MARRIED TO THE BILLIONAIRE I HATE

I hated him. Not because he was rich. Not because he was powerful. Not even because he had a smile that could make women forget everything else. I hated him because he had destroyed everything my family had worked for. And now… he was my only hope. Standing in front of the towering glass building of Anderson Empire, my palms were sweaty, my heart raced, and my stomach twisted into knots. I tried to convince myself this was a business deal. A necessary evil. But deep down, I knew the truth. Pride didn’t matter anymore. My mother’s life did. Five years ago, Adrian Anderson had made a decision that ruined my father’s company. My family had lost everything. My mother’s health had deteriorated ever since. And yet… here I was, standing at his office door, about to ask the one man I swore I would never forgive to save her. The receptionist gave me a polite smile, but I barely noticed. The elevator ride to the top floor was quiet, almost suffocating. I tried to steady my breathing, repeating to myself that this was temporary, that it was just a contract. That I could walk away as soon as my mother was safe. But when the door opened, and I saw him… everything I thought I knew about hate and anger collided with something darker. Adrian Anderson stood there, taller than I remembered, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit. His dark eyes scanned me like a predator assessing prey. And I had the strange, horrifying realization that… I was exactly where he wanted me. “Emma Harrison,” he said, his voice calm, cold, perfectly measured. “You look… different than I imagined.” I swallowed hard. “I—um—I didn’t come here to talk about the past. I came because my mother…” My voice trembled. He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, yes. Your mother.” And then he slid a contract across the polished oak table. My eyes followed the sharp lines of the paper. My chest tightened. “Marry me,” he said simply. “One year. Fake marriage. You get the money you need for your mother’s treatment.” The words hit me like a punch. I laughed, but it came out hollow. “You’re joking.” “Am I?” He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “The terms are clear. One year. You take care of your mother. I take care of… whatever this is. After one year, the marriage ends. You disappear.” I wanted to throw the contract across the room. I wanted to scream, to tell him that I hated him, that I would never, ever be part of his twisted games. But as I looked at the name at the top of the page… the only thing I could think about was my mother lying in a hospital bed, her eyes pleading, her hand weakly grasping mine. And so… I signed. The pen felt heavy in my hand, every stroke etching a decision I might regret for the rest of my life. He didn’t smile. He didn’t say congratulations. He simply nodded once, sharply, and slid the pen back to me. “Very well,” he said. “You will move into my mansion tomorrow. Consider this… your first lesson in our marriage.” “Marriage?” My voice cracked, betraying the terror I felt. “You said fake marriage.” He fixed me with a look that could freeze fire. “Fake, yes. But the world must believe it’s real. People will see you together. Attend events. Smile when necessary. Obey the rules.” I felt a shiver crawl down my spine. The rules. Already. And then… he left the room without another word. I was alone. For a long time, I stared at the contract. Every clause, every sentence, every bold word screamed control. My heart raced. Was it desperation that made me sign, or the quiet, terrifying pull I felt toward the man I claimed to despise? My phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from my mother: “Emma… please. Just do whatever he asks.” I swallowed a sob and held the contract to my chest. One year. One year of living with him. One year of pretending. But even as I told myself it was temporary, a small, stubborn part of me whispered… what if it wasn’t? Because one year… could change everything.