My Cold-Hearted Billioniare

I sat on the couch in the sitting room, my face buried in my laptop, drafting the contract proposal my boss had asked me to write.

For a month now, I had been immersed in this business proposal, writing and rewriting, striving for perfection. It was a big deal for my boss; his nervousness about it was palpable, which was strange since he was usually so confident and unflappable.

I had shown him my drafts twice, only to be sent back for revisions each time because he insisted it wasn't good enough. He emphasized the need for fresh ideas, as the well-being of our company hinged on this contract, and the person who would sign it was a big shot.

We had to put our best foot forward if we were to partner with him and his company. The apartment was quiet; my loud flatmate, Amelia, was out on one of her countless dates, leaving me with the entire place to myself.

After much effort, I finally finished the proposal and felt a surge of confidence and satisfaction. This had to be the best business proposal I had ever crafted. I emailed it to my boss for confirmation, and as I scrolled through TikTok, a notification popped up-an email from him.

Despite my confidence, a wave of nervousness washed over me. What if he had more corrections? I was exhausted from working on this project for the past month! I whispered a quick prayer before opening the email, and the first sentence sent a rush of joy through me:

"Good job, Barbara!" Was I dreaming? He finally accepted it! Oh my goodness! I could finally breathe a little! I strolled into the kitchen, craving a scoop of ice cream from the refrigerator to celebrate my recent success and finally finish binge-watching my favorite series, "Never Have I Ever."

Just as I was about to dig in, a loud, exuberant voice erupted from the sitting room, belting out, "Love me like you do, love love love love me like you do, kiss me like you do, kiss kiss kiss me like you do, what are you waiting forrrrrrrrr!" It was my best friend and flatmate, the queen of drama, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes, accustomed as I was to her theatrical antics.

"Girlllll, who got you singing like this?" I called out, stepping into the living room. She was always hyped up over nothing, convinced that every new guy was her soulmate, only to find herself sobbing in the bathroom a couple of weeks later, cursing the same "final bus stop."

"Girllll, this guy I went on a date with is my future husband! He's just a perfect gentleman and he's into finance!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement. "I'm looking for a man in finance, 6ft, trust fund, blue eyes!" With that, she launched into another song, this one a popular TikTok sound.

"Girl, can you believe he gave me roses when he picked me up? He even opened the car door, the restaurant door, and pulled out my seat for me! Girllll, this is some perfect gentleman shit bruh!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and for a moment, I found myself believing that maybe, just maybe, this could be the one.

"Oh my God, I am really happy for you, girlll!" I said, my excitement genuine as I shared in her joy. "But we have one little tinny winny problem," she said, squinting one eye and gesturing with her fingers to emphasize just how small the issue was.

"What is it?" I asked, curiosity piqued as I braced myself for the potential flaws of Mr. Perfect. "You know we met on a dating app, right?" she continued, and I couldn't fathom how that could possibly be a problem.

"And?" I pressed, eager to unravel this mystery. "And I have a date scheduled for the day after tomorrow, but I don't want to go because my Mr. Perfect asked for another date that same day, and I said yes, forgetting I already had plans," she explained, her voice tinged with frustration.

"Then just cancel the date with the other guy and go with Mr. Perfect Gentleman," I chimed in, my tone playful and sing-song, trying to show her how easily this could be resolved. My best friend and I were experts at dishing out nicknames and making light of any situation.

"I can't, Barbara! You can't cancel dates on the app; it's one of their rules and guidelines! And you know how wrong it is to stand someone up," she insisted, her eagerness to prove her point bubbling over. I was baffled, unsure of how to help her.

"So, what do you have in mind? Divide yourself into two?" I asked sarcastically. "Noo, Barbara, that's not what I mean!" she laughed, the tension easing a bit.

"That's why I need your help," she added, her eyes pleading. "Me? What do I have to do with this?" I countered, but silence fell as her gaze intensified. "Mely, what do you want me to do exactly?" I pressed again.

"I need you to go on the date with the other guy for me," she blurted out, her words rushing out as if she were trying to prevent herself from taking them back.

"What? Hell no! There is no way in the world I am going to do that," I shot back, my voice tinged with a mix of defiance and resignation. "Barbara, please! You haven't been on dates in ages! You don't even need to like him; just go there, sit down, enjoy your meal, and come back. Please, just do this for me!" she pleaded, her eyes wide with desperation.

"Girl, I don't even know him! What if he's a serial killer?" I countered, grasping at straws, trying to concoct excuses that might save me. "And I'm busy with work," I added, hoping to validate my reluctance further.

"Barbara, nobody is going to kill you in a restaurant with other diners present! And next tomorrow is a Sunday, for crying out loud! It's a freaking weekend! You're supposed to take a break from work, girl! Go out there and live a little for goodness' sake! It won't even be up to two hours, and the date will be over.

