The Billionaire's Condition

Chapter 2- The Wedding

The priest cleared his throat, drawing May's attention back to the present, though her mind refused to fully return, drifting somewhere between the past and the life she was about to leave behind, a life filled with memories of laughter, of struggle, of her parents’ love, and yet overshadowed by their deaths and the burden of a family now teetering on the edge of ruin, and she could hear the priest’s words again, breaking through the fog of her thoughts, "Do you, May Marshall, take Lorenzo Jean to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

May’s mind wandered, replaying the echoes of her father’s voice, firm yet gentle, “Sacrifices are made for the people we love,” and the memory struck her heart like a sharpened blade, the way he had always protected her and Jeremy, the way he had dreamed for them a future of stability and respect, and now she was being asked to take the ultimate step, to bind herself to a man she had never met, a man whose name alone sent whispers of fear and awe through the world of high finance and ruthless deals, a man rumored to be more cold-blooded than anyone she had ever known, and yet here she was, standing in a cathedral, the stained glass sunlight casting fractured colors over her face, her mind racing with doubt, fear, and a determination she did not know she possessed.

The priest repeated the question, slow and deliberate, forcing her back into the reality of the moment, "Do you, May Marshall, take Lorenzo Jean to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

She blinked rapidly, forcing herself to remember the reason she was doing this, the reason that had pushed her past every instinct screaming at her to run, to flee from this life she had never chosen for herself, and she looked at her brother Jeremy, whose hands were clenched tightly at his sides, his jaw tight, the tension radiating off him like heat from a furnace, and he gave her the faintest nod, a silent command to do what had to be done, to honor the family they had lost, to save the legacy of their parents from drowning in debt and scandal.

Her eyes shifted to Lorenzo Jean, standing tall and composed, his dark eyes fixed somewhere beyond the crowd as if he did not notice the hundreds of people staring at them, the photographers snapping flashes that felt like bullets, the whispers of guests buzzing like insects, the air thick with perfume and nerves, and she felt an unexpected pang of fear at the sight of him, a man of such power and control, whose very presence seemed to dominate the room, and yet she swallowed hard, drawing in a shaky breath, forcing herself to speak the words that would forever change her life, "Yes, I take Lorenzo Jean to be my lawfully wedded husband," and the words felt foreign on her tongue, heavy with obligation and the weight of sacrifice, a vow made not for love, but for duty, and yet she said them anyway, because family came first, because Jeremy’s future and her parents’ memory demanded it, because she would bear this burden if it meant keeping her brother from ruin.

The priest’s gaze moved to Lorenzo, his expression unreadable, and he asked with solemn gravity, "Do you, Lorenzo Jean, take May Marshall to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"Yes, I take May Marshall to be my lawfully wedded wife," he replied, his voice smooth and commanding, calm in a way that sent a shiver down May’s spine, the kind of voice that made her feel small and exposed, yet somehow strangely alive, though she did not know why, though she did not dare to feel any warmth toward him, though every instinct screamed at her to brace herself for the cold reality that awaited.

May’s eyes lingered on his face, trying to memorize every detail, the strong jaw, the dark eyes that seemed to pierce through her, the controlled way he held himself, the subtle curl of his lips as if he knew more than anyone else in the room, the way his presence alone commanded attention without effort, and she realized she was meeting him for the first time, hearing his voice for the first time, and it was already altering the course of her life in ways she could not yet comprehend, and she tried to shut out the swirl of fear and anticipation building in her chest, tried to remind herself that she was doing this for her family, for Jeremy, for the memory of her parents, and not for him.

She closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself a moment of imagined solitude, imagining herself walking through the quiet streets of New Orleans alone, far from the stifling cathedral, far from the eyes of society, far from the man she was now bound to, and when she opened them, she felt the full weight of reality settle on her shoulders, the enormity of the life she was about to begin, the uncertainty, the fear, the silent promise that she would endure anything for the sake of family, and perhaps, in time, she would find her place in this new world, though she doubted it would ever be easy, though she doubted if she would ever truly be free.

The ceremony concluded with the exchange of rings, small golden circles that glinted in the sunlight streaming through the stained glass, symbols of a bond forged not from love but from necessity, and the priest pronounced them husband and wife, and the room erupted in applause, a cacophony of congratulations and camera flashes, and May felt herself being pulled into the crowd, a sea of smiling faces and whispered admiration, yet her mind remained focused on the life that awaited her, the mansion, the business dealings, the cold man she had just married, the long nights ahead filled with obligations and hidden tensions, and she felt her pulse quicken with a mixture of dread and determination.

After the ceremony, she stepped lightly into the sleek black limousine waiting outside, the driver bowing slightly as he closed the door, shielding her from the glare of cameras and the flashbulbs that assaulted the senses like lightning, and she settled into the leather seat, trying to calm the racing of her heart, the tremor of her hands, and the unfamiliar weight of a ring on her finger that felt heavier than gold should ever be.

Lorenzo Jean slid into the seat beside her, the scent of expensive cologne filling the confined space, and without ceremony, he produced a pack of cigarettes, offering one to her with a smirk that did not reach his eyes, "What a pity, you are really missing out," he said smoothly, lighting one himself and inhaling deeply, the smoke curling like a serpent around his face, and May recoiled slightly, the acrid scent invading her senses, and she murmured nervously, "I don't smoke," her voice small, wary, yet firm.

He did not seem to care, his focus entirely on the cigarette burning between his fingers, the glow of the tip casting shadows over his chiseled features, and May felt an inexplicable tension tighten in her chest, a mixture of defiance and fear, and yet she could not tear her gaze away from him, the man whose name alone carried whispers of power and ruthlessness, the man she was now bound to for life, at least in the eyes of the law.

Her mind, however, refused to rest, spinning with a question she could not hold back, a question that had haunted her since the first conversation between Jeremy and Lorenzo, a question burning with curiosity, anger, and a need for understanding, and she finally asked, "Why was your condition to help my brother, to save him from prison, to save us from financial ruin, to marry me when I have never seen you before?" and her eyes met his for the first time directly, searching for an answer, searching for the humanity behind the legend, searching for the man who had so casually altered the course of her life with a single demand, and she braced herself for his response, for the truth behind the rumors, for the first glimpse of the man she would now call her husband, even if only by law.