The billionaire's unwilling bride

“Are you blind?!” Tires burned, creating a deafening screech that ended in an abrupt stop. The window slid down. “Is there a problem, Miss?” “Are you seriously asking me that? You just drove straight through a puddle and ruined my clothes, and you’re asking if there’s a problem?” “You were standing too close to the road.” “I can see you are a spoiled brat who doesn't know how to own up to his mistake?” she shot back. “So now it’s my fault you don’t know how to slow down?” “You saw the car.” “And you saw the puddle,” she snapped. “You are going to have my clothes dry-cleaned or you are going nowhere.” He shook his head slowly. “Step away from the car.” “Or what?” she challenged, moving closer instead. “You’ll do it again? Go on then. This time at least you won’t be pretending it was an accident.” "If you're done," he replied. "Move away from the car." Her mouth fell open. She had just finished a twelve hour shift. Her feet were killing her. She hadn't eaten since morning. And this man in his expensive car and his expensive suit was looking at her like she had ruined his day just by existing. "Unbelievable," she said. "You're actually this arrogant." He reached for the gear. "Do I look like I care?" he said. The window went back up. The car moved. "Rich heartless i***t!" Stacy shouted after him. "That's what you all are!" He didn't look back. The car turned the corner and disappeared. The road went quiet again. Stacy stood there. Wet. Shaking. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. She took one breath. Then another. She just needed to get home. See her father. Sit down and stop feeling like the whole day was falling apart around her. She picked up her bag and kept walking. The apartment was dark when she got home. No lights. No sound. They hadn't paid the electricity bill in four days. The landlord had already called twice that week. Stacy hadn't picked up either time. "Dad?" She pushed the door open. "I'm home." Nothing. She stopped in the doorway. Her father always answered when she called. Always. Even on the bad days. Even when he was exhausted. He always said something back. "Dad!" Silence. Her chest tightened. She switched on her phone flashlight and swept it around the room. The couch was empty. The kitchen was empty. Then the light landed on the table. A white envelope sat there. Thick and heavy. Like whatever was inside it carried weight. Her father's name was written in bold letters on the front. VICTOR MILLS Stacy moved toward it slowly. Her hand reached out. Pulled back. Then reached out again. She picked it up. She pulled out the paper inside and read. Notice of Debt Enforcement - Immediate Action Required. Dear Victor Mills, your loan has gone on long enough and it has come to an end. I have one offer to clear the debt. Your daughter must marry my son within 30 days. If this does not happen, I will make sure I destroy your generation. This is not a request. This is not a threat. This is a warning. Stacy read it again. Then again. Her throat went completely dry. Your daughter must marry my son within 30 days. She was nineteen years old. Her legs stopped working properly and she sat down on the couch. They had always been poor. She had grown up knowing that. But her father had never once made her feel like their lives were in danger. He had always found a way. Always kept things together somehow. And now she was holding a letter that said his life depended on who she married. She thought about the electricity bill. The landlord's calls. The empty fridge she had opened that morning and closed again without taking anything out. There was no money. No savings. Nothing to fall back on. She read the letter one more time. The door opened behind her. Her father walked in. His eyes went straight to her hands. Straight to the envelope. His face went very still. "Stacy." His voice came out low. "That belongs to me." He crossed the room and took it from her hands. "Dad." She stood up. "Tell me what's going on." "No." Firm. "Your life is in danger. I read it. I know what it says." "I said no." His voice cracked slightly. "You don't understand who these people are. Stay out of it." "I can fix this," she said. "If marrying his son is what it takes to save you then I'll do it." "Stacy…" "I'll do it, Dad." He looked at her for a long moment. Then he looked away. He sat down slowly on the couch. Like his legs had given up too. Neither of them spoke. Stacy walked to her room and closed the door. She sat on the edge of her bed. Her hands were still shaking. Thirty days. Her father's life. A man she had never met. She didn't cry. She didn't have the energy left for it. She just sat there in the quiet and let everything press down on her until her phone buzzed on the bed beside her. Unknown number. You have 30 days. Don't waste them. Her fingers went cold. Another message came straight after. Next time we won't send a letter. We'll come for your father. Stacy stopped breathing. She read both messages twice. They were watching. They already knew she had seen the letter. She put the phone face down on the bed. Thirty days. Her father. The marriage. That was all she had. And somewhere in the back of her mind a quiet feeling started growing. A feeling that this wasn't just about money. That something else was buried underneath all of it. Something she hadn't found yet.