The Billionaire's Reluctant Bride

The ballroom is massive,it is too large for me to truly understand it. A sea of polished marble stretches beneath my feet, the high ceilings is very far above, decorated in gold ornamental work. The chandeliers sparkle as the stars in the sky sparkle, and every corner of the room is bathed in a golden light.

Be that as it may, regardless of how lovely the space is or the way in which stunning the visitors are, I feel thoroughly like a gatecrasher who doesn't have a place there.All I taste is dread in me.

My heels against the marble floor as I'm strolling reverberations noisily in my ears, yet the clamor is immediately gulped by the mumble of discussion and the clunk of glasses.

I don’t belong here.

The dress is great—an intricate blend of satin and lace—lace that clings to my body in ways that make it feel unnatural. I never imagined I’d wear something like this. It’s beautiful, yes, but it feels like a mask, a costume, something I’m expected to wear to play a role that isn’t mine — just like a movie.

The weight of it presses down on my shoulders, heavier than I ever anticipated. But it’s not just the dress. It’s the life that comes with it—the life that’s been planned for me without my knowledge whether I wanted it or not.

I feel small in this room, small in this life. My father’s world of high society, of power and money, is foreign to me. It always has been.

I glance through the crowd, my eyes landing briefly on the people who fill this space and they are perfectly poised, effortlessly graceful, each one in their element. None of them are like me. I’m out of place.

But none of them matter, either.

I turn my head, seeking some eyes that are familiar in this sea of strangers. And then I see him.

At the far end of the room,my father stands there surrounded by his usual entourage,business partners, associates, people who live in the world he’s built. His back is straight, his posture is impeccable.

He’s shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries with a smile that never quite on his face. The perfect businessman. Always performing.

But when his gaze flickers toward me, there’s something I’ve seen countless times in it. A glint and a glimmer of expectation. What's more, it makes my stomach beats.

I've done my part however I don't feel like I'm in charge of anything any longer. I've gone through my whole time on earth attempting to satisfy my dad's unimaginable guidelines, continuously remaining in the shadow of my ideal more established sister, Veronica. And now,this marriage is one thing that was never my choice.

“Leila.”

I stiffen at the sound of his voice. My father’s tone is calm, cold as always.

“You’ve made it,my dear daughter,” he says, his eyes flicking over me in the same way he would assess any business deal. “Good. Keep your head up dear. You’re representing this family tonight.”

I nod, though the words pierce me like a pin. “I know.”

“You should be proud of yourself darling,” he adds, though I can hear the strain in his voice, as if he’s convincing himself more than me. “This marriage– you are doing— will ensure our future.”

Our future. The words make my stomach twist.

“Is it everything you expected?” he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assesses me again and again, the smile on his face just a little too perfect.

I force a fake smile, but it feels brittle. “It’s... fine.”

He looks at me as if he’s waiting for something more, but the silence stretches between us, very thick and suffocating. Finally, he speaks again and his voice is now softer, but there’s an edge to it I don’t miss.

“I didn’t have the luxury of choice when I was your age, Leila. You should comprehend that. This is your duty. This marriage will secure your place.”

“Understood,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.

I turn away before he can say more words. I can feel his eyes boring into my back as I walk away, but I don’t dare look back at him.

As I walk through the crowd, I spot Veronica across the room. She’s talking with some man I don’t recognize, but her posture is perfect and her smile radiant, as always. She’s everything I could never be. Confident. Successful. Accomplished. She fits here. I never will.

I calm my nerves and take a deep breath.

"Leila."

The voice stops me.

I turn slowly, almost feel extreme reluctance to look at anyone, and there he is. Alexander Hawke. The man I’m about to marry. The billionaire. The stranger.

He’s taller than I expected, his presence is commanding. Even in a room full of great and powerful people, he stands out.

His dark hair is neatly combed, and his sharp suit fits like it was tailored for him.

He looks at me assessing me with his gaze, and I can’t help but feel like I’m being weighed and measured.

"Mr. Hawke," I manage, my voice feels small in comparison to his own voice.

“Leila,” he says in a low voice, smooth and almost too calm. “I trust you're enjoying the evening?”

I force a fake smile, but it feels like it’s held together with strings. “It’s... fine.”

He nods, but doesn’t smile back. “Good. The arrangements have been made. Everything is in place. Your father is now satisfied.”

The words sting. “I’m glad to know.”

He seems to study me for a moment, his dark eyes flicking over my face with an intensity. “I hope you understand the gravity of what this marriage means.”

I try to ignore the fear in me, but it’s impossible. "I do."

"You’re not just marrying me, Leila. You’re becoming part of something far bigger than you’ve been prepared for. Your family’s future depends on this." Hope you understand?

There it is. The truth. I’ve been nothing more than a pawn all along. My stomach twists again, but I keep my face neutral. "I understand," I repeat.

"Good," he says, "I’m not one for pretense, Leila. You know why this arrangement exists. You know why we’re here tonight.”

I nod, unable to speak the words aloud. Yes, I know. This isn’t about love. This is about survival. About saving my family from the mess my father has made of their finances.

I see the irregular move of something in Alexander’s eyes—something I can’t quite place. But before I can ponder it further, he turns, his hand gesturing toward the crowd.

“Shall we mingle?” he asks.But it’s not just a question, rather; it’s an order.

I nod and step beside him, the silence continues to hover between us,filled with unspoken things.

As we make our way through the crowd, the tension between us grows and thickens like smoke. Alexander doesn’t speak again, but his presence looms over me, the weight of his status, his power, undeniable.

Finally, we stop near a window where the city lights of New York are stretching out in front of us. He looks out over the skyline, his posture rigid, his gaze faraway.

“What do you want from me, Leila?” he asks, I looked up at him surprisingly with the question he asks.

He turns to face me, and for the first time, I see something more than just business in him.

I try to calm my nerves,but my heart still pounds in my chest. “I... I want to understand. I want to know what this is. What you expect from me.”

His lips tighten slightly, looking at me, but he doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watches me with an intensity that makes me feel more exposed and vulnerable.

And then, just as I think he might speak, just as I think I might finally understand what he wants from me, the door to the ballroom swings open and a sharp, harsh voice cuts through the air, the last thing I ever expected to hear tonight.

"Leila, you’re needed."

I freeze.

It’s my father.