BOUGHT BY THE BILLIONAIRE I HATE

*Chapter 1 - The Wedding That Never Happened* The white dress was too tight. It was not supposed to be tight. Amara had lost weight in the last three months, worrying about her mother's hospital bills, worrying about the wedding costs, worrying about everything. But her sister Maya had told the tailor to make it smaller. "So she looks sexy," Maya had said. Now Amara could not breathe. She stood outside Room 203 of the Golden Tulip Hotel in Accra, holding the small white wedding cake she had just picked up from the bakery, and she could hear moaning from inside. It was her sister's voice. She would know that voice anywhere. Maya always moaned like that when she wanted attention, even when she was a child. Her heart stopped. Her fiancé David had told her he was in a meeting at Room 203 preparing the surprise for their wedding. He said it was a meeting with the pastor. The wedding was in 2 hours. Her white lace dress was already on. Her makeup was done. "Oh David, yes, right there," Maya's voice came from inside, louder now. Amara's hands started shaking. The cake box was shaking. No. It cannot be. David would not. Maya would not. Not today. Not on her wedding day. She pushed the door open with her shoulder. The door was not locked. And she saw it. Her fiancé, David Mensah, the man she had dated for 4 years, the man who had promised her mother on her sick bed that he would take care of Amara, was on top of her own blood sister, Maya, on the hotel bed. Her sister was wearing Amara's veil. The veil Amara's late grandmother had sewn for her. The only thing Amara had left of her grandmother. The cake fell. "Amara!" David jumped up, pulling his pants up so fast he fell off the bed. His face was red, sweaty. "It's not what you think, baby, it's not what you think-" "Our wedding is in 2 hours!" Amara screamed. Her voice broke the whole hallway. The white cake was now smashed on the floor, the frosting staining her wedding shoes. "2 hours, David! My mother is at the church already! My family is waiting! Our pastor is waiting!" Maya did not even cover herself. She sat up on the bed, her long hair messy, wearing only Amara's veil and a bra. She smirked. That same smirk she had since they were kids. Maya was always the beautiful one, the fair one, the one their father loved more. "He said you are boring in bed," Maya said, licking her lips, looking at Amara's cheap wedding dress with disgust. "I was just showing him what a real woman is. Someone had to tell you, sister. He never loved you. He never wanted you. He loved my father's money, and daddy promised all the company to me, not you. You are just the adopted poor girl we pity." Amara felt the whole world spin. Adopted? She was not adopted. She was their father's first daughter, but her mother was poor. Maya's mother was the rich wife. "David, is it true?" Amara cried, tears now pouring down her face, ruining her makeup. "You told me you love me. You told my sick mother you will pay for her surgery." David looked away. He could not look at her eyes. "Amara, listen, Maya and I... we have been together for one year. I was going to tell you after the wedding. I need the money for my business. Your father said if I marry Maya, he will give me 2 million dollars. You have nothing to give me. You are always asking for hospital money for your mother. I am tired." That was it. One year. He had been sleeping with her sister for one year while kissing Amara and promising her marriage. Amara ran. She did not pick up the cake. She did not pick up her bag. She ran out of the hotel in her tight wedding dress, barefoot because her shoes were stained with cake, crying so loud that the security guards were looking but no one stopped her. She ran onto the busy street of Oxford Street. Cars were honking. People were staring at a crazy girl in a wedding dress running and crying in the middle of the afternoon. Her phone rang. She thought it was David, calling to lie again. But it was Korle-Bu Hospital. "Miss Amara? This is Doctor Asare from Korle-Bu. Your mother's heart surgery must be done tomorrow morning or she will die. We need the $10,000 deposit tonight before 8pm or we will give her bed to another patient. You promised today." Amara fell to her knees in the middle of the gutter. Her white dress was now brown with dirt from the street. Her mother was dying. Her wedding was destroyed. Her sister had stolen her fiancé. She had $12 in her MoMo. $12. "God, why?" she shouted to the sky. "Why me?" That's when a black Rolls Royce Phantom stopped in front of her, so close that the dust from its tire covered her dress even more. The traffic behind it was honking loudly, but the car did not move. The back window came down slowly. A man was inside. He was not Ghanaian. He had cold grey eyes like ice, sharp jaw, black suit that looked like it cost more than her whole family house. He looked like 32 years old, but his eyes looked like he had seen the whole world and hated it. He looked at her, a girl crying in a dirty wedding dress on the street, and he did not look surprised. He looked interested. "How much?" he asked, his voice deep, with an American accent. Amara looked up, confused, wiping her nose with her wedding veil. "What?" "How much do you cost for one night? You look desperate. You look like you need money badly. I need something too." Amara felt insulted. She stood up, angry. Even in her brokenness, she had pride. She walked to the car window and slapped him hard across his handsome face. The slap echoed. His driver came out, angry, ready to beat her, but the man raised his hand to stop the driver. He touched his red cheek and actually smiled for the first time. "Not bad," he said. "You have fire. I like fire. Most girls cry and beg." He brought out a black business card and held it out to her. Amara did not want to take it, but the name caught her eyes. Alessandro Knight, CEO, Knight Group International - Real Estate, Oil, Hotels. Net worth $2.3 Billion. Amara knew that name. Every girl in Ghana knew that name. He was on Forbes. He was the American billionaire who just bought half of Labone and was building the biggest hotel in Africa. "Not s*x," he said, as if reading her mind. "I don't pay for s*x. I need a surrogate. A contract wife." Amara blinked. "What?" "My mother is dying. Cancer. She has 6 months to live. Her last wish is to see my child before she dies. My ex-wife in America lied to me, aborted my child, and told the world I am infertile so no woman will marry me. I need a healthy, educated, clean girl to carry my child. IVF. No s*x. You live in my house for 9 months, you carry my baby, you give birth, you get paid and leave. $100,000." $100,000. Amara's brain stopped. That was 1.6 million Ghana cedis. That would save her mother. Pay for her own school fees. Buy a house. Change her whole life. "You are lying," she whispered. Alessandro opened his briefcase and brought out a paper. A legal contract. Already prepared. With a pen. "$20,000 now, cash, for your mother's surgery. I heard your phone call. $80,000 after you give birth. Contract says: you must live in my mansion in East Legon, you must sleep in my bedroom to fool my mother, you must never fall in love with me. And I will never fall in love with you. Rule 1 is the most important." "And what if I fall in love with you?" Amara asked, tears still in her eyes but her heart beating fast. The billionaire laughed coldly, a laugh that made her shiver. "You won't. Every woman who has tried has regretted it. I am not capable of love. I am a monster, wedding girl. Sign or die poor on this street. Your choice." Outside, she could hear her ex-fiancé David's voice in the distance. "Amara! Amara! Where are you?" He was looking for her. Amara looked at the contract. She looked at the hospital calling again on her phone. She looked at the dirty wedding dress. She took the pen and signed her name. Amara Boakye. She didn't know she had just sold her heart to the devil billionaire everyone feared. The Rolls Royce door opened. "Get in, Mrs. Knight," Alessandro said. Amara entered the car, leaving her broken wedding cake and her old life on the street behind her.