THE BILLIONAIRE'S LITTLE WIFE

The glass walls of Alexander Veyron’s office made Ava feel like a goldfish trapped in a bowl of steel and sky. Fifty floors above the city, everything below blurred into glittering lights, while everything inside pressed down on her — the smell of leather, the hum of silence, and Alexander Ava sat at the long mahogany table, the glossy surface reflecting the neat stack of papers in front of her. Twenty pages of terms and conditions. Fifty pages that would turn her into a contracted bride of Alexander Veyron on paper, at least. He sat at the head of the table, staring at her as if trying to reach into her soul and decipher her thoughts. The contract lay between me, thick as a brick of gold, its black ink daring me to touch the pen. “Read it again,” Alexander said. His voice was calm, smooth, and terrifying. Like velvet wrapped around a blade. I forced my eyes to the clauses I had already gone through. The contract stated that it was in favor of both parties. He needed a wife, and she wanted to sort out debts. Appearances with him in public were mandatory. She was not to speak about the contract to any other living soul. Public loyalty was expected. Personal discretion was non-negotiable. Her chest tightened. What was she about to go into? She was about to step into a whole new world. A world that she'd only ever dreamt of. “What happens if I don’t sign?” Her voice, slightly shaky, cracked on the last word... HOW IT ALL STARTED (Ava's POV) Ava Marcellus, first and only daughter of Mr and Mrs Marcellus, sister to Noah Marcellus, had a very simple and basic life. My parents weren't rich to begin with. We only had the basic necessities of life. Food, water, clothing, shelter and education. Mother was a matron at the community hospital and dad was a construction worker. We didn't have much, never demanded for things beyond our capacity. We were poor but comfortable and happy. Well... happy until we discovered mum had pneumonia and dad, well dad started using his pay from the site to drink and gamble away his sorrow. Mum obviously had to stop working and education for me and Noah was wavering. Lucky for me, graduation was a few weeks away and I could very well skip it but my brother was still in 7th grade. Good thing my brother was a genius and got a scholarship. So I took up a job in a cafe a few bus stops away and all my pay was to take care of feeding and saving up for my mom's drugs and treatments. My father always came home late, quit construction work to be a full time gambler. You'd think he'd bring his winnings home... no. He always came home empty handed. Not exactly empty handed...he always carried half an empty bottle of beer with him. Sometimes he came home and other times it'd take weeks before he'd return just to ask for a few bucks to do 'important things' as he called it. Though, he'd stop those visits about four years ago. Being a barista wasn’t glamorous. The clatter of trays, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the endless string of “Can I get extra foam with that?” were the soundtrack of my mornings. On that particular morning, I’d skipped breakfast to stretch out the little food we had left at home. Mom’s medication was due for refill, and Noah’s tuition bill was blinking red in my inbox like a bomb I couldn’t defuse. I told myself it was fine. I could handle it. I always had. But then Dad showed up. Marcus Marcellus, my father, the man who left us years ago, walked into the café with a desperate look and hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. He didn’t even try to hide the urgency in his expression. He just slipped into a corner booth, waved me over, and whispered words that sent my stomach dropping straight to the floor. “Ava… I need your help. I owe money.” Of course he did. That was the only language he ever seemed to know. “How much?” I asked, though I already dreaded the answer. He hesitated, rubbing his temples. “Enough that they’ll come after me. Enough that they’ll come after the family if I don’t fix it.” "What have you done dad?" I asked a voice with slightly shaky anger and fear waging a war inside me. He didn't answer, not for a while, nor could he look up at me... That night, after he left me with more fear than answers, I found myself sitting by Mom’s bedside. The pale glow of her nightlamp fell across her face, too fragile for someone who used to be my shield. Her breathing was shallow, her coughs worse. I didn't tell her about dads visit, or about his debts, or anything pertaining to my father. I couldn't tell her. I didn't want it to bother her. I made a silent promise to her at that moment: I would fix this. Somehow. Two days later, fate, or maybe cruelty, stepped in. A man in a tailored suit came into the