OOPS, MY BODYGUARD HUSBAND IS A BILLIONAIRE

Hazel tugged her black raincoat tighter around her, the downpour soaking the edges of her hem as she hurried into the hotel lobby. She kept her head low, the brim of her rain hat pulled down to shield her face. A group of well-dressed guests walked past her, their whispers sharp as blades.

"Did you hear? Hazel Martinez, the once-glorious heiress, got married today. To a servant, no less."

"Unbelievable. She used to be so beautiful and untouchable. Now, she's just... nothing."

"Well, her parents' deaths ruined everything. With her uncle in charge, she's barely above a servant herself."

Hazel didn't flinch, though their words stung like nettles. Instead, she moved silently, her lashes hiding the flicker of pain in her eyes. Since her parents' death a year ago, her life had become a cruel shadow of what it once was. Her uncle and grandmother had taken everything-her home, her inheritance, even her dignity. Now, they were forcing her to marry a bodyguard, a man they considered unworthy, as the final nail in her coffin.

The only bargaining chip she had left was her parents' burial rights in the ancestral tomb-a privilege her uncle dangled cruelly over her head. She had no choice but to obey.

When the group moved on, Hazel finally reached the hotel room Ryan had asked her to meet him in. She knocked twice. The door opened quickly, and there he was: Ryan, her ex-boyfriend, his expression equal parts anxious and calculating.

Hazel stepped inside and held out her hand, her tone cold. "Ryan, you said you had my father's heirloom. Where is it?"

Ryan hesitated, then sighed. "Hazel, I lied. I just wanted to see you."

Her jaw tightened, and she turned to leave, but his voice stopped her mid-step.

"Hazel...elope with me."

She froze, her hand on the doorframe. Slowly, she turned, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Elope? You proposed to my cousin last week, Ryan. Or did you forget?"

His face flushed, but he pressed on, desperation leaking into his tone. "I'm marrying her, yes, but only for my family's approval. Hazel, I still care about you. Come with me to another city. I'll protect you."

Hazel's stomach twisted in disgust. "You want me to be your mistress, is that it?"

Ryan adjusted his glasses and shrugged nonchalantly, as if his request were reasonable. "It's not uncommon. Men used to have wives and concubines. I'm just asking you to be discreet. My wife doesn't need to know."

The audacity of his words burned through her like fire. "Discreet?" she echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what would this arrangement look like?"

Ryan mistook her tone for curiosity and smiled, oblivious. "Simple. You'd live comfortably, with no need to work. Don't call me during the day, and I'll visit you whenever I can. If you get pregnant, we'll deal with it-quietly. Of course, I'll cover the expenses." He paused, then added casually, "But if it's a son, we might keep him. A daughter? No need."

Hazel's nails dug into her palms. Her voice, low and cutting, sliced through his fantasies. "You're shameless, Ryan."

His face twisted in anger as he grabbed her arm. "You'd rather marry that dog Michael than be with me? Don't fool yourself, Hazel. He's beneath you, and everyone knows it."

"Let me go!" Hazel spat, yanking her arm free. "Michael may have nothing, but at least he has integrity. Unlike you."

Ryan's eyes darkened, and his composure snapped. He grabbed her again, his grip iron-tight as he pushed her towards the bed. Hazel's breath caught, panic flaring in her chest.

"You think you can talk to me like that?" he hissed, his tie loosening as he leaned closer. "I gave you everything once, Hazel. Now you owe me. If you want to marry someone else, you'll give yourself to me first."

Hazel struggled, her nails clawing at his wrist. "Ryan, stop this!" she cried, her voice trembling with fury and fear. "I'm married now!"

"Married?" He laughed bitterly, his weight pinning her down. "Michael is nothing but a dog in the Martinez Family. He's my subordinate. He wouldn't dare cross me."

Hazel's heart pounded as she grabbed a lamp from the bedside table, ready to swing it. But before she could act, the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed from outside the door.

The tension in the room snapped taut. Ryan froze, his head whipping toward the door. "I told you to wait downstairs!" he barked. "Whoever it is, get out!"

The footsteps paused, then a low, icy voice cut through the air like a blade. "They couldn't stop me. Perhaps I should introduce myself instead."

Hazel's head shot up, her eyes widening. The man who entered was tall and commanding, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His gloves gleamed, and his tie sat impeccably knotted. His strikingly handsome face was a mask of cold indifference, but his eyes-sharp, dark, and fathomless-radiated an authority that made the air in the room feel heavy.

