The Billionaire's forgotten Bride

Amelia POV

The woman in the mirror looked nothing like the person I once dreamed of becoming. Dream? Did I just say dream? It was something I couldn't afford. I hardly recognized the woman before me, her-eyes swollen and rimmed red, hair tangled from restless nights, and a face that held no joy. I had become a shadow of myself, and today was no different. Today, I would take one more step down a path I never chose. I stared at the simple, ivory wedding gown that hung on my slender frame. It wasn't the gown of a bride anticipating her happiest day, but a cold symbol of my captivity. My hands trembled as I adjusted the veil. This wasn't how I imagined my wedding day-no laughter, no love, no one to hold my hand and tell me it would be okay. Just the suffocating silence and the crushing weight of duty. "Amelia!" My mother's sharp voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "Stop dawdling and get out here. You don't want to embarrass yourself more than you already do." I flinched at her words, as I always did, and hurried to the door. Margaret Hayes never missed an opportunity to remind me how little she thought of me. I opened the door to find her standing there, her critical eyes scanning me from head to toe. "You'll do," she said dismissively, before turning on her heel. "And don't you dare embarrass me in front of Maxwell's family?" I bit my tongue, swallowing the sharp words I longed to say. What would be the point? My mother had decided my fate, and there was no escaping it now. Lisa's voice echoed down the hall, sharp and full of mockery. "I still can't believe you're going through with this, Amelia. I mean, marrying him? What's the matter? No decent man could ever want you, so you settled for... well, that? It's understandable though!" Her friends erupted into laughter, their voices like nails scraping against my skin. I clenched my fists but said nothing. Lisa thrived on my silence. If I ignored her, maybe she would get bored and stop. But she didn't. "Just wait until you see him up close," Lisa sneered, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "You'll understand why they call him the 'Beast of Cole Industries.'" I forced myself to keep walking, head held high. Or at least as high as I could manage. If I let her see me falter, it would only fuel her cruelty. The church was packed. Rows of strangers turned to watch me as I entered, their eyes a mix of curiosity and maybe....pity. My legs felt like lead as I walked down the aisle, Margaret clutching my arm like a vise. And then I saw him. Maxwell Cole stood at the altar, his towering frame clad in a sharp black suit that seemed to emphasize his intimidating presence. His face was hard, the scar running down his left cheek only adding to his severity. His green eyes locked onto me with a piercing intensity that made my stomach churn. Lisa hadn't been lying. He was older-far older than I had imagined-and the limp in his stride was unmistakable as he shifted his weight. He looked every bit the ruthless billionaire the tabloids described, a man who consumed everything in his path. And now, he would consume me too. I wanted to run. My feet itched to turn around and bolt out of the church, but Margaret's iron grip on my arm kept me rooted. The whispers among the guests were deafening, though I couldn't make out the words. Were they pitying me? Laughing at me? Judging me? Did they know that I was nothing more than a pawn in my mother's schemes? The priest's voice broke through the haze. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of Maxwell Cole and Amelia Hayes..." My heart hammered in my chest as the ceremony began, each word blurring together into a meaningless hum. Maxwell's gaze never left me, his expression unreadable but intimidating. Did he hate this as much as I did? Or was he simply indifferent, like everyone else in my life? When the priest turned to him and said, "Maxwell Cole, do you take Amelia Hayes to be your lawfully wedded wife?" my breath caught. For a fleeting moment, I thought he might say no. That he might refuse this farce of a marriage and set me free. But instead, his deep, gravelly voice cut through the silence. "I do." It was my turn now. The priest's words swirled around me, but I couldn't focus. All I could see was Maxwell's scarred face, his cold eyes boring into mine. "Amelia Hayes, do you take Maxwell Cole to be your lawfully wedded husband?" I hesitated, my throat dry and tight. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to say no. To run. To fight. But what would be the point? Margaret would drag me back, and Maxwell... Maxwell would likely ensure I paid for the embarrassment. "I... I do," I whispered, the words barely audible. The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. Before I knew it, a ring was on my finger, and Maxwell's lips brushed against mine in a cold, perfunctory kiss. There was no tenderness, no warmth-just an icy detachment that made my skin crawl. As we left the church, I stole one last glance over my shoulder, hoping for some sign that this wasn't real. And just maybe, this once, I hoped that someone would come and save me. But the doors closed behind us, sealing my fate. The car ride to Maxwell's mansion was silent. I sat rigidly in my seat, staring out the window as the city blurred past. Maxwell didn't say a word, his presence was as overwhelming as it was silent. When we arrived, his mother, Rebecca, greeted us with a cold smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Welcome home, Amelia," she said, her tone laced with disdain. Home. The word felt like a cruel joke. This wasn't a home. It was a prison, and I was its newest inmate. As I stood in the grand foyer, the weight of my decision crashed down on me. I had traded one cruel family for another, and there was no escaping this time. Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. Not yet. Later that night, as I stood before the mirror in the guest room-my room-I traced the wedding ring on my finger, the cold metal biting into my skin. "How did it come to this?" I whispered to my reflection. But the woman staring back at me had no answers. Only fear, regret, and a flicker of something I hadn't felt in years. Hope.

