The Billionaire’s Reluctant Bride

Business Dinner

The sound of clicking keyboards and rustling papers filled the open-plan office of Bright Horizon Publishing. It was a Monday morning, and Andrea sat at her neat little desk by the window, the one space in the entire building where sunlight managed to spill through the tall glass panes. The golden rays fell across the pile of manuscripts she was editing, highlighting the red pen marks that bled across the margins.

Andrea’s job was considered comfortable, enviable even. A prestigious publishing house in the city, one of the oldest and most respected. Yet, for Andrea, this desk was not her dream—it was a cage. Her parents had forced her here after marriage, insisting a position like this reflected dignity and reputation. They did not care whether she was passionate about books or whether she had skills that could blossom elsewhere.

Andrea’s true love—coding, IT, and the endless puzzles of machines—remained her secret, hidden in the corners of late nights when she dared to touch her laptop. But in the daylight hours, she was the dutiful daughter and wife, editing other people’s stories while hers lay unwritten.

“Did you hear?” a voice drifted across the room, breaking her focus.

Andrea stilled her pen.

It was Clara, one of the junior editors. She leaned against her desk, speaking in a voice that was meant to sound hushed but carried clearly across the office. “The billionaire, Leo Romano, was seen leaving a hotel with a famous model again last night. It’s already all over the gossip sites. Honestly, these men are the same—they can’t stay loyal for even a month.”

A wave of giggles rippled through the office. Andrea kept her eyes on the page, though the words blurred.

“Oh, him again?” another colleague, Marissa, joined in, sipping coffee. “That man is gorgeous, but every week it’s a new scandal. They call him the city’s coldest bachelor, don’t they? I heard he never brings women home. Imagine being his wife—if he ever has one. It’d be a living hell.”

The laughter grew louder, sharper, cutting through Andrea like knives.

A living hell.

Yes, she thought bitterly. They weren’t wrong.

The colleagues did not know, could not know, that Andrea was that wife. The unwanted, unloved bride they gossiped about every morning. She never told them her surname after marriage, never allowed her personal life to spill into the office. To them, she was Andrea, quiet editor, diligent and reserved. Nothing more.

“Do you think any woman would actually want to marry him?” Clara smirked, twirling a pen between her fingers. “I bet if he did marry, the poor woman would regret it every day. Being humiliated by his affairs, ignored in public… it’d be torture.”

A soft chuckle escaped Marissa. “Or maybe she married him for the money. Some women don’t mind being treated like trash as long as they get the luxury.”

Andrea’s fingers tightened around her pen until the tip snapped against the paper. Ink bled across the margin, staining the printed words. She quickly pressed her palm over it, hiding the evidence of her faltering composure.

They didn’t know. They couldn’t possibly imagine that the woman they mocked was sitting only a few desks away, her heart aching with every careless word.

Andrea lowered her eyes, pretending to read. But inside, her chest burned with memories she could never erase.

Their wedding night.

The echo of his voice, colder than the sharpest blade: “I won’t touch dirt. This marriage means nothing to me.”

She had cried in silence that night, pressing her face into the pillow of the bridal chamber while Leo left her alone. From then on, their lives had been divided—his room at the far end of the hallway, hers nearer the garden. Two strangers sharing the same roof, bound by a paper contract called marriage.

A living hell.

“Andrea,” a voice called, jerking her back to the present.

She blinked, realizing her manager was standing by her desk. “The manuscript for Mr. Tan’s new novel needs to be proofed by Thursday. Can you handle it?”

“Yes,” Andrea said softly, her voice calm, controlled. She forced a smile, pushing the sting of gossip into the depths of her heart.

When the manager walked away, Andrea drew in a deep breath and forced her pen to move again. One word at a time. One page at a time. That was how she survived here—by losing herself in the stories of others.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, its vibration rattling against the wooden desk. Andrea picked it up, frowning when she saw the caller ID.

Leo’s assistant.

Never Leo. Always the assistant.

With hesitant fingers, she pressed answer. “Hello?”

“Madam,” came the clipped, professional voice on the other end. “Mr. Romano requests your presence at a business dinner tonight. Seven sharp, Hotel Imperial, main hall. Formal attire.”

Andrea’s lips parted, but no words came for a moment. “Did he—did he say why?”

“He did not. Only that you are expected.”

The line went dead before she could respond.

Expected. Not invited. Not asked. Just… commanded.

Andrea lowered the phone slowly, her chest tightening. It had been months since Leo last required her presence anywhere. He never brought her to parties, never acknowledged her as his wife in public. And now suddenly, a business dinner?

Clara’s laughter rang out again from the far side of the room. “Another article about Leo Castellanos. Honestly, he’s shameless. But God, if only I could spend one night with him…”

Andrea pushed back her chair before she could hear any more. Gathering the manuscript and her bag, she excused herself from the office. Her steps were steady, but her insides trembled.

Outside, the city air was cool, brushing against her cheeks like a reminder that she was still alive. She closed her eyes briefly, recalling her brother’s last words before he left for abroad: “If you’re ever stuck, Andrea, call me. Don’t suffer alone.”

But she hadn’t called. She couldn’t. She didn’t want him to see her like this—humiliated, unloved, abandoned by the man she had cherished all her life.

By evening, Andrea stood before the mirror in her bedroom. The room that was hers alone, decorated simply with pastel curtains and a bed too large for a single occupant. She had chosen a gown of pale blue satin, modest yet elegant, with sleeves that shimmered faintly under the light. Her fingers lingered on the scarf she had knitted for Leo long ago—the one he had once thrown aside on his birthday with cruel words.

She wrapped it around her shoulders anyway, as if by wearing it she could carry a fragment of her sincerity, even if he would never see it.

The driver was already waiting downstairs. Andrea descended the marble staircase of the Romano mansion with the poise of a wife who belonged there, though her heart beat in panic.

As the car pulled away toward the hotel, Andrea gazed out the window at the glittering city. To others, she was lucky—married into wealth, clothed in luxury. But only she knew the truth. Every night in this mansion was a prison. Every day at work was a test of silence.

And tonight? Tonight she would once again stand beside the man she loved, the man who looked at her with nothing but hatred.

She whispered to herself, her voice barely audible against the hum of the engine: “One day, Leo… one day, I’ll melt your heart. No matter how long it takes.”

The city lights blurred outside her window, but Andrea’s determination burned brighter than them all.