The Billionaire’s Cursed Bride

Maya’s POV The rain hadn’t stopped in three days. It slammed against the windows of our Manhattan townhouse like a relentless warning, drowning the city in gray. I sat in the sitting room, my hands folded too tightly in my lap, listening to the storm and the faint, uneven sound of my father’s breathing. The silence between us was heavier than the weather. I used to think of my father as indestructible. Richard Sterling had built Sterling Designs with nothing but stubborn grit and vision, turning it into a luxury empire. People whispered about his artistry with wood, his eye for elegance. He was larger than life when I was a little girl. But tonight, hunched in the armchair by the fire, he looked like a man who had been carved down to his bones. His once-strong hands shook as he pressed a handkerchief to his mouth. When he drew it away, I caught the faint red stain before he tried to hide it. My stomach knotted. He always tried to hide it. “I spoke with the creditors this morning,” he said finally. His voice rasped, brittle, as though it might break in half. “They have given us another extension. Thirty days.” Thirty days. That was all Sterling Designs had left. I knew it better than he did. I had spent nights pouring over our accounts until my eyes blurred. I had written emails that sounded more like begging than business. I had seen the artisans, people who had been with us for decades whisper when paychecks came late, when projects stalled. We were bleeding out. My father’s gaze met mine, filled with guilt. “I’m sorry, Maya. I never wanted this for you.” “Don’t,” I whispered, my voice cracking before I forced it steady. “Don’t apologize. You have carried this family long enough. It’s my turn.” A faint smile ghosted across his lips, but it didn’t reach his tired eyes. “Your mother used to say the same thing.” The ache of her absence clawed through me. Five years since cancer took her, and still her presence lingered in this house, in the furniture she designed, in every corner she had made beautiful. I swallowed hard, pushing the pain back down where it belonged. Before I could answer, a sharp knock echoed through the house. Not tentative. Not friendly. Commanding. I glanced at my father, both of us stiffening. Who would come at this time? Fred, our butler of twenty years, shuffled into the room. His face was etched with the same quiet loyalty that had kept him by our side through every rise and fall. “There’s a visitor, sir. From D’Silva Holdings.” The name was a jolt of electricity. My father’s jaw tightened. He coughed again into his handkerchief, then waved Fred to let them in. Moments later, a man in a dark suit stepped inside. He brought the storm with him, the smell of rain clinging to his clothes. He was tall, lean, his hair slick from the weather, his eyes sharp enough to cut. “Miss Sterling. Mr. Sterling.” He nodded politely. “My name is Charles Everett. I represent Mr. Lucien D’Silva.” The name sat between us like a loaded weapon. Everyone knew Lucien D’Silva. Billionaire shipping tycoon. Reclusive. Untouchable. And cursed. Charles set a leather folder neatly on the coffee table. “Mr. D’Silva has reviewed your situation. He is prepared to offer assistance.” “Assistance?” my father asked warily. “A merger,” Charles replied smoothly. “Sterling Designs is a name worth preserving. Mr. D’Silva is willing to absorb its debts and secure its future. In return…” His eyes slid to me. “…he asks for your daughter’s hand in marriage.” The words cracked through me like thunder. I froze, staring at him. Surely I had misheard. But my father surged forward in his chair, face pale. “That’s absurd.” His voice shook with fury and weakness. “You can’t possibly mean…” “It is not absurd.” Charles cut him off with calm precision. “It is business. And it is personal. Mr. D’Silva knows of your difficulties. He is prepared to erase them. In exchange, Miss Sterling will become his wife.” I couldn’t breathe. Lucien D’Silva. The cursed groom. I had grown up with the whispers. Three women had once been engaged to him; Isabelle Worthington, Cassandra Leigh, Charlotte Haversham. All beautiful. All from powerful families. All dead before they reached the altar. A car crash. A drowning. A sudden fall down marble stairs. Three tragedies were coincidence. But three brides? That became a curse. The tabloids had feasted on it, branding him Death’s Favorite. Society whispered that any woman who loved him would die. And after Charlotte’s funeral, Lucien disappeared from the world. He retreated to his coastal estate or so I read from one of my favorite tabloids. And now he wanted me. “You want me to give my daughter away like…like some bargaining chip?” my father rasped. His hands shook as another cough wracked him. I leaned forward quickly, placing a steadying hand on his arm. “Dad, don’t…” Charles didn’t flinch. “Mr. D’Silva forces no one. But consider the alternative. Without his intervention, Sterling Designs collapses within the month. Hundreds of employees lose their livelihoods. Creditors strip the rest. Your family name vanishes.” His gaze cut to me. “Or you could secure everything with a single signature. Your company. Your father’s peace of mind. Your future.” My chest tightened, the storm outside echoing the chaos inside me. My father’s eyes glistened with horror. “No. Maya, no. Don’t even think about it.” But I was already thinking. About the artisans who had given their lives to our business. About my mother’s dream. About my father’s failing health. And about Lucien D’Silva…the cursed man who wanted a bride. I swallowed, my voice barely steady. “When does Mr. D’Silva want his answer?” Charles’s mouth curved, the faintest smile. “He already has it. The paperwork is prepared.” My father turned to me, his voice breaking. “Maya. Please. Don’t do this. Don’t throw yourself to that man.” I looked at him, at the man who had given me everything, who was breaking under the weight of failure that wasn’t even his fault. My heart pounded, but my decision crystallized like ice. “What choice do we have?” I whispered. “You will die,” he said hoarsely. “You will die like the others.” And my baby, I can’t bear to lose you as well. I straightened my spine, my voice steadier than I felt. “Then let me be the first to survive.” That night, I didn’t sleep. I sat by my window, staring at the storm. The lightning painted the city in harsh flashes, illuminating my reflection in the glass. Lucien D’Silva. I whispered his name into the night, tasting the weight of it. A cursed man. A haunted man. Tomorrow, I will meet him. And I couldn’t tell if I was walking into salvation… or a grave.