Married off to the Gay Billionaire

Amelia’s POV I knew something was wrong the moment I walked into my father’s study. The curtains were still drawn even though it was almost noon, and the room smelled like stale coffee and worry. My father sat behind his desk with both hands covering his face. Papers were scattered everywhere. Bank statements, letters, documents with red stamps across the top. FINAL NOTICE. I stopped at the doorway. “Dad?” He slowly lowered his hands. I had never seen him look that old before. My father had always been the kind of man who made problems look small. Even when my mother died eight years ago, he had somehow managed to hold himself together for me. He went to work every morning, cooked terrible dinners every night, and pretended he wasn’t breaking apart whenever he thought I wasn’t looking. But the man sitting behind that desk wasn’t pretending anymore. “Sit down, Amelia.” My stomach tightened. Whenever someone told you to sit before giving you news, the news was never good. I moved toward the chair opposite his desk. “What happened?” He looked at the papers instead of me. “The company is in trouble.” I frowned. “What kind of trouble?” He didn’t answer immediately. “Dad.” He breathed out slowly. “The kind I can’t fix.” Something cold moved through my chest. Rose Manufacturing had existed before I was born. My grandfather started it with one small factory and twelve workers. My father turned it into a company employing hundreds of people. Growing up, that company had felt almost like another member of our family. “What do you mean you can’t fix it?” “We lost two major contracts earlier this year. I thought we could recover.” His voice sounded tired. “Then the bank refused to extend our credit line.” “How much do we owe?” His silence frightened me more than any number could have. “How much?” “Enough.” I leaned forward. “That isn’t an answer.” “Fourteen million.” For a moment, I genuinely thought I had misheard him. “Fourteen million dollars?” He nodded. My mouth went dry. “How did it get that bad?” “I borrowed against the company when things started falling apart. I thought the new contract would come through. It didn’t.” I stared at him. He looked ashamed. That hurt me more than the debt. “What happens now?” “The creditors have started proceedings.” “What does that mean?” “They can take the factories.” I swallowed. “And the house?” His eyes lifted to mine. That was my answer. I stood so quickly the chair scraped against the floor. “You put the house up too?” “I had no choice.” “There is always a choice.” “I was trying to save the company.” “And now we might lose everything!” “I know.” His voice broke slightly. That stopped me. I had never heard my father sound helpless before. I turned away, pressing both hands against my face. This couldn’t be happening. This house was where my mother had taught me how to bake. Where I had hidden behind the curtains as a child while my father pretended he couldn’t find me. Where every picture of my family still hung on the walls. I couldn’t imagine strangers walking through it. I couldn’t imagine hundreds of workers being told they no longer had jobs because my father’s company was gone. “There has to be someone who can invest,” I said. “There is.” I slowly turned around. Something about his expression made my stomach tighten again. “Who?” “Victor Wellington.” I stared at him. Of course I knew the name. Everyone did. The Wellingtons weren’t simply wealthy. They were the kind of wealthy that made newspapers care about where they ate dinner. Wellington Industries owned hotels, property developments, technology companies and enough real estate to make half the city jealous. Victor Wellington was the head of it all. Cold. Powerful. Untouchable. At least according to every article ever written about him. “He agreed to help?” My father looked away. “He offered to clear the debt.” Relief rushed through me so quickly that I almost laughed. “That’s good.” He said nothing. My relief disappeared. “What?” “There is a condition.” I stared at him. Of course there was. Men like Victor Wellington didn’t hand out fourteen million dollars because they had suddenly discovered kindness. “What condition?” My father rubbed his palms together. “Amelia…” “Just say it.” His eyes met mine. “He wants you to marry his son.” Silence. I blinked. Once. Twice. Then I laughed. It wasn’t because anything was funny. It was simply the only reaction my body could find. “You’re joking.” “I’m not.” My smile disappeared. “You’re seriously telling me that some billionaire wants to pay off your debts in exchange for me marrying his son?” “That isn’t how he said it.” “How else could he possibly say it?” “Amelia.” “No.” I stepped backward. “No. Absolutely not.” “Listen to me.” “There is nothing to listen to.” “Victor isn’t forcing