Then you can come back and bury your face in that damn computer as usual!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious, and for a moment, I began to see her point. "Okay, fine, I will..." I started, but before I could finish, she leaped onto me in a burst of excitement.

"Girllll, I love you! You're my everything!" she broke into another song, her joy infectious. "But under one condition," I continued, trying to keep a straight face. "What is it? Anything!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm palpable.

"Promise that you won't pull this trick on me again?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Girllll, never in my life again!" she laughed, and the sound was like music, easing my reluctance just a bit more.

"What do you guys mean by you all setting me on a blind date? Did I ask for that? Are you all now hooking me up with girls behind my back? What, am I like 12? So I can't make decisions for myself anymore? Are you guys even mad?" I exploded, my voice echoing in the living room, the walls seeming to close in around me.

I was used to my family pestering me about marriage, inviting a parade of girls to the family house whenever I visited my parents. But my friends doing this? That crossed a line! Sure, they dropped hints about wanting me to find a girlfriend from time to time, but they had never gone this far before.

"We just want the best for you, bruh. Ever since Louisa le..." Brian started, but I cut him off, my anger flaring. "Enough! I don't want to hear that name, ever again!" The words shot out of my mouth like bullets, and I could see the surprise on their faces.

"Bruh, Brian is right. It's been two years already; you need to let it go and move on!" Reynold chimed in, his tone a mix of concern and frustration. "And who said I wasn't over her? I'm just not interested in a relationship at the moment; I'm a busy businessman," I replied, trying to defend my reluctance. But deep down, I knew the truth was more complicated. I had moved on, yes, but the scars Louisa left behind ran deeper than I cared to admit. She had cheated on me, stolen my money, and disappeared to marry the idiot she had been seeing behind my back.

Trust was a luxury I couldn't afford anymore. We were still deep in conversation when my sister's call came in. These days, I was so tired of taking my family's calls that I hesitated to answer.

The conversations were always the same, a relentless loop of questions: "When are you getting married? Have you found a girl? When was the last time you went on a date? Mother sent your number to a wonderful girl; she'll call you, so be nice." It never ended.

I tried to avoid them by ignoring their calls, but that only led to problems. They thought something has happened to me.

The last time I pulled that stunt, Brian had called me at 3 in the morning, his voice laced with concern, asking if I was okay, safe, and why I hadn't been picking up my mom's calls. It was that bad.

So, I reluctantly decided to keep taking their calls, always ending with, "I'll call you back; I'm really busy right now." At least that seemed to work. My mom often reminded me that I was the child of her old age. After 15 years of raising my sister, my parents had resolved to adopt a male child to carry on my father's lineage and legacy.

Then, unexpectedly, my mother took in. At first, she thought it was just a usual sickness, but as her belly began to grow, the hospital confirmed she was pregnant-with a boy! Their joy was boundless, and they threw a huge party for my gender reveal.

I understood their feelings, especially when, at 27, I was still single and had no plans for a relationship, let alone marriage. The weight of their expectations pressed down on me, a constant reminder of the legacy I was supposed to uphold.

"Hello, my not-so-little brother!" she beamed over the phone, her voice radiating warmth and familiarity. "Helle, big sissy," I replied, a hint of affection creeping into my tone. After a brief pause, I added, "How are Father and Mother?" We always referred to our parents in that old-fashioned way, a quirk that felt oddly comforting.

"They're fine, just in dire need of grandchildren with the surname 'Roderick,'" she said dryly, her sarcasm unmistakable. She couldn't even wait to finish with the pleasantries before diving straight into her relentless pestering.

I fell silent, choosing not to respond until her voice broke through the stillness again. "You're still coming home tomorrow, right? Get some roses on your way. Mum invited Desdemona to say hi to you.

Remember her? She was home-schooled with you for a year in elementary. She's all woman now, Rolland! You need to see her! You'll love her, trust me!" Her excitement was palpable, practically bursting through the line.

"I have a date tomorrow; I can't make it," I said flatly, hoping to end this conversation swiftly. "Sorry? Did I hear correctly?" she asked, feigning disbelief, though I knew she had heard me loud and clear.

"Yes, sissy, I have a date tomorrow; I can't make it," I reiterated, my patience wearing thin. "Omg, who? Do I know her? This is good news! Mother is going to love this!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm only intensifying.

"Ughmm, sissy, I gotta go. Love youuuu, bye!" I said quickly, cutting the call before she could respond further. As I hung up, I felt the weight of Brian's and Reynold's stares fixed on me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

"What?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow. "You just agreed to go on the date," Reynold said, his tone teasing yet serious.

"Ughmn, no, I just said that to avoid my family's plan," I replied, adopting an "obviously" manner, hoping they'd drop it.

"No, no, no! We are not gonna let you use us like that. You either go for this date or go see the pretty hot Desdemona at home," Brian declared, his fingers already reaching for his phone on the table.

