The Billionaire’s Cinderella Wife

SOFIA POV I’ve always known my fate as a Ross. One day, I would marry a man thrice my age, with a huge potbelly, kept in his house while I cook and take care of him till he withers away. And as someone who doesn’t believe in love? I don’t mind. But I just thought I had five more years, until my mother walked into my room. My father believed it’s a good thing to do for his children. He did the same with my elder sister, Chloe, four years ago. I love my father. I really do, but he makes shitty decisions when it comes to our love lives. I just want to be single forever. Because seriously? What’s the point of having a man in a Ross daughter’s life? All they do is keep you, hold your freedom in their hands, and eventually turn you into a breeding factory. It’s common in our world. Even my parents aren’t exactly a shining example of marriage. It doesn’t take a genius to know those two aren’t in love. “Your father has found the perfect husband for you, Sofia,” my mother said calmly, holding my hands with a look that could pass as pity no matter how much she tried to hide it. “I just turned twenty, Mother, and he couldn’t wait a bit?” I blurted out. “Last time I checked, I haven’t even slept with a man, the last guy who tried to kiss me, Dad broke his hand, and now you think it’s okay to get married to a man who’s probably going to turn me into a s*x doll?” My mother gasped, but internally, I rolled my eyes at her shock. Deep down, I knew it was time. My elder sister got married when she turned twenty as well—to a man thrice her age at that. “Come on, Sofia. You know it’s the Ross tradition to secure a standard man in society. We have a name and we have to live up to it, hence why your father thinks this man is the perfect match for you.” Of course. It’s always about the Ross family name. As much as I love my dad, his obsession with validation from society is ridiculous. I can’t get married. Just thinking about it was making my head throb. I have a lot of dreams and things I want to try. But now, I’m getting married. What if he hits me? Worse—what if he doesn’t buy me designer clothes like my father does? The thought of being caged made me want to run. But running was pointless. It’s my fate. “Is he a good man?” I asked, swallowing the lump in my throat. Mum let go of my hand, her fingers settling on my hair, tucking a strand of my blonde hair to the back. “Yes, darling. Your father said your husband will take care of you. He also said he’s very rich.” The word husband made me wince. It was getting more ridiculous thinking about it. He better be nice, or else he’s gonna have a lot to work with. “Hope he doesn’t have a potbelly? Is he old? Please, I don’t want him to be old—Chloe’s husband can barely walk.” My mum let out a soft laugh. A laugh that sounded so rich and polished. Everything about dear mother oozed high-society elegance. She’s everything a woman could be. And she’s such a dutiful wife. I can’t be dutiful. “He doesn’t have a potbelly, and I’m not entirely sure about his age.” Okay. That was confusing. “Who’s the man?” I asked, my brow furrowing. At least it’s only fair I know who I’m getting married to. My mum went quiet. Her fingers smoothed an invisible crease on my bedsheet before she finally looked up. "Mum?" I pressed. She forced a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Actually... your father thinks it's best if you don't know until the wedding day." She looked away the moment the words left her mouth. My nose flared in anger, and I stood up from my bed abruptly. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “Language, Sofia!” she warned. Oh, please. “Why can’t I know who my husband is till the wedding day? Does that mean I can’t even know him before then? Go out on a date with him? I’m just supposed to appear on the wedding day?” I bit out harshly, barely able to keep my cool. “Like I said, Sofia, your father thinks it’s best to wait till your wedding day, but trust me, he’s a good man and he’s the perfect fit for you.” He’s a good man. He’s the perfect fit. “Is he that perfect you couldn’t give me a name? At least let me prepare myself.” Maybe she’s lying and the man is actually a troll. A fat, ugly troll. Something about this whole marriage feels so off. My father promised me he wouldn’t marry me off till I was twenty-five, but all of a sudden I’m getting married now with barely any heads-up. What could my father possibly be up to? “Stop being a brat, Sofia, you know how this works,” my mum said in annoyance. “Instead of spending time making inquiries about who he is, how about you spend time with Nana and learn a thing or two about satisfying your husband? We don’t have time.” I palmed my face. I couldn't believe my mother was being so unreasonable. Maybe I should just talk to Dad; he loves me and gives me everything I want. Defeated, I asked, “When is the wedding?” She didn’t respond immediately. The silence that fell between us was deafening, choking the hell out of me. Something told me whatever she was about to say, I wouldn’t like it. “In two days.” My stomach dropped straight to the floor.