Amelia POV

The knock on the door startled me awake. For a brief moment, I had forgotten where I was-forgotten the weight of the ring on my finger and the cold reality of my new life. But the moment was fleeting. The knock came again, louder this time, and I knew I couldn't ignore it. Dragging myself out of bed, I opened the door to find a maid standing there, her expression unreadable. "Mrs. Cole," she said, her voice soft but firm, "Mr. Cole has instructed me to have you pack your things and move into his room." The blood drained from my face. His room? The thought of sharing a space with Maxwell sent shivers down my spine. My mind raced back to the nickname Lisa had so gleefully thrown around-the Beast of Cole Industries. The fear coiled in my stomach like a living thing. What if he lost his temper? What if he decided to harm me? What if he decided I was no longer useful to me and killed me? Would anyone care if he did? Then it hit me, "Why would anyone care if I'm alive or not! I'm invincible to everyone around me". "Mrs. Cole?" the maid prompted, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. "I-yes, of course," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. The maid nodded and stepped aside, waiting for me to gather my things. My hands trembled as I packed, the oppressive silence of the mansion pressing down on me. I told myself that I could handle this. I had endured worse. This was nothing. But as I followed the maid down the long, winding corridors to Maxwell's room, my resolve wavered. When we finally arrived, the room was empty. "Where is Mr. Cole?" I asked, relief flooding me despite my trepidation. "Gone to work," the maid replied simply, her tone brisk. "He leaves very early. Mr. Cole does not joke about his work, not even when he's unwell." I nodded, a part of me grateful for his absence. Perhaps this would give me time to adjust-if such a thing was even possible. The maid excused herself, mentioning that she had to prepare breakfast for Rebecca. I watched her go, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease ever so slightly. But my reprieve was short-lived. Minutes later, another knock came at the door. This time, it was a different maid. "Mrs. Cole," she said, her tone more formal, "Mrs. Rebecca has requested your presence downstairs." My heart sank. Maxwell's mother. The memory of her cold greeting the night before was still fresh in my mind. Her icy demeanor, the way her eyes had scanned me like I was something she'd scraped off her shoe-it all came rushing back. I wanted to refuse, to hide away in this unfamiliar room and avoid her altogether. But I knew better. Rebecca Cole was not a woman to be kept waiting. I turned to the mirror, hastily adjusting my appearance. The makeup I'd stolen from Lisa sat on the dresser, and I quickly dabbed some on, hoping to hide the tired lines on my face. Maybe if I looked presentable, Rebecca would treat me with a shred of kindness. I said a quick prayer before leaving the room. When I entered the grand living room, Rebecca was already seated, her posture rigid and her expression severe. She turned to me, her piercing eyes scanning me from head to toe, just as she had the night before. "So," she said, her voice cold and sharp, "this is what my son has chosen. Or rather, what he has been forced into." Her words were like a slap to the face. "I-I'm sorry if I've done something to offend you," I managed to say, my voice shaking. Rebecca's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Offend me? No, my dear. You've done nothing but exist, and that's offense enough." I flinched, her words cutting deep as they reminded me of Margaret's cruel words. "You," she continued, her tone dripping with disdain, "are a dirty little pig playing dress-up. A gold digger who thought she could trap my son with her pathetic little schemes." "I didn't-" She raised a hand, silencing me. "Spare me the excuses. Do you think I don't know what women like you are after? You saw an opportunity and leaped at it, didn't you? Well, let me make one thing clear, Amelia. You may carry the Cole name now, but you will never be a Cole. You're unfit to be one!" I felt the tears prick at the corners of my eyes but refused to let them fall. Not in front of her. "Do you understand me? Rebecca pressed, her voice rising. "Yes," I whispered. "Yes, what?" "Yes, ma'am," I corrected, my voice trembling. Rebecca smirked, clearly satisfied with my submission. "Good. Now, I expect you to behave appropriately. No scandals, no mistakes, and no embarrassing this