Traded To The Billionaire Heir

Chapter 2: The Weeding Day

I didn’t sleep, not even one minute.

Every time I shut my eyes, I saw his message again.

Prepare for your wedding tomorrow.

Tomorrow was here.

Morning light came through the hospital window, but it gave me no peace. I sat by my father’s bed holding his hand. His skin was cold, his breath was weak, and the machine beside him kept beeping, slow and steady, like a clock counting down something I couldn’t stop.

I tried to memorize everything — the sound of the room, his face. Because deep inside I was scared, scared that once I walked out that door nothing would ever be the same.

“Claire.” His voice was weak, but it cut through the silence.

I looked up fast. “Dad.”

He gave me a small smile, You didn’t sleep.

I forced one back, Neither did you.

His smile faded. Neither of us spoke, then he squeezed my hand.

I don’t want you to go.

Those words shattered something in my chest, my eyes filled with tears.

I don’t want to go either.

His lips trembled “If I could stop this…”

“Dad, please.” I held his hand tighter. “Don’t blame yourself.”

How can I not? His voice cracked, you’re paying for my mistakes.

Before I could answer the door opened, and my smile disappeared.

Mom walked in. Behind her came four strangers — two women with makeup boxes, a man pushing a rack of white dresses, and a tall bodyguard dressed in black.

I froze, my father froze too. The room suddenly felt too small to breathe in.

Mom looked straight at me “The Foster family is waiting.”

My stomach dropped. What?

“The wedding is today.”

Today, not next week, not next month, Today.

I stood up slowly, No.

The room went silent, Mom blinked “What did you say?”

I looked her in the eye — for the first time in my life, I didn’t look away.

I’m not going.

Shock crossed her face, then anger. What nonsense is this?

I’m not leaving Dad. He’s sick, he needs me.

He’ll survive.

“No, he won’t.” Tears filled my eyes. “He can’t even walk alone.”

That’s enough.

“No!” The word came out louder than I meant, years of holding everything in poured out of me. Every time something happens you expect me to give up my whole life, “I’m tired, Mom. I’m so tired.”

Even the makeup women looked away uncomfortably, Mom stared at me like she didn’t know who I was anymore. Then she laughed — a hollow, empty sound.

You think you have a choice?

That question ran through me like ice water.

The bodyguard stepped forward before I could answer, his face calm, like this was just another job.

“Miss Donovan. Mr. Foster asked us to bring you to the wedding.”

Bring, not invite. Bring — like I was cargo, not a person.

And if I say no?

Then we still bring you.

The walls closed in, they had already planned everything. Nobody cared what I wanted, nobody ever did.

I turned back to my father, the pain on his face nearly broke me.

“Claire.” His voice shook.

I moved close. The others were busy with the dresses, not watching us. Slowly, he reached under his blanket and pressed something into my palm — a small envelope.

“Dad?”

Don’t open it here.

What is it?

“Promise me.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Open it when you’re alone.”

I didn’t understand, but I nodded. “Okay.”

A weak smile touched his lips, then his eyes turned red “I love you.”

The tears I’d been holding back finally fell, I love you too.

Minutes later the dress was on. White, beautiful, perfect.

I hated it, It felt less like a gown and more like a prison stitched with lace.

The bodyguard opened the door, It’s time.

My chest caved in, I looked at my father one last time he looked so small on that bed. So weak, suddenly I didn’t want to leave — not for anything.

“Dad—”

His eyes filled with tears. “Go.”

That one word nearly killed me.

I can’t.

“You have to.” Tears rolled down his face, you have to be brave.

I could barely breathe, the room blurred. Every part of me wanted to run back and hold him but the bodyguard gently pulled me toward the door, step by step, until it closed behind me.

The last thing I saw was my father crying — and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t there to wipe his tears.

An hour later I sat alone in the back of a car, the city blurred past the window. My wedding dress spread around me like a cloud I wanted to escape from.

The envelope sat heavy in my hand, I opened it slowly. Inside was an old photo — my father, a younger Edward Foster, and a young boy.

My heart skipped. Ryan Foster?

I flipped the photo over, handwriting covered the back.

The Fosters are not who you think they are.

My whole body went numb. What did that mean?

The car stopped. “We’ve arrived.”

I stepped out — and froze.

This wasn’t the wedding I imagined. No crowd, no music, no celebration. Just a strange, thick silence, like this wasn’t a marriage but a business deal signed in secret.

A servant led me inside, my heart pounded with every step. Then the doors opened and I saw him.

Ryan Foster. Tall, powerful, dressed in black, his face as cold as the photo still in my hand.

Neither of us spoke, his eyes moved over me slowly — studying me, judging me. Then he stepped closer and stopped right in front of me, the room went completely silent. His jaw tightened, his eyes locked on mine.

Before this wedding begins, he said. There’s something you need to know.

My heart started racing.

“This marriage wasn’t my choice.”

Before I could respond, the doors flew open.

A woman’s voice cut through the hall, “Good. Then at least we’re finally being honest.”

Everyone turned, a beautiful woman walked in — elegant, confident, furious. She crossed the room straight to Ryan, as if she belonged there. Then she stopped in front of me, her eyes sweeping from my head to my feet, disgust written across her face.

“So,” she said, “this is the girl they brought to replace me?”