MARRIED TO THE DEVIL BILLIONAIRE

The coffee was burning. Isabella Carter knew it from the smell, but she was too tired to care. She stood barefoot in the middle of her tiny kitchen, staring at the coffee maker as it sputtered its last few drops into a chipped ceramic mug. Her hair was a mess, her old pajamas were wrinkled, and there was a faint crease across her cheek from where she had slept against her pillow. It was barely seven in the morning, and she already felt exhausted. She picked up the mug and took a careful sip. Bitter. She grimaced. “Perfect,” she muttered. Nothing about her life had been going according to plan lately, so why should the coffee be any different? Her eyes drifted toward the small wooden table beside the window. An envelope sat there. She didn't need to open it to know what was inside. Another medical bill. Isabella looked away. For a few seconds, she allowed herself to stand there and breathe. Her mother was still sleeping in the next room. That thought softened something inside her. Her mother. Everything Isabella did these days seemed to revolve around those two words. Work. Bills. Hospital appointments. Medication. Groceries. More bills. And every morning, before she even opened her eyes, there was the same question waiting for her. How much time did they have left? She hated thinking that way. Her mother wasn't a number on a medical report. She wasn't a diagnosis. She wasn't a stack of unpaid bills. She was the woman who used to sing terribly while cooking breakfast. The woman who had stayed awake beside Isabella through every fever when she was a child. The woman who had taught her how to crochet, even though Isabella had never managed to make anything that looked remotely like the pattern. The woman whose favorite mug was currently sitting in Isabella's hand. Isabella glanced down at it. The faded words printed across the front were almost impossible to r******w. Best Mom Ever. A small smile touched her lips. “You still are,” she whispered. Then she heard movement from the bedroom. Her smile disappeared. “Mom?” No answer. Isabella immediately put the mug down and hurried toward the bedroom. She pushed the door open carefully. Her mother lay beneath the thin blanket, her face pale against the pillow. The morning light slipped through the curtains and rested across her face. For one terrifying second, Isabella couldn't breathe. “Mom?” Her mother stirred. Her eyes slowly opened. “Isabella?” Relief rushed through her so quickly that Isabella almost laughed. “I'm here.” Her mother gave her a tired smile. “You're supposed to be getting ready for work.” “I am.” “You're still in pajamas.” Isabella glanced down at herself. “I'm multitasking.” Her mother chuckled weakly. It wasn't a big laugh. But it was enough. Isabella walked over and adjusted the blanket around her. “How are you feeling?” “Like an eighty-year-old woman.” “You said that yesterday.” “And I'll probably say it tomorrow.” “Then I guess you're consistent.” Her mother's smile grew. For a few seconds, the room felt normal. Just a mother and daughter teasing each other on an ordinary morning. Isabella desperately wanted to stay inside that moment. Unfortunately, ordinary moments had become precious things in their home. Her mother reached for her hand. “Don't worry so much about me.” Isabella looked at her. “I don't know how to do that.” “I know.” Her mother's fingers squeezed hers. “You need to take care of yourself too.” “I am.” “That is a lie.” Isabella laughed softly. “Go back to sleep.” “You have work.” “I know.” “And don't skip lunch.” “I won't.” “You always say that.” “And you always remind me.” “Because you never listen.” Isabella leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Love you, Mom.” “Love you too.” She stayed there for another few seconds before forcing herself to leave. Once she was back in the kitchen, Isabella looked at the clock. 7:18 a.m. “Oh, no.” She grabbed her bag. The café opened at eight. If she didn't leave immediately, her manager would have another reason to complain. She changed quickly, pulled her hair into a messy bun, slipped into her worn sneakers, and grabbed the coffee mug. She stopped at the door. Her eyes moved toward the bedroom one last time. “I'll be back soon,” she whispered. Then she stepped outside. The city greeted her with noise. Cars honked. Buses groaned along the crowded streets. People rushed past with coffee cups in their hands, phones pressed against their ears, and expressions that suggested they were already late for something. Isabella moved with them. She had learned how to walk through the city without really seeing it. She knew which streets were faster. Which traffic lights took forever. Which bakery gave away yesterday's pastries near closing time. Which bus drivers were kind enough to wait an extra few seconds when they saw her running. This was her life. Not glamorous. Not easy. But hers. By the time she reached The Barista's Haven, she was already breathing hard. The familiar smell of roasted coffee beans greeted her the moment she pushed through the door. “Finally!” Isabella looked up. Her coworker, Mia, stood behind the counter with her arms crossed. “Good morning to you too.” “You're two minutes late.” “Two minutes?” “Two.” Isabella dropped her bag beneath the counter. “Then I'll apologize for ruining everyone's morning.” Mia rolled her eyes. “You're impossible.” “You still love me.” “Unfortunately.” Isabella smiled. For the first time that morning, she felt a little lighter. The café quickly filled with its usual crowd. Students. Office workers. Regular customers who ordered the exact same drink every day and somehow still acted surprised when Isabella remembered it. “Isabella!” She turned. Sam was standing near the counter, his glasses slightly crooked and his hair looking as though he'd fought with a pillow and lost. “My usual.” “Large