Michael.

He stepped inside with deliberate calm, the tension in his shoulders coiled like a predator ready to strike. His gaze flicked to Hazel, who lay disheveled on the bed, then to Ryan, who stood frozen in place, his confidence rapidly draining.

"Michael," Ryan stammered, his voice cracking. "This... this isn't what it looks like."

Michael adjusted his gloves with an almost casual precision, his movements slow and deliberate. When he spoke, his voice was soft, yet it carried a weight that made the walls seem to shrink. "I believe," he began, his tone as sharp as ice, "you've forgotten your place, Ryan."

Hazel watched in stunned silence as Michael's imposing presence filled the room. For the first time in her life, she saw Ryan falter, his bravado crumbling under the weight of Michael's gaze. And for the first time, she wondered just how much she truly knew about the man she had married.

Hazel's heart skipped a beat as she stared at her newlywed husband, Michael. His tall, imposing figure loomed in the doorway, his black suit and bloodstained face creating an eerie contrast to the sterile luxury of the hotel room. He was no mere bodyguard. Michael was a man of extraordinary skills, known to take on ten opponents at once, a brutal fighter who had once snapped the neck of a cheetah with his bare hands.

Hazel's breath caught in her throat. Her uncle, Matthew, had arranged her marriage to Michael not out of love, but to recruit him into the Martinez Family's fold. He wanted Michael's deadly skills to secure the family's future. She had been nothing more than a pawn in that game.

Ryan was momentarily stunned, his confidence cracking under the pressure of Michael's presence. "Michael, you..." Ryan stammered, his voice laced with disbelief.

Without acknowledging Ryan's outburst, Michael's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "President Wood, the boss asked me to pass along a message." His tone was calm, indifferent, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. "A major client is coming next month to discuss a partnership. You're expected to handle the reception personally." Michael casually placed a high-end private club business card on the table, the simple action dripping with authority.

Ryan sneered, attempting to regain his composure. "What does it matter if you're powerful, Michael?" He scoffed, his disdain palpable. "You're nothing but a dog raised by the Martinez Family!"

Impatience flickered across Michael's face, but his posture remained unchanged. Ryan, now irritated by the lack of reaction, pulled out a black card and threw it onto the floor at Michael's feet. "Alright, alright," he said, his voice thick with scorn. "I know what you want. This card's got three million in it-enough to last you thirty years. Take it, buy some wine, find some women, and have a good time. Tonight, Hazel belongs to me."

Hazel's face burned with anger, and she couldn't contain herself any longer. "Ryan, shut up!" she yelled, her voice breaking with emotion.

But Michael merely glanced at the card, then bent down and picked it up. The motion was casual, almost dismissive.

Ryan's sneer deepened as he turned to Hazel. "See that? Your precious husband is just a poor man. Money is what drives him, not you. You'll suffer with him, Hazel. Why not just be with me? I can give you everything-except the title, of course."

Hazel's face reddened in fury. She couldn't stand it anymore. Without warning, she slapped him across the face with all her strength. "How dare you?" she shouted, her voice shaking.

Ryan's eyes darkened with rage. He grabbed her arm and twisted it, his grip sharp and unforgiving. "Get out of here, Michael, or I'll fire you tomorrow!"

Before Hazel could react, Ryan shoved her roughly onto the bed. Her body slammed against the mattress, and her breath was knocked from her chest. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. She kicked and struggled, but Ryan was too heavy, too strong. At nineteen, Hazel's slender frame was no match for him.

But just as she thought she couldn't take anymore, a chilling presence filled the room. Michael's cold, unwavering gaze locked onto Ryan, and without a word, he moved toward the bed.

Hazel's heart pounded in her chest. Michael's face was a mask of icy detachment. His gloved hand shot out, gripping Ryan by the back of the head, his fingers wrapping around Ryan's short hair with terrifying precision.

Ryan's eyes widened in panic as Michael slowly, deliberately, began to pull his head back.

"Let go, let go!" Ryan screamed, his voice cracking with desperation.

Michael's voice was calm, almost bored. "President Wood, I'll be waiting for you to fire me tomorrow."

And then, with a brutal, crushing motion, Michael slammed Ryan's face into the corner of the bedside table.

*Bang!*

Ryan's scream was cut off by the sickening crack of bone against wood, and blood splattered across the room.

