MARRIED TO THE BILLIONAIRE I HATED

Chapter Two - Shackled by vows

Chapter Two – Shackled by Vows

The gold ring on my finger felt like a shackle—too tight, too cold, too heavy with meaning. It wasn’t just a symbol of marriage. It was a reminder of the price I had paid, the freedom I had traded, the version of myself I might never reclaim. It glinted mockingly under the chandelier light—the same golden light that had once made me feel beautiful and wanted. Now, it exposed the chains I had willingly walked into. Chains wrapped in lace and diamonds.

The grand ballroom was almost empty now. The music had stopped hours ago, leaving only silence in its wake. The guests had left, carrying their designer handbags, expensive perfumes, and polite smiles with them. The laughter and applause had faded like echoes from a distant dream. What remained was the smell of wilting roses and spilled champagne. Lipstick-stained flutes sat forgotten on white-clothed tables, like broken promises no one cared to clean up. A single rose petal drifted down from the arch behind me—red, soft, and mocking.

The fairy tale was over.

And in its place stood a harsh, unforgiving reality.

Zayden Cole.

He stood at the far end of the room like a dark echo of everything I had tried to escape—jacket off, tie loose, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. He didn’t look like a groom. He looked like a man who had just won a war. Calm. Confident. Dominating. His eyes burned with the same fire they held the night he made his terms clear—marry me, or watch your family drown in ruin.

Now, he had me right where he wanted. Under his name. In his house. Bound to him by law, wealth, and a damn wedding vow I never spoke willingly. Every vow I uttered today had tasted like ash on my tongue. And still, the world had cheered.

"You really thought you won, didn’t you?" His voice sliced through the silence like a whip—velvety on the surface, but cruel beneath.

I stiffened, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. The satin of my gown dug into my skin, suffocating, like it was sewn with thorns instead of silk. “I didn’t come here to win,” I said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “I came to expose you.”

He chuckled—low and dark. A sound that made my stomach twist. “Expose me?” he echoed, slowly taking a step forward. “Sweetheart, the only thing you exposed tonight was your own weakness.”

Another step. Then another. His polished shoes struck the marble floor with deliberate weight, like the sound of a ticking clock before a bomb explodes.

Until he was in front of me.

Too close.

Too powerful.

He smelled of danger—clean, expensive, and intoxicating. I hated that I noticed. Hated that it stirred a memory I had buried—the night he cornered me in my father’s study, laid out his cruel proposal, and left me no choice but to save my family name at the cost of my freedom. The feel of his breath against my cheek that night. The glint in his eyes that told me this man was not a savior. He was a conqueror.

“Well, congratulations,” he said, his voice low, taunting. “You didn’t just lose the game, Amira. You signed your soul to me—hand-delivered, gift-wrapped, and marked ‘property of Zayden Cole.’”

My breath hitched. I hated that he still affected me. That his nearness made my skin feel too tight and my chest feel too hollow. That his words pierced deeper than they should.

“You humiliated me in front of the world,” he continued, eyes narrowing. “And now… you’ll pay for it. Hugely.”

I looked up at him, refusing to flinch. “I already am,” I spat, the words laced with venom. “Look who I married.”

Something flickered in his eyes—darkness, rage, or maybe a twisted kind of amusement. He didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. He just stared, his silence more unnerving than any insult.

Then suddenly, his hand wrapped around my wrist.

Not hard.

Not painful.

But firm—firm enough to remind me exactly who held the leash now. His touch was cold and commanding, sending a jolt through my body. I hated that my skin responded at all. Goosebumps raced up my arm. A whisper of fear... or fury.

"You want to play war, sweetheart?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Fine. But don’t cry when you start losing."

He let go of me like I’d scorched him, and turned his back without another word. Every inch of his stride screamed control. Purpose. Finality. He walked away like I didn’t matter. Like he already owned me, and the fight was a formality.

I stood frozen, my body trembling though the room wasn’t cold. My heart pounded against my ribs like a warning drum. I wasn’t sure if it was anger or fear—or both—that made it so hard to breathe. The silence around me was deafening, the chandeliers humming like ghosts laughing from above.

The walls seemed to close in, painted in gold but lined with invisible bars. The chandelier above sparkled like a mockery of everything I had lost. My voice. My agency. My peace. I felt like I was being watched—by the ghosts of the woman I used to be.

My wedding day wasn’t the beginning of a love story. It wasn’t the fairytale my mother had once described while brushing my hair as a little girl. It wasn’t about white dresses, or happily ever afters, or kisses that made the world stop spinning.

No.

This was survival.

This was war dressed in roses and vows whispered through gritted teeth. And Zayden wasn’t a prince—he was a tyrant wrapped in Armani and vengeance.

I took a deep breath and wiped away a single tear before it could fall. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He might have the ring, the name, and the power.

But I still had one thing left.

Fire.

The kind that didn’t flicker in romance novels. The kind that burned through steel and whispered revenge into the night. The kind that made queens rise when empires tried to crush them.

I turned toward the hallway he disappeared into—the same one that led to the suite we were expected to share tonight. The corridor looked long and dark, lined with paintings of generations of Cole men who had likely ruled with the same arrogance. My heels clicked against the floor like gunshots—loud, deliberate.

A suite I had no intention of sleeping peacefully in.

I adjusted my gown, lifted my chin, and walked toward the darkness like a queen going to war.

Because war had been declared.

And I wasn’t planning to lose.