Married to the Cold Billionaire

The air was thick with the scent of fried noodles and hot coffee. Jakarta’s streets buzzed with life, but Nadine felt like she was sinking in silence. Sitting at a worn plastic table in a roadside stall, she stared blankly at her untouched meal. Her phone vibrated again. Unknown number. Third time today. With trembling fingers, she answered. “Miss Nadine Aulia?” “Yes?” “My name is Gabriel. I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Ethan Vallen.” Her heart stopped for a second. That name. She’d heard it before—on headlines, whispered in gossip, and splashed across business news. Ethan Vallen. Billionaire heir. Ruthless. Cold. Dangerous. “I’m sorry, what is this about?” she asked carefully. “You’ve been selected for a marriage proposal. Mr. Vallen is prepared to offer a legally binding contract. One year. Full financial coverage for your family. And a payment of two million euros upon completion.” Nadine laughed—nervously, awkwardly. “Is this a joke?” “I assure you, Miss Nadine, this is real. Mr. Vallen is... particular. Your profile fits what he needs. You have one month to decide.” The call ended just as suddenly as it began. Nadine sat frozen, phone still in her hand, mind racing. A marriage? For money? With a man she’d never met? It sounded insane. But so was her life right now. Her mother’s hospital bills were piling up. Her younger brother dropped out of college two months ago. And Nadine? She was juggling three part-time jobs and still couldn’t breathe under the weight of debt. She looked up at the Jakarta skyline, painted in twilight. Somewhere far away, a man she didn’t know had just offered her an escape. Or a trap. “Ya Allah… what do I do now?” she whispered. For the first time in months, Nadine allowed herself to hope. And fear. The next morning, Nadine stood in front of her mother's hospital room, clutching a file of unpaid bills. The numbers glared at her—unforgiving and cold. Just like the offer she had received last night. She hadn’t told anyone. Not her mother. Not Rafi, her younger brother. Who would believe it anyway? She walked into the room with a smile she no longer felt. “Sayang, kamu dah makan?” Her mother’s voice was weak but filled with warmth. Nadine nodded. “Sudah, Bu. I brought your favorite. Bubur ayam.” Her mother tried to sit up, and Nadine rushed to help her. As they ate, Nadine kept stealing glances at her phone, the contract offer replaying in her mind. Could she do it? Could she marry a stranger—just for money? That evening, she took the bus home. Rain poured outside. Jakarta traffic groaned in chaos. But all she could think about was one word: marriage. She pulled out her cracked laptop and began searching. Ethan Vallen. Dozens of articles. Handsome. Cold-hearted. Billionaire CEO. A man whose face could grace magazine covers, but whose eyes looked like they never smiled. Why her? She was nothing. Just a girl from a middle-class family trying to survive. The next day, the call came again. Gabriel’s voice, calm and controlled. “Miss Nadine. Mr. Vallen is currently in Monaco. You have until the end of the month to give us your decision. Should you agree, you’ll be flown to Europe for the legal procedures.” She said nothing. “Also,” Gabriel added, “do not contact the press. This contract, if leaked, will be withdrawn immediately.” The line went dead. Nadine dropped the phone on her bed. She stared at the ceiling. This was her chance. Her only chance. But at what cost? Three days later, Nadine found herself sitting in the private lounge of a luxury hotel in Central Jakarta—her worn-out jeans and plain white blouse looking painfully out of place among the marble floors and crystal chandeliers. The elevator dinged. Gabriel stepped out, punctual and pristine in a grey suit. Without a smile, he gestured for her to follow. “Mr. Vallen has sent the final draft.” He led her into a private meeting room. On the sleek black table sat a thick file, clipped neatly, marked: CONFIDENTIAL – MARRIAGE CONTRACT. Gabriel pushed it toward her. “You may take your time to read. I’ll be outside if you have questions.” Nadine hesitated before flipping it open. Clause One: The marriage shall be valid for 12 months. Clause Two: There shall be no romantic or s****l expectation from either party. Clause Three: Public appearances together are mandatory—minimum two events per month. Clause Four: A monthly