Michael didn't stop. He gripped Ryan's hair tighter, lifting his head again before bringing it down a second time with savage force.

"Ahh!" Ryan's cry echoed through the room, a high-pitched wail of agony.

The room was filled with the sickening sound of Ryan's skull slamming against the solid wood. Blood sprayed across Michael's face, but he didn't even flinch. He remained composed, his expression unchanging as he continued his relentless assault.

Hazel's breath hitched in her throat. She was frozen, rooted to the spot in sheer terror. Every scream, every brutal slam made her stomach turn. The smell of blood filled the air. She couldn't look away, yet she felt every ounce of her strength drain from her.

The room fell silent, the air thick with the stench of blood and terror. Ryan's body lay motionless on the floor, his face unrecognizable, his eyes rolled back in his head.

Michael stood up straight, as if the entire incident had been beneath his notice. He glanced down at the bloodied mess that had once been Ryan, his face as cold and emotionless as ever. Without a word, he casually tossed Ryan aside like a ragdoll, his body thumping onto the floor with a sickening thud.

Hazel was still trembling, her heart racing as her wide eyes met Michael's gaze. His bloodied face was terrifying, but what struck her the most was the cold, detached look in his eyes. It was as if Ryan's screams had been nothing more than background noise to him.

"Don't come any closer," Hazel whispered, her voice barely audible, as Michael took a step toward her. The words left her mouth before she could stop them, her fear overwhelming her logic. She scooted back on the bed, desperate to escape his approach.

But Michael didn't stop. He was unyielding, as always. Hazel's pulse raced, her mind spinning with horror. What would he do now? Would he punish her for being with Ryan? For being a pawn in this cruel game?

Hazel tried to flee, but the moment her foot hit the floor, a sharp pain shot up her ankle. She stumbled, a cry of pain escaping her lips, and would have fallen if not for Michael's strong, unrelenting grip around her waist.

He didn't say a word as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms. Hazel's heart skipped in panic. She hadn't expected this. Was he going to kill her next?

Her mind raced with terrifying possibilities. What was he going to do to her? Was he going to throw her out of the building? Or was this just the beginning of her punishment?

But Michael didn't seem angry. His grip was firm, yet not punishing. His eyes, dark as the night, flickered with something unreadable as he carefully adjusted her in his arms.

"Your foot is twisted. If you move too much, it will swell," he said in a low, emotionless voice, as if he were discussing something trivial. Then, without another word, he carried her out of the room.

Hazel remained frozen in his arms, her fingers clutching his collar in blind panic. She didn't know whether to trust him or fear him more. Was this part of his plan? Was he taking her somewhere to finish what he had started?

As they reached the elevator, two bodyguards stepped aside. Michael flicked his black card toward them without a glance. "Open a bottle of wine. Find some women. Make sure President Wood enjoys this three million."

Ryan, still unconscious on the floor, groaned at the sound of Michael's words, his eyes flickering in horror. He had no idea how far Michael would go.

As the elevator doors closed, Michael's cold, bloodied face remained unreadable. Hazel could only cling to him, her mind filled with a storm of confusion and fear.

Michael walked over to the bed, gently placing Hazel down, before turning and walking out without a word.

Hazel opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She wasn't sure how to interact with him-he was a stranger in her life, a man who now held the title of her husband, yet she knew so little about him.

Michael had been working for the Martinez Family as a bodyguard for only half a year. His cold demeanor made him almost invisible to others. He rarely spoke, and when he did, his voice was a sharp contrast to the warmth and familiarity others expected. Rumors floated about his past-his family was poor, drowning in debt. Coming to the Martinez Family had been his way out, his chance to start anew.

Though the women in the office were mesmerized by his striking features, his indifference to their flirtations only heightened his allure. He was untouchable. He ignored everyone, including Hazel. Their brief encounters in the manor had been silent, his gaze distant, as if she were just another face in a crowd. He passed by without a word, his coldness cutting through her, leaving her with a sense of isolation. Now, to be married to him-Hazel didn't know how to navigate this strange, new reality.

The room was simple, clean, and yet, it held an unfamiliar warmth. Red "囍" decorations adorned the windows, signaling the union, while the bed was neatly made with new sheets featuring peonies and carp-traditional and old-fashioned, but there was an effort in every detail. Hazel felt a pang of guilt in her chest. Had Michael prepared all of this for their wedding night? And yet, she had left him for her ex-boyfriend. She had caused him to lose his job, and for what?