cappuccino, extra foam.” He pointed at her. “See? This is why you're my favorite.” “You say that every morning.” “And I mean it every morning.” “You're also saying it because I give you extra foam.” “That is a completely unrelated coincidence.” She laughed as she prepared his drink. For a few minutes, everything felt easy. Her hands moved automatically. Coffee. Milk. Foam. Serve. Smile. Repeat. She liked the rhythm of it. It gave her something to focus on. Something she could control. Her phone vibrated inside her apron. Isabella froze. The smile disappeared from her face. She reached into her pocket. One notification. Hospital. Her stomach dropped. She stared at the screen. The message wasn't long. Please contact the hospital regarding your mother's latest test results. We would like you to come in for a consultation. Her fingers tightened around the phone. No. Not now. Please. She locked the screen without replying and slipped the phone back into her pocket. “Isabella?” She looked up. A customer stood in front of her. “Sorry.” “I said medium latte.” “Of course.” She forced a smile. “Coming right up.” Her hands shook slightly as she reached for a cup. She couldn't think about it. Not yet. Her mother was fine. She had to be. The doctors had said they needed more tests. That was all. A consultation didn't automatically mean bad news. She repeated those words inside her head like a prayer. But fear had already found a place in her chest. It stayed there for the rest of the day. By lunchtime, the café was packed. Isabella moved from table to table, taking orders, cleaning spills, answering questions, and pretending she wasn't checking the clock every few minutes. Then the door opened. A group of sharply dressed people walked in. Isabella recognized them immediately. They were the kind of customers who never looked at the prices on the menu. Designer clothes. Expensive watches. Perfect hair. One of the women casually placed her handbag on the counter. “Do you have almond milk?” “Yes.” “Organic?” “Yes.” “Good. I'll have a caramel latte.” Another woman ordered a drink that cost almost as much as what Isabella spent on groceries in two days. Isabella wrote everything down. “Anything else?” “No.” “Your total is—” The woman waved her hand. “Just put it on the card.” Isabella nodded. As she walked away, she couldn't help glancing at the expensive handbag. For a brief moment, envy stabbed through her. Not because she wanted their clothes. Not because she wanted their handbags. She wanted something much simpler. Security. The ability to look at a medical bill without feeling sick. The freedom to buy groceries without calculating every coin. The luxury of hearing bad news without immediately wondering how she was going to afford it. She swallowed the bitterness. Then she returned to work. By evening, her feet hurt. Her shoulders ached. Her phone had vibrated several more times, but Isabella couldn't bring herself to check it. She was afraid. Terrified, actually. When her shift finally ended, she removed her apron and folded it carefully. Mia glanced at her. “You okay?” Isabella forced a smile. “Yeah.” “You look like you've seen a ghost.” “Just tired.” Mia studied her for a moment. “You sure?” “I'm sure.” It was another lie. Isabella walked outside. The sun was beginning to disappear behind the buildings, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold. Normally, she loved this part of the day. Tonight, she barely noticed. She pulled out her phone. There were three missed calls. All from the hospital. Her heart stopped. She stared at the screen. One of the calls had come only five minutes ago. She could call them back. She knew she should. Instead, she stood there frozen. Her mind filled with possibilities she didn't want to imagine. What if the treatment wasn't working? What if the illness had gotten worse? What if— “No.” The word escaped her lips. A few people walking past glanced at her. She didn't care. Isabella pressed the call button. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Then someone answered. “Good evening. City Medical Center.” Isabella swallowed. “Hi. My name is Isabella Carter. I received a message about my mother, Olivia Carter.” There was a brief pause. “Yes, Ms. Carter. The doctor would like to speak with you in person.” “Can you tell me what's wrong?” Another pause. “I'm afraid the doctor needs to discuss the results with you directly.” Isabella closed her eyes. That answer was worse than anything they could have said. “When?” “As soon as possible.” Her grip tightened around the phone. “I'll come tonight.” “Ms. Carter—” “I said I'll come.” She ended the call. For several seconds, she didn't move. The city continued around her. Cars passed. People laughed. Music played from a nearby shop. Somewhere, a couple argued over something meaningless. Life continued. But Isabella felt as though hers had stopped. She looked up at the darkening sky. Then she thought about her mother lying alone in their little apartment. The woman who had sacrificed everything for her. The woman who had raised her. The woman who had taught her never to give up. Isabella wiped the tears that had escaped down her cheeks. She couldn't fall apart. Not yet. Maybe the news would be manageable. Maybe there was another treatment. Maybe there was still hope. She had to believe that. Because if she stopped believing, she wasn't sure what would be left. Isabella pulled her bag tightly against her side and started walking. She didn't know what waited for her at the hospital. She didn't know how much her life was about to change. But somewhere deep inside, she already knew one thing. Tonight would not be like any other night. And whatever the doctors were about to tell her, she would fight. For her mother. For herself. For the future they had spent years dreaming about. Even if that future suddenly seemed farther away than ever.