allowance of €10,000 will be deposited into Miss Nadine’s account. Clause Five: Divorce after twelve months is final and non-negotiable. She blinked. Her breath caught at the final clause. Clause Six: Any breach of confidentiality or attempt to expose the contract to the media shall result in immediate termination and legal action. Her hands trembled. Was this legal? Was this… even real? She looked up just as Gabriel reentered. “Is this how he treats all women?” she asked. Gabriel's expression didn’t change. “You’re not being hired as a wife, Miss Nadine. You’re being hired as a shield.” “A shield?” she echoed. Gabriel folded his arms. “To silence a scandal. To save a reputation. To protect a legacy. You will serve a purpose. Nothing more.” Nadine looked back at the contract. Twelve months. One year. Then freedom. Or so she thought. The evening sun cast a tired orange glow over Jakarta’s skyline as Nadine stared blankly out her bedroom window. The contract sat unopened on her desk—its presence looming like a silent threat. Her mother’s voice echoed from the kitchen downstairs. Her father’s coughing followed soon after. Reality was cruel. Bills had piled up. Her mother’s medicine was getting more expensive. The scholarship she once relied on had dried up the moment she returned home. Now, Ethan Vallen’s offer was the only thing standing between her and complete ruin. She sank onto the bed, fingers clutching her phone. No messages. No calls. Not even from her so-called best friends. “Love isn’t real,” she whispered to herself. “Fairytales don’t pay the rent.” Her eyes welled up, but she didn’t let the tears fall. Instead, she stood, walked to the desk, and opened the contract. One page at a time, she flipped through the cold, transactional language of her future. Her heart screamed at her to run. But her mind reminded her of every sleepless night, every unpaid bill, every tear her mother had tried to hide. She grabbed the pen. Her hand hovered. “This isn’t love,” she whispered. And with one decisive stroke, she signed her name at the bottom. Nadine Mahendra. The moment the ink dried, her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number. Welcome to the Vallen family. Your flight to Paris leaves tomorrow at 10 a.m. A car will pick you up at 7. Pack lightly. And don’t be late. She stared at the screen. She had just sold her future to a man she hadn’t even spoken to. Tomorrow, she would become Mrs. Ethan Vallen. But would she survive it? The morning air was thick with Jakarta’s usual heat, but Nadine’s fingers felt cold as she zipped her lone suitcase shut. Her room looked emptier than ever—just like her heart. A single dress, two scarves, basic toiletries, and a worn-out book she’d read since she was a child. That was all she dared to bring into her new life. At exactly 7:00 a.m., a sleek black car stopped in front of her modest home. “Nadine Mahendra?” the suited driver asked, not bothering to smile. She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Your flight is at ten. We should leave now.” Her mother held her hand tight at the door, tears brimming in her eyes. “Nadine, are you sure about this?” Nadine forced a smile. “I’ll be fine, Bu. I promise.” But the lie tasted bitter. As the car pulled away from the street she’d called home her whole life, she pressed her forehead against the window, watching the world blur past. By the time she arrived at Soekarno–Hatta International Airport, reality had sunk in deeper. She wasn’t going on vacation. She wasn’t chasing a dream. She was walking into a cage. The first-class lounge felt sterile and foreign. Too quiet. Too cold. And then—she saw him. Ethan Vallen. Tall. Impeccably dressed in charcoal grey. His icy blue eyes locked onto her the moment she stepped in. He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just studied her like a business deal he regretted making. “You’re early,” he said, voice flat, accent British with a bite of arrogance. “You’re... real,” Nadine blurted before she could stop herself. His jaw tightened. “This isn’t a fairytale, Miss Mahendra. You signed a contract. Let’s not complicate it with awkward small talk.” She stiffened. “I wasn’t trying to.” “Good.” He turned and began walking toward the private gate, not once looking back. Nadine hesitated, then followed. This was it. She was about to fly across the world with a stranger. Not as his guest. But as his wife.