"What are you doing?" I shot back, a mix of annoyance and disbelief creeping into my voice. "Calling your big sister Rosy to let her know your plan," he replied nonchalantly, as if he were merely ordering a pizza.

"Come on, man, don't do that! Okay, fine, fine, I will go," I relented, feeling the weight of their expectations pressing down on me as he dropped the phone back onto the table. "Better," he said, satisfaction lacing his tone.

In that moment, I felt like the world was against me. Even my friends? The people I called my guys? Did my parents ask them to do this to me? Why were they all of a sudden so strict about this, too?

I hopped into an Uber, excitement bubbling within me as I headed to the restaurant where my date awaited. But fate had other plans; halfway there, the car sputtered and came to a halt. I waited, tapping my foot impatiently, as the mechanic arrived, only to be told that the issue wasn't something that could be fixed on the spot.

My heart sank, but I quickly called another Uber, managing to snag half a refund from the first driver. When I finally arrived at the venue, a full twenty minutes late, I dialed the number Mely had given me.

To my surprise, the most mouth-watering young man I had ever seen lifted the phone to his ear. My breath caught in my throat, and without thinking, I cut the call, dialing again just to confirm my suspicions. He raised the phone to his ear once more, and my heart raced.

"Coming out to this date might not be a bad idea after all," I thought, gathering my courage as I walked toward the strikingly handsome man. "Hello, sir, you must be Mr. Rolland? I'm so sorry for being late..." I began, but before I could finish, he interrupted me with a sharp edge to his voice.

"Why are you late? You don't have simple etiquette? So my first impression of you is late coming? Do you know how long I've been here? You think I don't have better things to do?" His words hit me like a slap, and while I understood I had kept him waiting, did he really have to be such an ass about it? "I'm so sorry, sir, my Uber broke down and I was waiting..." I tried to explain, but he cut me off again.

"Oh please, here we go with the excuses. If you had prepared earlier, you wouldn't have gotten here late, but no, you chose to lie and-" That was it.I wasn't going to let this entitled prick talk to me like I was a child.

"Let me stop you right there! You just called me a liar? You think I would lie about something like this? What could I possibly gain from that?" My voice was steady, fueled by a mix of indignation and disbelief.

"And you don't go around scolding grown-ass women like kids? Who do you think you are? I just apologized for being late and gave you my reason, yet you still choose to be a prick! Do I look like a child to you? Now let me tell you something: this should serve as a warning to you to never speak to a woman-or anyone-like this again! Rubbish!"

Yes, I had to give him a piece of his own cake! I loved the look on his face; he looked utterly shocked, as if he was unaccustomed to being talked back to.

I felt a surge of pride for breaking that record. I snatched the glass of champagne he had ordered before my arrival, downed it in one go, and strode out of the restaurant, leaving that arrogant fool behind.

When I got home, I tried to dive back into the movie series I had been watching, but my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts about what had just transpired.

Who the hell did he think he was, talking to me like that? Why was my experience so different from my friends'? My best friend had met a perfect gentleman, while I was left with this proud idiot. This was exactly why I loathed going on dates-men were so mannerless and wicked.

My ex used to compare me to his celebrity crush, constantly belittling me and shouting at me like I was some child. I always thought I was the problem, desperately trying to morph into his ideal woman until I discovered he was cheating on me with a stripper.

He would complain if I ever wore a dress that dared to show my knees or a top that revealed a hint of skin, all while he was dating a prostitute! What do men really want? That's why I spoke up when my date at the restaurant decided to disrespect me.

I heard the unmistakable sound of someone sniffing, their footsteps heavy with sorrow, as my best friend walked into the room. It was clear that Mr. Perfect Gentleman had once again shattered her hopes.

"What is it this time, Mely Darling?" I asked in a soft, doting tone, opening my arms wide for her to step into my embrace. "He is married, Barbara! He is freaking married!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

"We were having a lovely dinner when his wife walked in on us. She slapped me across the face and shouted, 'Stay away from my husband, you slut!' It was so humiliating, Barbara.

He just stood there, stammering, 'Honey, I can explain! I swear it's not what you think! I don't even know her! You know I love you? You're the mother of my kids, and I love you so much! She's just a fling!'" The pain in her voice was palpable, and I could only imagine the depth of her shame.

"I'm never going to love again, Barbara, never!" she declared, her resolve punctuated by fresh tears. I knew it was just the anger talking; the Amelia I knew would be gearing up for another date next week, regardless of this heartbreak.

"So how did yours go? Why are you back so early?" she asked, her sobs subsiding just a little. I hesitated, knowing that telling her the truth would only deepen her sadness, making her feel responsible for sending me into that disaster in the first place.

"It was good! I ended up with a migraine, so we had to cut it short, but we agreed on a follow-up date next weekend," I replied, watching as her mood began to lift. A wave of relief washed over me; I was weirdly glad that I lied to