The Billionaire's Fake Bride

A dull ache pulsed in my head.

Since dawn, I've been on a relentless treadmill of tasks.

From getting my daughter ready for school to scrubbing down the diner on our block, I finally made my way to the Marriott company, where I continued my daily grind of cleaning offices and restrooms.

Dealing with wealthy clients is no easy feat.

They demand perfection but are unwilling to pay for it.

There are days when I find myself cleaning the same restroom over fifty times, all because some affluent patron can't stand a hint of odor.

It's hard to fathom that I once lived that life, yet I never felt at ease with how the privileged looked down on those less fortunate, all due to their status.

I defied my parents by attending a party with my best friend, who was just as broke as I was.

That's where I met the DJ, a charming guy who had every girl wrapped around his finger.

It was an instant connection; we ended up together, and it was incredible. I craved more, so I sneaked out to see him again, but that turned out to be a one-time affair.

Then came the shocking news: I was pregnant. My perfectionist mother was the one who found out about my unexpected situation, and to make matters worse, it was with a DJ from a club.

My parents didn't even let me explain; they disowned me in an instant, feeling I had brought shame upon them and ruined their plans to marry me off to a wealthy businessman for a lifetime of wealth.

I became the daughter that every affluent family in England warned their children to avoid. Everyone turned their backs on me, except for Mia.

We had to leave England for New York after my parents cut ties with me.

They even removed Mia from their scholarship program, labeling her a bad influence, so I moved in with her strict grandmother in the city.

The initial years after my daughter was born were pleasant until grandma fell ill.

I realized I couldn't rely on others forever, and my first job as a janitor marked the beginning of a two-year struggle.

I don't regret having my daughter, but I sacrificed everything for her.

I let out a deep sigh, rubbing my temples and hoping the throbbing pain would subside so I could hit the road.

It's a long three-hour trek from my tiny apartment to the Marriott office, and I can only imagine how hungry my daughter must be by now.

I can't trust my neighbors; the last time I left my daughter in their care, they devoured her lunch and dinner, leaving her to fend for herself. Bringing her to work isn't an option either, as it goes against office policy.

I know I'm doing my best-working hard day in and day out-but sometimes it feels like it's just not enough.

Frustration wells up inside me, and tears threaten to spill as a sharp pain radiates through my back from hours spent bending over and scrubbing toilets.

I close my eyes, twirling my straight brown hair, recalling what Audrey's teacher mentioned during a recent meeting.

She expressed concern that she was often drowsy, struggled to breathe, and complained of stomach pains.

Honestly, I've been so overwhelmed and exhausted that I haven't paid enough attention to these signs. I'm constantly trying to juggle the demands of his school and our home life.

If I fell behind on payments, my daughter would be forced out of school, and we could end up homeless. The thought of that heartache is unbearable.

Suddenly, the intercom in the janitor's break room jolts me back to reality. I quickly whisper a prayer and grab the receiver, my voice trembling with anxiety.

Working at Marriott is no small feat; everyone is expected to perform at their best, regardless of their position.

With Alexander King at the helm, I've learned to push my worries aside whenever it's time to work.

This week alone, he's let go of twenty employees, and I'm desperate to avoid being on that list.

"Ms. Freser," the manager, Mrs. Perez, boomed through the intercom, sending my heart racing. She only called when there was bad news.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, sitting up straight, eager to catch every word. She could be as ruthless as the boss himself.

"Get to my office immediately!" she commands sharply, cutting off the call before I can even respond.

Without hesitation, I leave the janitor's room and make my way briskly to the manager's office, my mind racing with questions about why she needed me at this late hour.

I knock gently on the door, my heart pounding in my chest. I really can't handle any bad news right now; my plate is already overflowing. My rent is due next month, and my daughter's health is a constant worry.

"Come in," I hear her say, and I step inside.

She's busy stuffing papers into envelopes, and my heart skips a beat. Are those termination letters? Not now, please!

"Ms. Freser, you're two minutes late," she remarks without looking up from her laptop, and I suddenly find myself at a loss for words.

"An email has just been sent. You're assigned to clean the boss's office for the next week. Have a nice day."

The boss? Alexander Marriott? That's a nightmare waiting to happen. I'd rather face anything than take on that task, even if it were offered with a golden bow.

He just fired the three janitors who worked there this week. Why me? I'm just a junior staff member, and I'm not even allowed in the executive area.

What's going on? I sincerely hope it's not what I'm thinking.

"Ma'am... I think there's been a mistake. I can't clean the boss's office. I don't want to lose my job, I..."