But Michael hadn't said a word of reproach. He simply let it pass, as if it meant nothing to him.

Before she could gather her thoughts, the door creaked open, and Michael walked in. His hair was damp from a recent shower, the water droplets trailing down his muscular arms. He wore simple, black trousers-modest, yet they did little to hide his chiseled physique. His face, cold and unreadable, exuded a quiet intensity. Hazel's breath caught in her throat. He was a stunning man, but his presence felt like a storm-too overwhelming, too distant.

She quickly averted her gaze and lowered her head. What was she supposed to say? How could she make this right?

"I'm sorry for what happened just now," she whispered, the words feeling inadequate in the heavy silence between them.

Michael didn't respond immediately. He picked up a towel and began drying his hair. Hazel took a step toward him, but her eyes fell on his hand-the blood staining his palm. The wound was deep, a jagged cut running across his skin. Her breath hitched, and her stomach churned as memories of the violence earlier-of Michael slamming Ryan's head against the table-flooded her mind.

Without thinking, Hazel rushed to his side. "Let me help," she said, but Michael abruptly raised his hand, stopping her before she could touch him.

"Don't touch it," he said, his voice devoid of warmth.

Hazel froze, her outstretched hand hovering in the air. She nodded quickly, her throat tight with discomfort. The distance between them was palpable, the coldness in his words like a physical barrier she couldn't cross.

"You must be hungry," Hazel offered hesitantly. "I can make you some noodles. I'm a good cook."

"No need," he replied, his voice flat.

She stood there, unsure of what to say next. "I went to see Ryan because-"

"Miss there's no need to explain yourself to me," Michael interrupted, his tone harder now, as if he resented even the mention of her actions.

Hazel's chest tightened at his words. The way he referred to her-"Miss"-felt like an insult, a deliberate attempt to remind her of the distance between them. She was his wife in name only. To him, she was just another woman, one who had no place in his life.

"I didn't-" Hazel began, but Michael cut her off again, his eyes darkening with an unreadable emotion.

"Do you think I'm inferior to your ex-boyfriend?" His words were sharp, laced with a bitterness that made Hazel flinch.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head, "nothing happened between me and Ryan."

Michael didn't seem convinced. "Really?" He raised an eyebrow, skepticism heavy in his voice. "How do you expect me to believe that?"

Hazel clenched her fists, biting her lip. She had made a mistake, she knew that. She had left him for another man. But she needed to make this clear. She couldn't let this lie fester between them.

"I'm not... I didn't... I didn't betray you." The words were barely a whisper, but she pressed on, "Please, Michael... believe me."

Michael's gaze softened for a moment, his eyes flickering with something-something Hazel couldn't place. Then, he leaned back and crossed his arms, his posture imposing. "Miss," he said, his voice hardening again, "if you truly feel that way, then divorce me. It'll be easy. I'll sign."

Hazel's heart sank. She shook her head, desperate. "No, I never wanted that. I just..." She struggled to find the right words, but they failed her.

"Just what?" Michael's voice was cold now, but there was a trace of something deeper beneath the surface.

Hazel took a deep breath, her eyes locking with his. She needed him to understand. She couldn't leave this unspoken between them.

"I'm still clean," she said, her voice barely audible.

For a moment, Michael was silent, his eyes narrowing as they scanned her face. Then he lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable.

"What exactly do you want to say?" His voice was indifferent, but his eyes held something else-a flicker of curiosity, of disbelief.

Hazel gathered every ounce of courage she had left. "I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't..."

She stepped closer, slowly, her wedding dress rustling around her. Her hands trembling, she met his gaze head-on. She wasn't backing down.

Michael froze. His eyes narrowed, and for the first time, she saw something shift in them. His gaze softened ever so slightly, but then he sneered, his lips curling into a mocking smile.

"You really think I care?" he said, his voice low, his words cutting. "Do you think I'm some fool?"

"I didn't do anything wrong," she repeated, her voice gaining strength.

Michael remained silent for a long moment, studying her. The air between them crackled with tension.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't need you to prove anything to me."

And with that, he turned away, his cold back a final barrier between them.

Hazel stood there, feeling the weight of his indifference, her heart pounding in her chest. He had let her speak. But in the end, he hadn't heard her at all.

.