family more than you already have. Is that clear?" "Yes, ma'am." "Dismissed," she said with a wave of her hand as if I were nothing more than a servant. I turned to leave, my head spinning with shame and anger. Back in Maxwell's room, I sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the wedding ring on my finger. The cold metal felt like a shackle, binding me to a life I hadn't chosen. My mind replayed Rebecca's cruel words over and over. Dirty little pig. Gold digger. You will never be a Cole. I thought of my mother's voice, echoing Rebecca's venom with her cruel remarks over the years. It was as though I had traded one cruel master for another. But this seemed different. I was trapped here for the rest of my life. Tears streamed down my face, and this time, I didn't stop them. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to cry. Not for the life I'd lost, but for the one I had never been allowed to have. Later That Day, Rebecca summoned me again, this time to the dining room. The table was set with an extravagant spread, but the atmosphere was anything but welcoming. "Sit," she ordered as I entered. I obeyed, my nerves on edge. Rebecca sipped her tea, her eyes never leaving me. "Do you know how many women have thrown themselves at my son over the years?" she asked, her tone conversational but laced with malice. I shook my head, unsure if she expected an answer. "Hundreds," she said, setting her cup down with a sharp clink. "Beautiful, intelligent, accomplished women. And yet, here we are. With you." I swallowed hard, my throat tightening with every word. "You're a disappointment, Amelia. To this family and Maxwell. But don't worry," she said, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "I'll make sure you don't ruin everything we've built. You'll be kept in your place." Her words were a punch to the gut, but I forced myself to stay composed. "Yes, ma'am," I said quietly, my voice barely audible. Rebecca's smile widened, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. "Good," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Now, be a dear and fetch me more tea." As I stood to leave, my hands trembling with suppressed anger, I vowed to myself that I would endure. I had no choice. But I would find a way to survive this-no matter what it took.

Amelia POV

The night stretched on endlessly. The clock on the wall ticked louder with every passing second, and its glowing numbers-12:15 a.m.-mocked me with their stillness. Maxwell wasn't home. Again. It's been two days since we got married and I haven't seen him. I paced the room, the vastness of the mansion swallowing every sound except my restless footsteps. The staff moved about with mechanical efficiency, their faces betraying nothing. No one seemed worried about Maxwell's absence, almost as if his late-night disappearances were a routine. But for me, this wasn't normal. I hated how the unease coiled in my chest. I hated that I was waiting up for him, a man who had made it painfully clear that he wanted nothing to do with me. But most of all, I hated how my heart clenched at the thought of him out there, battling demons I didn't yet understand. I didn't know why I waited for him. I thought to myself, "Could it be out of duty, or maybe I just wanted to get to know the stranger I married a little". The creak of the front door cut through my thoughts like a knife. I froze, straining to listen. Footsteps. I stepped into the hallway, and there he was-Maxwell Cole. My enigmatic husband stood in the dim light, his suit rumpled, tie askew, and the faint scent of whiskey trailing him like a shadow. "You're awake." His voice was low, and rough, as his dark eyes flicked to mine for the briefest of moments. I hesitated, searching for something to say that wouldn't provoke him. "Do you want something to eat? Or... a shower, perhaps?" His lips curled into a bitter smirk. "Don't start playing the perfect wife now. We both know what this is." The sharpness of his tone stung, but I kept my expression neutral. "I was just-" "Don't," he snapped, cutting me off. "Don't think. Don't assume. And don't try to help. I don't need anything from you." Then he said in a mean tone, "It's not like you have any to offer me though!" His words landed like slaps, but what struck me most was the weariness beneath them. His shoulders sagged under an invisible weight, his steps unsteady as he moved past me. My eyes instinctively dropped to his leg-his limp was more pronounced tonight. Before I could stop myself, I reached out. "You're going to fall." He