Billionaire's Temporary Bride

ISABELLA'S POV "you forgot the sugar" I stopped halfway across the restaurant and looked down at the tray in my hands. Three cups of coffee. Three saucers. One small bowl of sugar. I frowned. I hadn't forgotten the sugar. I'd specifically been asked to bring it. "I'm sorry?" I said, turning toward the table I'd just served. The elderly woman pointed at the empty space beside her husband's coffee. "could we have another bowl?" "of course" I gave her an apologetic smile. "I'll bring it right away." I turned toward the counter, but before I could take another step, my phone vibrated inside my apron pocket. Once. Twice. I already knew who it was. My father rarely called while I was working unless something was wrong. I hurried behind the counter and slipped my phone out. Dad. My stomach tightened as I answered. "Dad?" "I'm fine" I closed my eyes briefly. That was always the first thing he said whenever he knew I'd worry. "are you sure?" "yes. I just wanted to remind you about the pharmacy. " "I haven't forgotten" A brief silence followed. "the medicine is almost finished" he said quietly. "I know" "Isabela—" "I said I know, Dad." My voice came out sharper than I'd intended. I softened it immediately. "I'll pick it up after work." "You don't have to rush." "I know." "You've already been working all day." "And I'll be fine." Another silence. Then my father sighed. "Don't work yourself sick." A small smile touched my lips despite the knot in my stomach. "I won't." I ended the call and stared at my phone for a moment. The pharmacy bill came to mind first. Then the rent. Then the electricity bill I'd been putting off. I locked my phone and slipped it back into my pocket. One problem at a time. That was the only way I could manage everything without losing my mind. "Isabella!" I straightened. "Coming!" The Grand Crest Hotel was never quiet, even at night. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the restaurant, silverware clinked against porcelain, and conversations blended with the soft music drifting through the room. I'd worked there for almost a year. Long enough to recognize the guests who tipped generously and the businessmen who could find fault with practically anything. I'd also learned that some people came to the Grand Crest because they genuinely enjoyed luxury, while others simply liked being seen surrounded by it. I didn't judge either group. Luxury was another world, one I served every evening but had never been able to afford. As I passed the entrance, I caught sight of someone I'd been trying not to notice. Adrian Knight. He was sitting at table seven. Again. I'd seen him there three times that week, always in the same corner and usually surrounded by different people. He carried himself like a man who was accustomed to having his time respected and his decisions obeyed. I didn't know much about him personally, but I knew his name. Everyone did. Adrian Knight was the CEO of Knight Holdings, one of the largest companies in the country. His face had appeared in business magazines often enough that even people who knew nothing about business could recognize him. Yet the man sitting across the restaurant looked nothing like the smiling executive in those photographs. He looked tired. Not the kind of tired that came from a long day at work. There was something more difficult to explain about him, something that made his perfectly tailored suit and composed expression seem almost like a shield. He rarely spoke. Mostly, he listened. And whenever I passed his table, I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was watching me. I told myself I was imagining it. People looked at waitresses. It was normal. I turned away and continued with my work. "Isabella." I glanced over my shoulder. Mr. Collins, the restaurant manager, stood near the kitchen entrance. "Table seven." My shoulders stiffened. "Again?" His eyebrows rose. "You sound disappointed." "No. I just thought someone else might—" "He asked for you." I glanced toward the table. Adrian was looking directly at me. Of course he was. I swallowed my questions and accepted the notepad Mr. Collins held out. "Just go", he said. Wonderful. I straightened my uniform and walked toward table seven. As I approached, the two men seated with Adrian fell silent. One glanced at me, then at Adrian, before returning his attention to his drink. I stopped beside the table. "Good evening." Adrian lifted his gaze to mine. Up close, his eyes were darker than I'd expected. They weren't exactly cold, but they were difficult to read. I waited for him to speak. He didn't. I glanced at the other men. Both seemed content to watch the awkward silence stretch between us. "Mr. Knight requested me?" I finally asked. "Yes." His voice was calm, almost unnervingly so. I held my notepad a little tighter. "Is there a problem with your service?" "No." "Your meal?" "No." I waited. Nothing. I looked at him expectantly. "Then is there something else I can help you with?" "You've worked here for almost a year." I blinked. It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yes." "You're usually on the evening shift." “Most evenings.” “And you leave at eleven.” My expression changed. “How do you know that?” For the first time, something shifted in his face. It wasn't quite a smile, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I'm observant.” “That doesn't answer my question.” The man beside him suddenly coughed into his fist. I realized how sharply I'd spoken and straightened. “Sorry.” “Don't apologize.” I stared at him for a second. Most people didn't appreciate being questioned, especially people who could probably buy the entire hotel without checking their bank balance. Adrian, however, didn't seem offended. That somehow made the situation more uncomfortable. I glanced down at my notepad. “Would you like anything?” “Coffee.” “Black?” “Yes.” I wrote it down. “Anything else?” “No.” I turned to leave. “Isabella.” I stopped. He looked at the small pendant resting against my collarbone. “Your necklace.” My fingers moved instinctively to cover it. “What about it?” “Where did you get it?” I looked down at the silver pendant. It wasn't particularly expensive or impressive. It was simply one of the few things I owned that I would never consider selling, no matter how desperate things became. “My mother gave it to me.” “Your mother?” “Yes.” His expression changed so briefly that I almost missed it For a moment, he looked as though I'd confirmed something he had already suspected. Then his face returned to its usual composure. He offered no explanation for the question. Neither did I ask for one. I simply turned and walked away,