"You have no say in these matters, Ms. Freser. You're just a janitor. I suggest you stick to your duties and leave my office now!"

It was my first day in the boss's office, and I was already stumbling through it.

I had spent the entire night next to Audrey, completely losing track of time.

I had cried so much last night asking myself a lot of questions, it seems, I was the only one in the world with problems.

This morning, I forgot to shower and brush my teeth!

I rushed straight to work, my mind solely focused on how to help my daughter walk again, leaving everything else behind.

I dashed to his office, nearly tripping over myself in the process.

When I reached the door, I whispered a quick prayer, knocked twice, and when there was no answer, I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

It would be best to slip in, get my tasks done, and head back to the hospital without crossing paths with him; it would save me both time and money.

Just as I was about to turn the doorknob, a thought struck me.

What if I asked the boss for a loan and dedicated my life to paying him back? I would gladly make that sacrifice for my daughter.

With a surge of determination, I stepped into the office, only to be met by a blast of cold air that hit me like a wall.

If I stayed here much longer, I might just freeze before the day was over. How does he endure this chill? Is he some kind of ghost?

I quickly grabbed my cleaning supplies and got to work. He was quite particular about cleanliness, so I didn't have too much to do.

I greeted him, introduced myself, and explained why I was there, but he didn't even look up from his papers.

I took that as my cue to start working; clearly, I wasn't important enough to warrant his attention.

I tidied the shelves repeatedly and organized the documents, and now it was time to tackle the real challenge: his desk.

As I moved closer, the scent of his luxurious cologne enveloped me, and suddenly my legs felt heavy as if they were made of lead.

What if I ruin everything and don't make it to tomorrow? I've heard terrifying tales about the Marriott family.

They are not to be trifled with, and they certainly wouldn't spare a thought for someone as insignificant as me.

I began by tidying up the disorganized files and putting them in order before I turned my attention to cleaning the desk.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly as we both focused on our work.

Then, out of nowhere, I felt an overwhelming urge to look at my boss.

People were always buzzing about him, and he was quite the figure around here, but I had never encountered him in person.

Being so close now stirred a strange sense of familiarity, as if I had seen him before.

It all happened in an instant; I swear I didn't even notice.

A mug of steaming coffee was carelessly placed beside him, and in my moment of clumsiness, I accidentally knocked it over.

It would have been one thing if it had just spilled, but it drenched his expensive tuxedo and burned his skin.

Oh no! Someone just killed me.

He jumped up in shock, and I marveled at how he managed to keep his cool.

He quickly grabbed an ice cube and pressed it against the scalded area.

When he turned to face me, our eyes locked. His icy blue gaze sent a chill down my spine, and I felt a warm trickle of urine run down my legs.

What have I gotten myself into?

His piercing stare made me instinctively step back, but in my panic, I collided with the shelf, sending papers tumbling to the floor.

Who did I anger to deserve this kind of punishment?

"Sir... I'm so sorry..." I stammered, my heart pounding loudly in my ears.

"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my office? Are you blind or just completely incompetent?" His words pierced through me like sharp needles, leaving me speechless, my mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

Just as I was about to respond, two swift and thunderous slaps struck my face, sending me reeling to the floor.

I blinked my eyes open, shaking my head to clear the fog in my mind.

As I surveyed the room, everything appeared the same yet hazy, my eyes struggling to adjust to the harsh brightness.

It felt like I had been here far too long, and then it hit me-I had blacked out after those brutal slaps from my boss.

Why does he have to be so aggressive?

I had endured my share of mistreatment from superiors before, but now I was at a loss for how to feel or react. It was as if I had crossed over to some limbo, waiting for judgment.

"If you don't get out of this room right now, I swear I'll end you!" he shouted, though I could see a flicker of concern mixed with his anger.

Maybe he's not as terrible as everyone claims. Perhaps I could plead for forgiveness for my mistake; I still didn't understand what had caused my lapse in focus.

"Sir... please, I'm begging you, don't be angry. It was an accident; I didn't see that mug. I promise I'll do better next time," I pleaded, slowly lowering myself to my knees.

Pain radiates through my body from the fall, and I glanced down to see a bruise forming on my knee.

"How long have you been working here?" he asked, turning back to his desk.

"Two years, sir," I replied, my throat tight with anxiety. I could sense where this was heading, and I wasn't ready for it.

"Two years is more than enough time to know that I don't offer second chances. You're fired! Go collect your pay from the manager and don't ever show your face here again, or I'll have you locked up!"

