To Be A Billionaire's Wife

I've always known myself. When I want something, I chase it. But if I don’t, I let it slip through my fingers without a second thought. I’ve always dreamed of walking down the aisle in a long, flowing satin gown. That image—me, radiant in white—has played in my mind more times than I can count. I imagined a wedding steeped in luxury, grandeur, and elegance. A celebration not just for me, but for the man I love with all my heart—my soon-to-be husband. But then... everything took a wild, unexpected turn. "Kae, don’t screw this up with Mr. Blackbourne," my father warned, his voice tight with urgency. Fine. This is for them—for making my family proud. For clearing the mountain of debts crushing us. And this... this isn’t what I want. Not even close. But I can’t let it slip away, not like the other things I’ve walked from so easily. Maybe this time, my principles have to bend. Maybe my beliefs don’t get a say. “Okay, Dad…” I murmured, the words barely audible. There was no choice—not really. No way to change what had already been decided. “Good.” He squeezed my hand, then gently led me forward. Step by step, we walked toward the altar… where my soon-to-be husband waited. Mr. Blackbourne. Famous. Powerful. Wealthy beyond imagination. And a complete stranger to me. I had never seen him in person. For all I knew, he could be an old, cold, or heartless. Maybe all three. But none of that mattered—not when my family’s future was hanging in the balance. We were drowning in debt to him. Our business teetered on the edge of collapse. And Mr. Blackbourne? he wanted my hand in marriage, in exchange for saving everything we owned. I walked down the aisle, numb to everything around me. My hands were cold, but I didn’t bother to warm them. What choice did I have? My father, blinded by greed, had only one goal in mind: to hand over his daughter to a man I barely knew. Viviene, my older sister, sitting near the altar with my mom in a soft pink maid of honor gown. She looked beautiful, poised as always, her dark curls pinned with precision. She watched me with an unreadable expression. It should’ve been her. She was ready, even eager. But Mr. Blackbourne—arrogant and more unreadable than my sister—had rejected her outright. He didn’t want someone like her. He wanted me instead. I didn’t understand it. I’d always been told I wasn’t like Viviene. That she was better. Brighter. So why had he chosen me instead? The music played softly in the background, the kind that’s supposed to make a moment feel magical and romantic. But to me, it was just noise. I felt nothing—no butterflies, no spark. Just the empty sound of my own footsteps echoing in my chest. God knows, this isn’t how I wanted to get married. Not like this. Not to a stranger I didn’t even choose. But I had to pull myself together. Maybe this was just fate—cruel, unfair, unavoidable fate. Maybe I was just really meant to marry someone... old, or cold, or ruthless. Or ugly. Or all of the above. And for a moment I thought I was just being dramatic. It couldn’t be that bad, right? He must be better than what I imagined. But...I was wrong, so wrong. Standing at the altar was a man. Not old, not fat—but far from what I’d ever dreamed of. His oddly long hair at the back, tied up like Maui from Moana. Black tattoos twisted around his arms like vines, and a silver piercing gleamed on his nose. He wore a pale pink suit that clashed terribly with his rugged appearance. He looked... eerily strange. He had to be Mr. Blackbourne. “Dad...” I whispered, barely audible. He's scary! But my father said nothing. He just held my arm firmly, guiding me forward like a man delivering a package, not a daughter. His eyes were fixed ahead, emotionless. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t need to. He had already made his choice. And to think that I didn’t even know what kind of person this man was. He could be cruel or kind, selfish or silent, or worse a criminal or a syndicate. And I had to marry him. For the sake of our family. For the business to be specific. I wanted to cry. But the tears wouldn’t come out. Maybe, I just have to accept my destiny that we wouldn't always get what we want. We were getting closer to the altar. Step by step. And all I wanted now was to turn around and run. I wanted to hide. The man standing there—Mr. Blackbourne—was built like a professional wrestler. Towering. Intimidating. Muscles straining against the sleeves of his pale pink suit. I couldn’t imagine being held by him, let alone being his wife. I could already feel myself shrinking beside him. I felt... pathetic. So I kept my eyes down, refusing to meet his gaze. Instead, I stared at the polished tiles beneath my feet, their glossy surface blurring with every step. “Mr. Blackbourne, please take good care of my daughter...” my father said, his voice firm and determined. “I surely will, Mr. Storm.” A deep, cold voice replied, each word cutting through the silence like a blade. It sent a chill crawling up my spine—even though I still hadn’t looked at him. Then, suddenly, a warm hand closed gently around mine. Maui-haired giant in pink is now holding me. Should I run? Should I turn this wedding down? I just remained froze. Then, slowly, I lifted my gaze—hesitant, bracing myself for whatever I was about to face. But the moment my eyes met his, the world tilted. Shock slammed into me like a wave. He’s not that man. He’s not the one who looked like Maui. I was marrying the man behind that modern-day Maui mask—and he was nothing like him. My breath caught. My fingers trembled in his grip. For a split second, it felt like I was seeing a ghost. Because he looked exactly like him. No… no, it couldn’t be. “M-Mikhael...” I whispered, the name slipped from my lips before I could stop it. His expression darkened instantly. His brows pulled together in a scowl, and his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking beneath his skin. He was painfully, almost unfairly, handsome—chiselled features sharp enough to cut, his cheekbones high and defined, lips set in a hard line. His hair, golden blond, swept back in careless waves. And his eyes—icy, clear blue—were staring right through me, like frost carving into glass. “Who the f**k is that?” he snapped, voice like gravel soaked in steel. I flinched. Okay. This was definitely not Mikhael. Mikhael wasn’t blond. Mikhael didn’t carry this much heat—this much rage—in his eyes. And he sure as hell never looked at me like I was something he needed to break before he could understand. This man was more mature in looks. Sharper. Like something carved out of danger and wrapped in expensive silk. “I—I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I mistook you for someone else…” He paused, eyes narrowing. Then he leaned in slightly, his grip still firm on my hand. His jaw clenched again, tighter this time—so tense I swore I could hear his teeth grind. “My name is Malrik Blackbourne,” he said slowly, each word deliberate and biting. “And don’t mention another man’s name at our wedding, Kae. It’s disrespectful—to your soon-to-be husband.” The word hit like a slap. Husband? And okay! He wasn’t Mikhael. He was Malrik Blackbourne. And I had just made a terrifying mistake.