Sold To The Cruel Billionaire

His Cold Touch

One month. I had been Alexander King's wife for one month.

And in that month, he hadn't touched me once. Not even my hand.

But his words? His words hit me every single day.

"Breakfast is cold," he would say without looking up from his newspaper. "Are all sold brides this useless?"

I would bite my tongue and remake it. Again and again.

Tonight was different. Tonight, his grandfather was coming for dinner. The old man who wrote the will. The man who forced Alexander to marry.

"Don't embarrass me," Alexander warned me this morning. He threw a red silk dress on the bed. "Wear this. Look like a real wife. Not a scared mouse."

The dress was beautiful. And dangerous. Backless, with a slit up to my thigh. It screamed 'touch me'.

I wore it. Not for him. But for me. For war.

When his grandfather arrived, Alexander did something shocking. He put his arm around my waist. His hand was cold. Like ice.

"Grandfather," he said, his voice suddenly warm. "Meet my lovely wife, Amelia."

I almost choked. Lovely wife? Yesterday he called me a 'business investment'.

The old man smiled at me. His eyes were kind, not cruel like Alexander's. "My dear, you look beautiful. My grandson is a lucky man."

If only he knew. I was a slave, not a wife.

Dinner was torture. Alexander kept his hand on my thigh under the table. Not moving. Just... there. Claiming me. Marking me.

"So, Amelia," his grandfather said. "When will I hear the news of an heir? The King family needs a successor."

I felt Alexander's hand tighten on my thigh. A warning.

I smiled sweetly. "We're trying, Grandfather. Every night."

Alexander's fork clattered to his plate. He stared at me, shocked. I had just lied. To his face. In front of the only person he feared.

His eyes promised revenge. Later.

After his grandfather left, the mask came off. Alexander slammed the door to our bedroom.

"You think you're clever?" he growled, backing me against the wall. "Lying to my grandfather?"

His body was inches from mine. I could smell his expensive cologne. I could feel the heat from his chest. For the first time, he wasn't cold.

"You started it," I whispered. "Lovely wife? Since when?"

He grabbed my chin, just like on our wedding day. But this time, his thumb brushed my bottom lip. A soft, unexpected touch.

"Don't play games you can't win, little wife," he said. But his voice was hoarse. Not angry. Something else.

My heart was beating so fast. Why was he looking at me like that? Like he was hungry. Like he wanted to...

"I'm not playing," I said. "I want an heir too. Then I can leave this hell."

Something dark flashed in his eyes. He let go of me like I burned him.

"You want to leave?" he said, his voice ice again. "Fine. But first, you will do your duty as my wife. Tonight."

He walked into the bathroom and slammed the door. I heard the shower start.

I slid down the wall to the floor. My legs were shaking. What just happened?

He wanted me. I saw it in his eyes. The cruel billionaire wanted his sold bride.

But did I want him? God help me, a small, traitorous part of me did.

This was war. And I was losing.