The Billionaire's Reluctant Bride

A Wedding Without Love

SERENA

The nursery was quiet, save for the soft whir of the ceiling fan and the gentle breathing of the twins. A warm golden glow from the nightlight cast flickering shadows across the walls, its dim light making the room feel more intimate, more fragile. The air smelled faintly of baby powder, a scent that had become all too familiar over the past few weeks.

Lucas stirred in his crib, shifting slightly, but his tiny face remained peaceful. Lucy was curled on her side, her small hand gripping the edge of her blanket. Watching them like this, so innocent, so oblivious to the world’s cruelty, I felt my chest tighten.

This was why I was doing this.

I exhaled slowly before turning toward Damien, who stood near the window, his posture rigid, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dress slacks. The moonlight spilled through the glass, outlining the sharp angles of his face—his strong jaw, the slight furrow in his brow, the unreadable look in his dark eyes. He was still in his dress shirt from earlier, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, as if he hadn’t had the time or energy to change.

I swallowed, forcing myself to push aside the lingering hesitation. "I’ll marry you," I said, my voice quieter than I intended but firm nonetheless.

Damien didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

But I wasn’t done.

Before he could say anything, I lifted my chin and spoke again, my tone cool and unwavering. "But don’t expect anything from me."

At that, he finally reacted—his jaw tightening, his gaze sharpening slightly.

"This isn’t a real marriage, Damien," I continued, stepping closer to the cribs. "I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for them. That’s the only reason I’m agreeing to this. Nothing more, nothing less."

The weight of my words settled heavily in the air between us, but Damien remained eerily silent. I expected him to argue, to scoff, to say something cruel in return.

Instead, he let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

"You think I expect something from you?" His voice was sharp, edged with something bitter.

I frowned, crossing my arms. "I just don’t want there to be any misunderstandings."

"Trust me," he said dryly, finally shifting to face me fully. "The only misunderstanding here is that you think I would ever want anything beyond this arrangement."

I stiffened, my fingers curling at my sides.

His expression remained unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something cold, distant. Something that made my stomach twist in a way I didn’t like.

"You don’t have to remind me, Serena," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Because I wouldn’t dream of touching someone who isn’t Eleanor."

Eleanor.

Her name alone was enough to knock the air from my lungs.

I clenched my teeth, forcing the sting of his words deep down where they couldn’t reach me. "Good," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Then we’re in agreement."

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

The nursery, once a place of warmth and comfort, felt suffocating. The walls seemed to close in, the silence stretching unbearably between us.

I turned back toward the cribs, brushing a gentle hand over Lucy’s soft curls. "They deserve a mother figure in their life," I murmured, more to myself than to him. "I don’t care what anyone else thinks, but I won’t let them grow up without someone to hold them when they cry or to tell them bedtime stories when the nightmares come."

Damien exhaled sharply behind me. "You think I don’t want the same thing?"

I straightened, looking over my shoulder. "You’re not enough for them, Damien."

His eyes darkened.

"You love them," I said, softer this time. "But you can’t be their mother."

His silence was deafening.

I took a steady breath and turned toward the door, my heart pounding. "I’ll marry you," I said once more. "But let’s be clear—I’m not your wife. I never will be."

I reached for the doorknob, my fingers trembling slightly, but before I could step out, his voice stopped me.

"That makes two of us."

I didn’t look back.

But somehow, those words hurt more than I wanted to admit.

Chapter Ten: A Wedding Without Love

(Serena’s POV)

The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed against my skin, making it hard to breathe. The steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner filled the silence, each passing second tightening the knot in my stomach. The scent of fresh roses lingered in the air, but it did nothing to mask the cold formality of this moment.

This wasn’t a wedding. Not really. There was no flowing white gown, no trembling hands slipping a ring onto my finger, no whispered promises of forever. Just paperwork. A contract. A necessity for the sake of appearances.

I sat stiffly in a high-backed chair at the long dining table, my hands clenched in my lap. Across from me, Damien stood by the window, bathed in the pale winter light filtering through the glass. He looked as he always did—stoic, unreadable, his broad shoulders stiff beneath the crisp lines of his black suit. The world could be falling apart around him, and he would remain the same, detached and composed.

But my world had already fallen apart.

Around us, our families watched in suffocating silence, their gazes heavy with expectations. There was no joy in their eyes—only relief. Relief that the scandal of my presence in Damien’s house was finally being swept away. That the whispers of impropriety would be silenced. That the twins, who had lost their mother too soon, would now have someone to care for them without society questioning their place in this family.

I was that someone.

Not because I wanted to be. But because there was no other choice.

The officiant cleared his throat, breaking the thick silence. “We may begin.”

Damien finally moved, stepping toward the table with slow, deliberate steps. He picked up the pen and, without a moment of hesitation, signed his name on the marriage certificate. His strokes were bold, precise, final.

Then he slid the paper toward me.

My heart pounded as I stared at it.

It shouldn’t have felt so heavy—this moment. I had known it was coming. I had told myself it didn’t matter. That this wasn’t real. That it was just a formality.

But the weight of it pressed down on me all the same.

My fingers trembled slightly as I picked up the pen. I hovered over the paper for just a second before pressing the tip down, signing my name beside his.

And just like that, it was done.

A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding slipped from my lips. Around me, murmured congratulations echoed through the room, though they felt empty, meaningless.

My mother touched my shoulder, her hand warm but her smile forced. Damien’s father gave a curt nod, satisfied that his family’s reputation had been upheld. That was all that mattered to them. Not me. Not Damien. Certainly not love.

I turned slightly, glancing at Damien. He didn’t look at me. He stood there, hands in his pockets, his jaw set in a firm line.

It was as if nothing had happened.

Of course, nothing had.

No vows. No rings. No kiss. Just two signatures binding us in a marriage neither of us wanted.

The twins weren’t here. They were upstairs in the nursery, blissfully unaware that the world around them had just shifted.

As the family began to disperse, murmuring about arrangements and practicalities, I stood abruptly. The room felt too small, the air too thick. I needed to get out, to breathe—

"Serena."

Damien’s voice stopped me.

I turned back, meeting his gaze. His dark eyes were as unreadable as ever, but there was something there. A quiet understanding.

“We’ll make this work,” he said, his voice even, controlled.

I lifted my chin. “For the twins.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “For the twins.”

And with that, we walked out of the room—two strangers bound by duty, stepping into a marriage that neither of us wanted.