café. He didn’t look like someone who ordered lattes, and he didn’t. He just asked for me. By name. “Ava Marcellus?” His tone was polite but firm, like the words weren’t really a question. I was confused as to how he knew my name. "Yes?". I answered with trepidation. He handed me a sleek black envelope. No explanation. No smile. Just him staring at me as if daring me to refuse the letter. When I opened it later, my hands trembled. Inside was a letter written with precision and finality. I, Mr. Alexander Veyron of Veyron Enterprises requests M.s Ava Marcellus presence. It gave a time, a place, and nothing else. No reason why the billionaire CEO of Veyron Enterprises would even know I existed. But something in my gut told me this had something to do with my father. I should’ve thrown it away. I should’ve run. Instead, two days later, I found myself walking into the tallest building in the city, standing in front of an office where the air itself smelled too expensive for me to breathe. And then, I was face to face with the most influential man in the city, Alexander Veyron. Sharp suit. Sharper eyes. Lean but muscular build. He exuded an aura of wealth and control. He stared at her from across the table for almost a full minute before speaking. "Sorry for the impromptu asking of you. I wouldn't have done so without being given permission from your father. As you know, I'm Alexander. Alexander Veyron, the CEO of this fine establishment." I chuckled nervously trying to ease the tension building in her. "Of course I know who you are. And...ummm... I'm here because of my father?"... ALEXANDER'S POV The Marcellus girl was never a plan. She was the daughter of a man who had made a career out of bad decisions. Marcus Marcellus gambled with money he didn’t have, shook hands with people he couldn’t afford to betray, and pretended debts disappeared if he drank hard enough. Men like him always come crawling. And when they do, they think they'll have it easy to escape but after failure to pay back they start using means of collateral to go free. Marcus was no exception...he immediately thought of his daughter. That was how her name first crossed my desk. Not in some fairy-tale twist of fate, not in some rom-com coincidence. No, it was a number on a debt sheet. Ava Marcellus. A liability by bloodline. But then I saw her. It was supposed to be a routine check. My security detail had trailed Marcus to a dingy café. Instead of confronting him, I watched from the car, curious how far the man had fallen. That’s when she appeared, red hair pulled back, apron dusted with coffee grounds, exhaustion in her eyes that didn’t dim the sharpness and radiance behind them. She was beautiful, yes, but not the kind of woman in my league. Not in the polished, rehearsed way of the women I was used to. She was unguarded. Raw. Real. And when her father leaned across the table, explaining his predicament to her knowing fully well she couldn't turn her father down no matter what, I saw it. The shift in her posture. The way her expression hardened, the frown on her face, her chin tilted up, her hands clenched on the tray. She hated him for putting her in that position. But she still listened. Still worried. Still carried weight that wasn’t hers to carry. That’s when I knew. She wasn’t just another name. She was leveraged. An opportunity for both me and her father. She wasn't used to his would so she most likely be easy to take advantage of. So I sent it to her. A letter, not a threat. I wanted to see what she would do when invited into my world. Most people straight up coward in fear. Most people try to negotiate out of it. Ava did neither. She showed up on time, in a simple white top and dark pants, probably the best set of clothes she owned and walked in surprisingly confident even though she was drowning. I remember the way her eyes widened and the way she swallowed when she walked into my office, at the view, at the wealth, and at me. No fear, but curiosity with a hint of defiance It amused me. So I laid the terms bare. I needed a wife, not a partner, not a lover, not a fairytale. A wife who could look good on my arm, silence my family’s constant pressure so I could acquire the rest of the inheritance, and to stabilize my reputation in the press. And in return, I would make her problems disappear. I had already had a thorough research on her and her family and gotten knowledge about her mother and her brother. I knew she wouldn't refuse. It was either agreeing to pay back her father's 10 million debt to me. She hesitated, of course. But hesitation doesn’t last long when the alternative is ruined. Watching her lift that pen, fighting every instinct screaming at her to run, was almost thrilling. The weight of her entire family was on her shoulder...