Bound by Fate: The French Billionaire's Contract Bride

Behind the glass at the registry office, the clerk stifled a laugh. "Madame Martin, you've spelled your husband's name wrong." Sophie Martin’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as the clerk slid the form back to her, the one they had just photocopied. It was supposed to have Antoine Lefevre’s name on it, but instead, she had scribbled Antoine Lefeur. The heat in the room didn’t help. Despite the office’s air conditioning, the temperature outside had climbed to thirty-six degrees, and the pressure of the moment made her palms sweat even more. "Oh, right, sorry about that," Sophie said, offering a weak laugh, hoping to mask the awkwardness. In reality, she wasn’t sure who she was apologizing to—maybe Antoine, maybe the amused clerk, or perhaps herself. Sophie had insisted on filling out the marriage form herself. After all, it was her marriage, wasn’t it? But staring at Antoine’s name, she had realized she’d never seen it written out. It was always spoken, whispered, but never on an official document. Antoine’s smooth voice drifted over from beside her, calm as ever. "It’s not a problem. I rarely use my full name, anyway." His tone was dry and measured, as if he were commenting on the weather. No embarrassment, no sign of irritation. Just like everything about him—calm, collected, and almost unnervingly cool. The clerk handed her a fresh form, and Sophie turned to glance at Antoine, who stood there looking at her with that same unreadable expression. "Maybe you should fill this one out?" she suggested with a half-smile, feeling the weight of the moment sinking in. "No rush, Sophie. Take your time," he replied, his voice as steady as the hum of the air conditioner. Sophie lowered her head and got to work, carefully writing his name this time, taking slow, deliberate strokes. Her father had always insisted on perfect penmanship, and it showed in her precise, neat handwriting. As her pen moved across the paper, memories flickered through her mind—her father, always so strict, but a different kind of strictness than Antoine. Her father had pushed her hard, molding her into someone strong. But now, he was gone, and everything fell on her young shoulders. She had barely enough time to process her thoughts before the paperwork was done. Photos, forms, and certificates were filed, and suddenly, they were ushered upstairs to finalize everything. For such a monumental event, the whole process took less than ten minutes. When they stepped outside, it hit Sophie how unbearably hot it was. The air outside the registry office felt like stepping into an oven, the sun beating down on her already flushed face. She wobbled slightly, her body still adjusting to the intensity of it all. Antoine didn’t touch her. He merely held his hand close, just in case she faltered. Silent, but there if needed. She was only twenty-two. Just barely of legal marriage age, and already here, committing herself to a man she barely knew, for reasons that had nothing to do with love. Her head spun as she thought of how quickly things had changed. Just yesterday, she had lied to her university about why she wouldn’t be attending classes. “Family emergency,” she had said. It wasn’t entirely untrue. Her father’s passing had left a gaping hole in her life. People at university still asked about him, still offered their condolences, especially the professors. One, in particular, had reminded her she could always come to him if she needed help. There were so many good people in the world, she thought. And Antoine—wasn’t he one of them? Antoine Lefevre was her salvation. Her father’s business had once been a success, a thriving bedding and linen supplier, with contracts to major hotels across France. But as quickly as success had come, it had evaporated, and with her father gone, so too were the prospects of keeping the company afloat. Sophie’s father had collapsed from a heart attack only a few months ago, and in the aftermath, distant relatives—people she had once called "uncles"—came knocking, hungry for shares of the family fortune. They pestered her about her father’s will, pressuring her for control over the company, a company she knew nothing about. Antoine had appeared then, like a knight in a tailored suit. He wasn’t interested in her father’s wealth; his empire dwarfed anything her family could offer. He’d come to see her father one last time in the hospital, but more than that, he’d come with an offer. Her father had agreed to it. He was lucid for the first time in days, and they had discussed it into the late hours, signing papers with lawyers present. The next morning, her father was gone. But the arrangement remained. Antoine would marry her, manage the family business in her name, and save what was left of her father’s legacy. For two years, until she finished her university studies, the company would be safe in Antoine’s hands. After that, they would go their separate ways. It was a simple deal. He would protect her from the circling vultures, she would keep the company from being picked apart, and in two years, everything would return to her control. For that, she was grateful. There was even a prenup. She wouldn’t touch a cent of his fortune, and he wouldn’t ask for any part of hers. It was business, nothing more. And yet, she couldn’t help but wonder why he’d offered. Why Antoine Lefevre, one of the most eligible bachelors in all of France, would bother with her. Maybe it was pity. Or perhaps he had liked her father enough to step in when no one else would. She didn’t dare ask him. The answers, if spoken, might be too painful to hear. The car pulled up outside a sleek modern apartment building, one that screamed wealth and luxury. Antoine stepped out first, offering his hand to her. "Is this...?" she started to ask, but stopped herself. "The apartment is for you, Sophie," Antoine replied, keying in a code at the door. "I figured it would be more convenient than a hotel." Sophie stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or cry. An apartment, all to herself. Antoine Lefevre didn’t do things halfway. Her hands shook as she pressed her thumb to the fingerprint scanner. Nothing happened. Again, the lock beeped, denying her access. She felt a pang of panic rising in her chest. "It’s okay," Antoine said, stepping closer. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief—who even carried those anymore?—and wiped her sweaty palm with a care that surprised her. "Try again." This time, her thumbprint unlocked the door with a soft click. Antoine stepped aside, letting her go in first. The cool, crisp air of the apartment washed over her. She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself, before hearing his voice behind her. "I bought it for you, Sophie."