Married to the Cold Billionaire

Zara Blake pressed her forehead to the icy windowpane, watching the rain smear the city lights into a blurry watercolor. The hospital corridor buzzed behind her—nurses hurrying past, machines beeping rhythmically, and the faint smell of antiseptic clinging to everything. But all she could focus on was the heavy weight in her chest. She tightened her grip on the wrinkled medical report in her hand. Her mother’s condition was worsening, and they didn’t have much time left, either medically or financially. “Miss Blake?” Zara turned. Dr. Lemi wore the same gentle expression he always did, but tonight it felt sharper—like a knife cushioned in politeness. “We need to start the next round of treatment immediately if we’re going to have a real chance. I’ll be honest with you—it’s expensive, and delaying will reduce the chances drastically.” “How much?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. He hesitated. “Seven million naira for the first stage.” Zara felt her knees wobble, and she leaned on the windowsill to steady herself. Seven million. She didn’t even have seven thousand. “I’ll… I’ll find a way,” she said, more to herself than to him. After Dr. Lemi left, she walked back into her mother’s room. The woman who once filled their home with warmth and music now looked so small, so fragile beneath the hospital sheets. An oxygen mask gently rose and fell with each breath. Zara leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll fix this, Mum. I promise.” But how? She had no job. She’d dropped out of nursing school to care for her mother full time. Her late father had left behind more debt than dignity. The little money she made selling baked goods barely covered hospital meals, let alone chemotherapy. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Unknown number. She hesitated. Then answered. “Hello?” “Miss Zara Blake?” The voice was deep, calm, and assertive. “This is Elijah from Cole Enterprises. Mr. Damien Cole would like to meet with you tomorrow morning. It’s urgent.” Zara blinked. “Cole… Enterprises?” “Yes. 9 a.m. sharp. Cole Tower, 45th floor. Dress formally.” Click. She stared at the phone, stunned. What could a billionaire CEO possibly want with her? Zara stood at the base of Cole Tower the next morning, craning her neck to take in its intimidating height. The building was made of black glass and steel, as cold and perfect as the man rumored to own it. The receptionist barely looked at her before handing her a guest pass and pointing to the private elevator. By the time she reached the 45th floor, her palms were sweating. The office was sleek—glass walls, chrome furnishings, a panoramic view of the city. And at the center of it all sat Damien Cole, billionaire, CEO, and the subject of more tabloid stories than she could count. He didn’t rise when she entered. Just gestured toward the chair opposite him. “Miss Blake. Sit.” She obeyed, though her heart thudded painfully in her chest. “I’ll be direct,” he said, folding his hands. “I need a wife.” Zara stared. “I—I’m sorry, what?” “A wife,” he repeated, his tone businesslike. “By next month. My father’s will states that I must be married before I can assume full control of the company. If I don’t marry by the end of the fiscal quarter, the board will transfer voting rights to my cousin—a man I’d rather not hand power to.” “And… you want me to marry you?” she asked slowly. “You meet the criteria,” Damien replied. “Unattached. No criminal record. Smart. Desperate.” Her cheeks flamed. “Excuse me?” He didn’t blink. “Your mother is dying. You can’t afford her treatment. You dropped out of school, haven’t had a steady job in two years, and you’re drowning in hospital bills. You need money. I need a wife. It’s a contract, nothing more.” Zara stood, furious. “You had me investigated?” “Of course. I don’t make decisions blindly.” “That’s disgusting!” Damien finally stood as well, towering over her. His eyes were cold steel. “What’s more disgusting—me offering you a way out, or you turning it down and letting your mother die?” Zara flinched. He walked to the window. “We marry. You play the role in public. I’ll deposit twenty million naira into your account the day after we sign the contract. Another twenty after the divorce in one year. That’s more than enough for your mother’s treatment, and a fresh start.” Zara trembled. The logical part of her knew he was right—this was her only way out. But the emotional part screamed in protest. “I don’t love you,” she said softly. He turned to her, unreadable. “I don’t want your love. I want your presence, your silence, and your signature.” There was a long silence. Then he added, “Think it over. But not for too long. My deadline is in six days.” Zara stood outside the building, wind slicing across her face. Her mind swirled with conflict. Could she really marry a man like that? Cold, arrogant, heartless? Could she fake love for a whole year? But then she thought of her mother’s frail hands, of the nights spent crying in the hallway because she couldn’t afford even pain relief. Twenty million could fix everything. She called her best friend, Ijeoma, later that night. “Zara, I know it sounds crazy,” Ijeoma said, “but this might be your only shot. Just don’t fall for him. Men like Damien? They don’t do love.” “I won’t,” Zara whispered, more to herself than to Ijeoma. “This is just business.” Two days later, Zara returned to Cole Tower. Damien sat in the same chair, immaculately dressed, calm and cold. “I’ll do it,” she said, voice steady. “But I have my own conditions.” He raised an eyebrow. “I want my own room. I don’t want you interfering in my personal life outside public appearances. And if I find out you’ve lied to me about anything, the deal’s off.” Damien leaned back, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ll find I’m a man of my word, Miss Blake.” “Then I suppose we have a deal… Mr. Cole.” He extended his hand across the desk. She took it. And in that moment (sealed by a single, cold handshake) Zara Blake’s life changed forever.