whirled around, his glare icy. "I'd rather fall than let you touch me," he spat, his voice laced with venom. The rejection pierced deeper than I cared to admit. He stood there for a moment as if daring me to speak again, before limping toward his room and slamming the door shut behind him. I returned to my room, tears burning in my eyes. My chest felt heavy, the weight of old memories pressing down-my mother's cruel words about my inadequacies, Lisa's mocking laughter ringing in my ears. Rebecca's cruel taunts and now Maxwell's scorn had simply added another layer to wounds I thought had long scarred over. But as much as I tried to push him from my mind, I couldn't. His limp, the bitterness in his eyes, the scar I'd glimpsed on our wedding day-it all lingered, begging to be understood. The next morning, I woke early, determined to maintain some sense of dignity. Knock softly. Be polite, Amelia. Don't intrude. That was my mantra as I rapped on Maxwell's door before stepping inside. What I saw stopped me cold. Maxwell stood by the window, shirtless, the morning light casting a golden glow over his sculpted frame. But it wasn't his physique that caught my attention-it was the long, jagged scar running down his back. Before I could stop myself, I gasped. He turned sharply, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a mix of anger and vulnerability. "What the hell are you doing?" "I-I'm sorry," I stammered, averting my gaze and stepping back. He crossed the room in three strides, his presence overwhelming. His hand gripped my arm, firm but not painful. "I don't need your pity. Do you hear me?" "I wasn't-" "Don't lie," he growled, his face inches from mine. "Stay out of my way, Amelia. This is the last warning I'll give you." I nodded, swallowing hard, and he released me. I fled the room, my heart pounding. But the image of his scar stayed with me, an unspoken story etched into his skin. I couldn't help but wonder about the history behind the scars on his back and left cheek. And also the limping. Later that afternoon, Maxwell returned from wherever he'd been, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he tossed a garment bag onto the bed. "Get dressed," he said curtly. I unzipped the bag to reveal an elegant black dress, the fabric cool and smooth beneath my fingers. It was stunning, far too extravagant for someone like me. "I don't think I'm the right-" "You'll do what I say," he interrupted, his tone sharp. "This is business, not pleasure. You're my wife, at least on paper, so you'll play the part." His words were clipped, but there was something in his eyes-a flicker of frustration, or perhaps regret? Two stylists arrived shortly after to do my hair and makeup. They worked silently, transforming me into someone I barely recognized. My reflection in the mirror was almost foreign-a woman with soft waves cascading down her shoulders, her face glowing with confidence I didn't feel. When Maxwell came to check on me, he didn't offer a compliment. Instead, his gaze swept over me briefly before he said, "Don't embarrass me tonight. Be on your best behavior". The event was lavish, the room buzzing with energy and the scent of wealth. I stayed close to Maxwell, acutely aware of every eye on us. His hand rested lightly on my lower back, guiding me through the crowd with practiced ease. "Smile," he whispered through clenched teeth. I tried, but the effort felt hollow. Then I saw her-Lisa. She was draped on her boyfriend's arm, her lips curling into a cruel smile as her eyes landed on me. "Well, well, if it isn't Amelia," Lisa drawled, her voice dripping with mockery. "Playing dress-up, are we?" I opened my mouth, ready to respond, but Maxwell beat me to it. "Lisa," he said coolly, his tone sharper than I'd ever heard. "If you have something to say to my wife, I suggest you think carefully before speaking." Lisa's smirk faltered and I could sense fear radiating from her. "I was just joking-" "Don't," Maxwell interrupted. "Not here. Not ever." His hand tightened on my waist, drawing me closer. Then, to my shock, he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was brief but deliberate, a message to everyone watching. As he pulled back, his voice softened just enough for me to hear. "Keep your head high, Amelia. You're my wife, and no one gets to disrespect you." The room spun around me as I tried to process his words and his actions. For the first time since our marriage, I wondered: was there more to Maxwell than the cold, unfeeling mask he wore? Or was this just another part of his game?