Falling for the Billionaire's heir

GEORGIA HALE The whole crowd stared at me like I had just sold my soul for money. There were so many judging eyes and silent whispers but I couldn’t care less, it was my wedding day and I wasn’t going to let anyone ruin that. Chandeliers glowed on my skin, and beautiful roses were lined down to the altar. Cool Music played in the background. The hall was luxuriously decorated. I could tell my husband spent a lot on this wedding. Everything seemed perfect except for me, the bride. As I walked slowly, I could hear almost every silent whisper of the guests. While most of them, the judgment in their eyes already said enough. They stared at me like some worthless gold digger, while some faked a faint smile, pretending to be polite. My heels clicked slowly against the marble floor. My bouquet trembled in my hands. I tried to smile, but my lips shook. “You can do this, Georgia,” I whispered to myself. I felt really small with each step I took. Gold, silk, and perfume filled the room, but all I could smell was their disgust. I looked straight ahead. The priest stood at the altar, he was smiling, but I could still see he was no different from everyone else in the room. He was judging me, too. Two men stood beside him. One in his early forties. He looked calm and composed while the other sat shakily in a wheelchair. His hair was completely grey and bald. He looked like he was in his late 80s. That old man was my husband-to-be. Don .A. Trump. The billionaire everyone respected. The man is old enough to be my grandfather. And today he was getting married to me, who is nothing but a twenty-five-year-old woman, struggling to survive. The younger man who stood beside him was his personal assistant for as long as I can remember. Apart from my husband, he was the only one in the room who didn’t look at me like I was some cheap gold digger. He took my hand gently and led me to Mr Albert. Then, slowly, he placed my hand in the trembling hand of the old man. When our fingers touched, his skin felt cold and fragile. Still, I smiled. Everyone was watching. Cameras flashing. People whispering louder. I could hear it all. “She’s doing it for the money.” “Disgusting.” “Poor girl. Or maybe smart girl.” I blocked them out. I had to. This was my choice. My life. My future. The priest cleared his throat and then stared at me, his eyes filled with guilt like he was committing a sin by getting the both of us married. As he read the vows my heart raced so fast, i just couldn’t wait for it all to be over. Don Albert coughed weakly. The crowd gasped. Someone screamed, “Is he okay?” Some laughed as though they were expecting it. He waved them off with a shaky smile. “I’m fine,” he whispered. I bent closer, my voice low. “Do you want to stop?” He shook his head and gave a small nod to the priest to continue. The priest nodded back and asked, “Don Albert Trump, do you take Miss Georgia Hale to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love her in sickness and in health, till death do you part?” “I do,” he said softly. Murmurs filled the room again. Someone snorted. Another whispered too loudly, “He might die before the honeymoon.” I swallowed hard. My hand trembled in his. Then the priest turned to me. “Miss Georgia Hale, do you take Don Albert Trump to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love him in sickness and in health, till death do you part?” My chest tightened. Everyone was waiting. Cameras were aimed at me. I opened my mouth to speak — but before the words could leave, the heavy wooden doors of the hall burst open. Gasps echoed. The music stopped. Three men walked in, tall, confident, and breathtaking. They wore black tuxedos and cold expressions. Every eye in the room turned to them. My heart stopped the moment I saw their faces. They were his sons. My soon-to-be stepsons. And together, they said in one voice, sharp and angry — “I object!” The crowd erupted. Cameras flashed. Someone screamed. I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs. My hands turned cold. That was the day everything changed. That was the day my story began. (You want to know how I ended up there — marrying a man old enough to be my grandfather while his sons glared at me like I was a curse?) Then let’s start from the beginning. I was only fifteen when my father died. We found out on his burial that he had a pile of debt when his creditors came to publicly embarrass my mum and I. I also learnt that was the reason he committed suicide. My mother didn’t mourn him for long. A few weeks later, she was already in the arms of another man. She claimed he could give us the life we had always wanted. I wished she would speak for herself because mere sight of him made my blood boil. To be fair he hated me too. My mother was given a choice, she had to choose between me or him. Obviously, she chose him. From that day, I had to accept that I was all alone. I did all sorts of jobs to survive. From working as a nanny to waitress and then, delivery girl. I did anything and everything just to survive. But shortly after, the loan sharks became my next nightmare. At first, they were polite. Then they became monsters. I can still remember a few months before my wedding when my life was nothing but a living hell. It was pouring heavily that night, and the street was empty, cold and dark. No sign of presence when I ran barefoot like my life depended on it. My heart raced like it was going to jump out of my chest as I was being chased my two hefty men. They were the loan sharks that had made my life terrible since my dad's death. “Stop!” one of them yelled. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I ran faster, kicking through puddles, breathless. I turned a corner and pushed down a pile of cartons to block their path. My legs were shaking. My hand was bleeding from a fall, but I kept running. Then my foot hit a stone. I fell hard, rolling across the wet ground. Pain shot through my arm. My palms scraped. I tried to crawl, but they were already there. “Hey, you think you can escape us?” one sneered, grabbing my hair and yanking my head up. “You made us run after you. Now you’ll pay for it.” Before I could speak, his hand slapped across my face. My ears rang. My lips split open. I glared at him through tears, refusing to look afraid. “Can you see this b***h?” he said to the other. “She looks like she wants to kill me. You think anyone would care if we dumped her body in the gutter?” I clenched my jaw. I didn’t blink or show much pain I was. I wouldn’t give them that satisfaction. They laughed. Their breathe stinks, it smelled like alcohol. “We can forget about the money, pretty,” one of them said as he tucked my hair behind my ears. He stared at me like he was going to undress me with his eyes, and then licked his lips like a disgusting pervert. “You just have to promise to satisfy us both tonight.” They both laughed loudly. Something snapped inside me. Without thinking, I grabbed his hand and bit him as hard as I could. He screamed but I didn’t stop at-least not until I tasted blood. He pushed me hard against the floor, but before they could rush at me, I grabbed the second one by his collar and kicked him hard between his legs. I could swear I heard something break but I didn’t care. That’s what perverts like them deserve. He howled and fell to the ground. I didn’t wait. I ran. I ran until my lungs burned and my legs almost gave out. Rain poured on me, mixing with blood and sweat. My heart pounded so fast it hurt. But I didn’t stop. Because if they caught me, I knew I’d die. And no one — absolutely no one — would care. That’s who I am. Georgia Hale. The girl who’s been abandoned, chased, beaten, but never broken. So when life threw another cruel test — marrying an old man for safety, for a chance to finally rest — I said yes. Because sometimes, love isn’t the reason you walk down the aisle . Sometimes, survival is. But I didn’t know that saying yes would bring me face to face with three men who would turn my world upside down — my stepsons.