you.” “Oh, how generous of him.” My voice was getting louder, but I didn’t care. “He is offering to save the company if I marry his son. What exactly do you call that?” My father stood. “I told him I would never force you.” “Then why are we having this conversation?” “Because you deserve to know every option.” I laughed bitterly. “Option?” He flinched. Immediately, I hated myself for it. But I was angry. Terrified. Confused. And beneath all of that, I felt betrayed. “You considered this.” “No.” “You did.” “I considered telling you.” “That’s not much better.” He walked around the desk. “Amelia, if the company closes, four hundred and thirty people lose their jobs.” I looked at him. The anger in me weakened. Four hundred and thirty. I knew some of those people. People who had worked for my father for twenty years. People with children. Mortgages. Families. “That isn’t fair,” I whispered. “I know.” “You can’t put that on me.” “I’m not trying to.” “But now I know.” He closed his eyes. And suddenly I understood why he had looked so broken when I entered. He wasn’t asking me to save him. He was asking me to make a decision he hated himself for even mentioning. I walked toward the window. “Who is the son?” “Theo Wellington.” I knew that name too. Everyone did. Theo Wellington was Victor’s younger son. He appeared occasionally in business magazines, usually standing beside his father in expensive suits with an expression that revealed absolutely nothing. Handsome. Rich. Private. Very private. There had been endless gossip about him. Theo Wellington never seemed to have girlfriends. At least none anyone knew about. Whenever reporters asked about his love life, he ignored them. Which, naturally, made the media even more obsessed. “Why does he need an arranged marriage?” I asked. “I don’t know.” “That doesn’t sound suspicious to you?” “It does.” I turned. “And Theo agreed to this?” “According to Victor.” That somehow made it worse. What kind of man agreed to marry a stranger to solve a business problem? I looked at the papers scattered across the desk. Fourteen million dollars. Four hundred and thirty jobs. Our home. My father. My life. All sitting on one side of a scale. And me on the other. “When do they want an answer?” My father’s face tightened. “They invited us to dinner tonight.” I almost refused immediately. Then I looked at him again. He seemed like he hadn’t slept in days. “I’ll go.” His eyes widened. “Amelia, going doesn’t mean you have to agree.” “I know.” “If you don’t want this, we’ll find another way.” I nodded. I wanted to believe him. But the stack of final notices on his desk told me another story. The Wellington estate looked like somewhere people visited on guided tours. Tall gates opened onto a long driveway surrounded by perfectly trimmed trees. The mansion itself was enormous, all glass, stone and warm lights. I suddenly became painfully aware of the fact that my dress had cost less than whatever chandelier hung above their entrance. A member of staff led my father and me into the dining room. Victor Wellington stood when we entered. He was exactly what I expected. Tall. Silver-haired. Controlled. “Miss Rose.” His smile was polite. Not warm. “Mr. Wellington.” Then I saw Theo. He stood beside his chair. For one stupid second, I forgot why I was there. Photographs didn’t do him justice. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Calm gray eyes. He wore a black shirt with the sleeves buttoned neatly at his wrists. He looked expensive without trying. And completely uninterested in me. “Theo,” Victor said. “This is Amelia.” Theo finally looked at me. “Nice to meet you.” His voice was smooth and quiet. “You too.” That was almost the longest conversation we had during dinner. Victor did most of the talking. My father tried to keep up. I pushed food around my plate while Theo answered questions with short, polite responses. He barely looked at me. Not once did he ask anything personal. Not once did he behave like a man meeting the woman he might marry. If anything, he looked like he wanted the evening to end as badly as I did. Which raised one very obvious question. Why had he agreed to this? Dinner finally ended two painfully long hours later. My father and Victor walked toward the front sitting room. I reached for my handbag. “Amelia.” I turned. Theo stood behind me. “Yes?” “Could I speak with you?” I hesitated. “Alone.” Something in his expression had changed. He wasn’t cold anymore. He looked nervous. That frightened me more. I followed him down a quiet hallway and into a study. Theo waited until I entered. Then he closed the door. The click of the lock sounded strangely loud. He turned toward me. For the first time all evening, he looked directly into my eyes. “Before you agree to marry me,” he said quietly, “there is something you deserve to know.”