak. My vision blurred.

The last thing I saw before everything went black was the camera flashes sti

ll going because my wedding was being broadcast live.

The world was watching when my groom disappeared.

~ Camilla's POV ~

The first thing I heard was static-like the rush of ocean waves inside my skull.

Then voices. Muffled. Urgent.

"...She's waking up."

"Camilla? Sweetheart... Can you hear me?"

My eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, lashes damp with tears I didn't remember shedding. The ceiling spun above me as I tried to open my eyes. Tried sitting up, but Olivia pushed me gently back on the bed.

"Just stay still," she said, brows furrowed with worry.

My mother's pale, tear-stained face hovered into view. Beside her, Olivia gripped my hand so tightly my knuckles ached, her forced smile doing a terrible job of hiding the storm in her eyes. My stomach twisted.

It wasn't a dream. George hadn't shown up.

I pushed myself up slowly, every movement heavy with ached, as if an iron band had wrapped around it, tightening with every breath.

"Where...where is he?" My mother's expression crumpled.

"We don't know, darling. He never showed up at the venue. His phone is off. No one's seen him since last night."

The veil slipped from my shoulders, pooling around me like the ghost of a fairy tale that had died before it began. In the mirror across the room, I saw her, the bride who was supposed to be me. Makeup smudged, hair undone, eyes hollow like a doll cracked straight down the middle. A small laugh escaped my mouth.

"We talked last night, Mama... he said he couldn't wait to see me in my dress." I shook vehemently, fear engulfed me, and tears threatened to fall.

"It's okay baby" My mother wrapped me in her arms, patting my back softly.

What could've happened?! He couldn't leave me like that, could he? The thoughts kept ringing in my head.

A sharp knock shattered the silence. The door burst open, and my father stormed in like a thundercloud, suit half-buttoned, tie hanging loose, and jaw so tight it looked painful.

"This is a goddamn circus," he barked. "We're all over the internet. 'Abandoned at the altar.' Do you have any idea what this will do to our name?"

I flinched at the sound of his voice.

"James, please..." my mother began, but he cut her off with a wave.

"I told you that boy was trouble. And now he's dragged our entire family into disgrace!"

"I didn't know..." My voice came out small and raw. "Didn't know? he snapped.

"Didn't know you were marrying a coward who'd humiliate you-and us-on live broadcast?"

"Dad, something could have happened to him." My voice came out sharper than I thought it would.

"What could have happened to him? Wake up Camilla Baker, that boy has nothing to offer you but ruins."

"Okay, enough" Olivia shot back, standing so fast her chair scraped the floor. "She's the victim here."

My father turned on her; Olivia didn't flinch, she pressed on.

"You wanted this too, this wedding too; isn't only about her getting married," Olivia paused for a second.

"What?!" My father said voice low and stern, his face held an unexplained expression of rage.

"Whether George is a legitimate son of the Millers or not, he's the only son, and getting your daughter married to him would strengthen the ties of your company. Now, things goes south and you blame your daughter?"

"And who are you to tell me what to do in my own house?!" My father yelled angrily, rage all over his face. It was very obvious he cared less about what happened to George or how I was feeling.

"She is telling the obvious truth, John. "This isn't the time to blame anyone," my mother added, her voice soft, trying to calm my father down, who just angrily paced the room.

The silence that followed was suffocating. My breaths came short and shallow. My mother continuously tapped my back gently as if to tell me to hold my anger in.

I couldn't take it.

The walls were closing in.

I stood, my gown rustling like brittle leaves, and fled to the bathroom.

I slammed the door and collapsed to the cold tile floor, my knees buckling under the weight of it all.

I didn't cry.

I just sat there, drowning in layers of tulle, clutching the velvet ring box I never got to open. It felt weightless now.

Meaningless.

I didn't need to open it to know it was empty.

I could still hear my father's raging voice, my mother yelling as it turned to sobs, doors opening and slamming, then silence.

A soft knock on the bathroom door, but I didn't budge.

"You can come out now, Cam," Olivia said and continued knocking.

Just then my phone dinged; I didn't realize I was holding it all along.

My shaky hands swiped open the phone to see the heart-wrenching message my husband-to-be left behind:

I can't do this, Cam. I'm sorry, but ... you're not just good enough for me to settle with ..."

My heart sank; the whole cell in my body went numb.

Not good enough for two years...

How could he say this to me?!

Just when I start to think about where I had it all wrong, a message from an unknown source sends a picture of George and a woman half naked on the bed, but the woman's face was blurred out.

I held my breath in for a couple of seconds stunned...and that was when I felt it, the lump at the back of my throat and the pain of my heart ripping apart.

It all felt like a dream.

But it wasn't.