MARRIED TO THE BILLIONAIRE WHO DESPISES ME

The wedding hall was silent. Not the gentle, reverent silence that usually accompanied sacred vows, but a thick, oppressive stillness that pressed against my chest and made it difficult to breathe. It was the kind of silence filled with unspoken questions, with judgment, with anticipation. Every guest seated in the lavish hall seemed frozen in place, as though they were all waiting for something to shatter. I stood at the altar, my hands trembling slightly as I held the bouquet of white roses that felt far too heavy for my grip. The gown I wore was beautiful. Ivory silk clung to my frame, delicate lace tracing my shoulders and arms, the long train pooling behind me like a lie I could not escape. This wedding was never meant to be mine. The man standing across from me made that painfully clear. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his presence commanding even in stillness. His dark suit was tailored to perfection, every sharp line emphasizing his power and control. His face was striking, almost unfairly handsome, but there was no warmth in him. His sharp black eyes were cold, distant, and when they settled on me, it was not with admiration or curiosity, but irritation. He looked at me like I was a mistake. Like an inconvenience he had been forced to tolerate. “Where is she?” he asked quietly. His voice did not rise. It did not shake. That calmness made it more dangerous. The priest beside us cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Mr. Blackwood, shall we—” “I asked a question,” the man interrupted smoothly, his gaze never leaving my face. “Where is Elena Carter?” My fingers tightened around the bouquet until the stems pressed painfully into my palms. Elena. My half-sister. The woman who was supposed to be standing here, glowing in white, smiling as she married one of the most powerful men in the city. She had disappeared three hours ago. And I—Lydia Carter, the unwanted daughter, the shadow that lived in her wake—had been pushed into her place. “She… couldn’t make it,” I whispered. The words felt thin, fragile, completely inadequate. His eyes darkened instantly. In two long strides, he closed the distance between us, his height and presence overwhelming. I had to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. He smelled of expensive cologne, something deep and masculine that made my senses reel. It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once. “Couldn’t,” he repeated slowly, his lips curling slightly in mockery. “Or wouldn’t?” A ripple of murmurs spread through the guests. I could feel their eyes burning into me, curiosity and scandal mixing freely. Cameras flashed from the corners of the hall, capturing every second of what was rapidly becoming a disaster. This wedding was not about love. It never had been. It was a business arrangement, a carefully constructed alliance meant to save crumbling companies and preserve powerful reputations. Two families bound together by necessity, not choice. And now, it was unraveling in front of everyone. “Do you know who I am?” he asked, lowering his voice so only I could hear. I nodded slowly. Everyone knew Adrian Blackwood. Billionaire CEO. Ruthless negotiator. A man whose influence could make or break empires with a single decision. “Good,” he said quietly. “Then you should know I don’t tolerate tricks.” “I’m not trying to trick you,” I said, though my voice betrayed me with its slight tremor. “Elena left. Our parents begged me to step in. If this wedding doesn’t happen, the deal collapses.” His gaze searched my face, sharp and calculating, as though weighing the truth of every word. The silence stretched unbearably long. “You expect me to marry a stranger?” he asked. “You were already marrying one,” I replied softly. That earned me a sharp, cutting look. The priest shifted again, visibly sweating. “Mr. Blackwood, Ms. Carter—should we proceed?” Adrian’s jaw tightened. For a moment, hope flickered dangerously in my chest. I thought he might walk away. Leave me standing alone, exposed, humiliated in front of the world. Then he turned back to the priest. “Proceed,” he said. The word echoed in my ears. My heart dropped. The vows passed in a blur. Words about love and devotion filled the air, hollow and meaningless. When he took my hand, his grip was firm, unyielding. Not comforting. Not gentle. Possessive. When he slid the ring onto my finger, it felt less like a promise and more like a chain locking into place. When it was time for the kiss, he leaned in just enough for the cameras. “Don’t misunderstand,” he murmured near my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “This marriage is a contract. You will live in my house, follow my rules, and stay out of my life.” His lips brushed my cheek. Brief. Cold. Performative. “And when this deal is over,” he continued quietly, “you will leave with nothing.” The applause erupted around us. People stood. Smiles bloomed. Congratulations filled the hall. Inside, I felt completely hollow. That night, I was taken to his mansion. The house was massive, all marble floors and towering glass walls, its size intimidating rather than welcoming. Every footstep echoed. Every corridor felt endless. It was beautiful, yes—but lifeless. More fortress than home. A maid guided me down a long hallway to a room at the far end. “This will be your room, Mrs. Blackwood,” she said politely. Before I could respond, Adrian’s voice cut through the air. “She won’t be staying in the master bedroom.” He walked in, loosening his tie, removing his jacket as though my presence was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “This is not a real marriage.” The maid bowed quickly and disappeared. “I don’t expect anything from you,” I said quietly, forcing the words past the tightness in my chest. “I’ll stay out of your way.” He laughed. It was short and humorless. “You already crossed my path the moment you stood at that altar,” he said, stepping closer. “Tell me, Lydia… how much did they pay you to replace her?” “They didn’t pay me,” I replied, lifting my chin. “I did it because I had no choice.” “No one ever does,” he said coldly. “Remember this—you are here because I allow it.” He turned toward the door, then paused. “One more thing,” he added without looking back. “Don’t fall in love with me. You won’t survive it.” The door closed behind him. I sank onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion finally catching up to me. My fingers brushed the ring on my hand, the diamond glinting mockingly in the soft light. I had married a billionaire. And he already hated me. Marrying him was only the beginning. Living with his hatred would be the real test.