Married to the Cold Billionaire

The night was edging toward ten o’clock. The busy streets of Dhaka were slowly growing empty. The noise of the day—traffic jams, honking horns, and the chaos of people—was fading away. Only the pale yellow streetlights and the occasional bark of a stray dog broke through the silence. Hannah, an ordinary girl with an ordinary life, was returning home from work. She worked as a junior accountant in a private office, and the day had been nothing short of exhausting. Her boss’s scolding, endless files, and the teasing of coworkers had drained her completely. By the time she left, she felt as though her body had turned into a bag of bricks. She was driving an old second-hand car—something she had bought with her meager savings. It often gave her trouble, but it was all she could afford. As she steered through the nearly deserted road, her mind kept wandering home. A cup of hot tea and a little chat with her mother—that was all she wanted tonight. But fate had other plans. The car let out a strange rattling sound and then died right there in the middle of the road. Startled, Hannah twisted the key again and again, her hands tightening on the worn-out steering wheel. The engine refused to start. Her shoulders slumped. With a sigh of frustration, she stepped out of the car and glanced around. The road stretched out empty in both directions, the glow of distant headlights too far to be of any help. “Of course,” she muttered under her breath. “Everything has to go wrong on the same day.” She pulled out her phone, trying to book a taxi or a rideshare. But the network bar blinked weakly, refusing to cooperate. Her car was dead, her phone useless, and the silence of the night pressed down on her like a heavy cloak. And then it happened. A sleek black luxury car rolled up behind her, its engine purring with a deep, intimidating sound. The car stopped, and the tinted window lowered slowly, almost theatrically. Hannah’s heart skipped a beat. Inside sat a man—young, perhaps in his early thirties, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His face was sharply defined, his jawline strong, and his expression unreadable. But it was his eyes that caught her breath—cold, piercing eyes that seemed to strip away every layer of her being. There was no warmth in them, only an icy indifference. “Need help?” His voice was calm, clipped, and frighteningly devoid of emotion. Hannah hesitated, her throat suddenly dry. “Um… my car just stopped working. I tried, but it won’t start. And I can’t seem to get a taxi either.” The man didn’t respond. He pulled out his phone and spoke briefly to someone, his voice low but firm, issuing what sounded like an order. Within moments, he hung up. Hannah blinked. “Did you… call someone?” His gaze flickered to her, cold and sharp. “A mechanic will be here soon.” “Oh… thank you. But you really didn’t have to go through the trouble. I could’ve—” Her words were cut short by the faintest twist of his lips, almost like a smirk. “You think I did this for you?” Hannah froze. “I—what do you mean?” “I don’t like my time being wasted. You were in my way.” The words struck her like a blade, sharp and merciless. Gratitude burned into humiliation. She let out a small, bitter laugh. “I see… Well then, thank you—for saving your own time.” He didn’t reply. His eyes lingered on her one last time, then he rolled the window back up. The car glided forward and disappeared into the night, leaving Hannah standing there, stunned. A few minutes later, a service van pulled up. The mechanics checked her car and shook their heads. “It’s been struggling for a while, ma’am. We’ll tow it. Do you need a ride somewhere?” Hannah only half listened. She nodded, but her thoughts were elsewhere. That man—his icy stare, his cruelly calm voice, the way he made her feel small and insignificant—left an impression she couldn’t shake off. It was as though he wasn’t a man at all, but a wall of ice in human form. She didn’t know it yet, but tonight’s chance encounter was about to change the course of her entire life.