After leaving Mr. Alexander's office earlier, I received a call from the doctor informing me that my daughter's condition had deteriorated.

Although they had managed to stabilize her in the ICU, she urgently needed surgery due to liver failure, or I would lose her within weeks.

Without a second thought, I hurried back to the company, desperate to plead for a loan from Mr. Alexander.

I knew it was a risky move, especially since I had just been fired for my clumsiness, but my daughter's life was at stake.

I tried calling Mia to lend me some money even though I didn't want to bother her but she was in a bad mood, she just received a query in the bakery where she worked for late coming and we still had to put heads together to donate money for grandma's drugs like we do every month.

I didn't even know how to tell her Audrey was sick, she would not know how to handle it because she was even closer to Audrey than I was to her mother.

The security guards were looking at me like I had lost my senses with the way I was moving without direction, I entered different offices before I finally remembered

As I approached, the distressing scene before me made me turn away, shutting my eyes to let them finish their conversation.

I could hear Mrs. Perez sobbing, and I couldn't help but wonder what had transpired while I had walked in on them.

Once I felt it was safe, I let out a sigh of relief, realizing I had been holding my breath.

To my surprise, Mr. Alexander appeared completely unfazed, as if he hadn't just been engaged in a heated moment moments before.

I slowly opened my eyes and turned to face him. He was simply watching me, his expression blank. I lowered my head, bracing myself for his response.

"I thought I made it clear that I never want to see you here again. Why can't you people learn until it's too late?" he snapped, his jaw clenched.

"Sir, please, I need your help. I have no one else to turn to," I pleaded.

"You're rambling. Get out!"

"Sir... My daughter is sick and dying. The doctor said I need fifty thousand dollars for her surgery. I don't have that kind of money. She means everything to me, please help!" I exclaimed, recalling the heart-wrenching moment when she lay lifeless in my arms.

For a brief moment, his expression softened, confusion crossing his face as he looked at me before erupting into laughter.

"Are you serious? You have a child? You can't be older than eighteen!"

"No!" I shouted, desperation lacing my voice. "I'm twenty-four, sir... I have a four-year-old daughter. Please, she's suffering from a liver disease. The doctor said her liver is failing, and if I don't get the money soon, I'll lose her..."

"And why should I care? Why do you sound like I'm the one who got you into this situation?" he replied, his piercing blue eyes locking onto mine.

"Please, sir, I'm a single mother doing everything I can for my child. She's my only hope, and if I lose her, my entire world will collapse. I'm willing to do anything... Please, you have to help me! I can't lose her! I'll do whatever it takes!" I begged, my hands nervously rubbing together as I felt his gaze on me.

"Anything, you say?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, and I nodded fervently. "I want you to marry me. Be my wife for a year in exchange for your daughter's life."

His words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I stopped pleading, staring at him in disbelief. He wants me to do what?

"Sir? You're my boss, and I'm just a janitor fighting for my child's life. This doesn't seem like a good idea..." I stammered, my voice trembling under the weight of his proposal.

"It's not a real marriage; it's an arranged one for a year. I just need to get my parents off my back," he replied with a dismissive eye roll, and I swallowed hard.

"Why me, sir? There are other women out there-sophisticated ones who would jump at this chance. I don't think I could ever fit into the role you're asking me to play," I said, fear evident in my tone.

"Because you're not like the others. I need someone who can convince my parents that I've changed from my womanizing ways, that I'm not the irresponsible son they think I am," he explained.

Why is he sharing all of this with me? Is this some kind of joke? "Why do you care what your parents think, and..."

"You better keep quiet right now, or I'll make you! Seriously, what's with all the questions? Since you're so interested, let me explain: I need them to think I've changed so I can secure the Marriott enterprise and not let my half-brother take it from me. Look, I'm trying to help you out here. If you go along with this, you'll get five hundred million for your daughter's surgery and any other costs that come up. If not, you can walk away. Like you said, there are countless women who would jump at this once-in-a-lifetime chance."

I can hardly believe what he's proposing in exchange for marriage. Does he even realize the gravity of his offer? What if he decides to toss me aside at a moment's notice? Can I really put up with his womanizing ways and temper?

Mr. Alexander seemed to pick up on my uncertainty and added, "If you need time to think it over, you have forty-eight hours. After that, the offer is off the table."

I take a moment to consider the situation, weighing the benefits and drawbacks repeatedly before reaching a conclusion. My daughter's health is paramount, and this could be a fresh start for me, perhaps even a chance to relocate.

I bite my lip, gathering my thoughts before responding. "I accept the offer; I'll be your wife."