My Contract Marriage With The Billionaires

Every dinner at home felt like an exam. Tonight, my heart raced as I stepped into the room —I was already failing. The silence at our dinner table was worse than any shouting match—so complete you could hear a pin drop. My father’s stare was icy. But it was my stepmom’s gaze that froze me completely. Under the table, my thumb hovered over my phone for the tenth time, quietly hoping for a message from Austin. His texts were my favorite escape, a small window into a life that felt normal—with him, everything was easy and nothing cut deep. At sixteen, I should have been thinking about homework or some silly crush. But in our house, every word and every move felt like a test— one I never studied for and always seemed to fail. Tonight, my mistake was posture. “Sit up, Anna.” My father said, his voice as sharp as the steak knife he held. “A lady carries herself with grace.” My back straightened at once, like a soldier obeying orders. Across the table, my stepsister smiled with smug satisfaction. This was our routine— judgment at dinner. I had learned to give up parts of myself for their approval. It was strange, living in the middle of New York City, a place that never slept, where people rushed through bright streets chasing their dreams, while inside our house, I felt stuck. The city outside was alive, but inside, the house felt like a cage, its walls pressing in tighter with every breath. As soon as dinner was over and I could escape to my room, I grabbed my phone. Just one message from him was all I needed to be happy for the rest of the night. Did you get to school okay? I typed. The reply came quickly. Got here safe. How’s my craziest best friend? Me: “I hate this place.” Austin: “Don’t let it define you. Anna. You’ll get out of it one day. Trust me.” I wanted to believe him. But happiness felt like a dream too far away. It was Austin— my safe place. He never cared about polished manners or perfection. With him, I could just be me. I remembered a holiday a year ago, when we went to Central Park without any parents. We both tripped and fell, getting covered in mud, and laughed until our stomachs hurt. My parents would have been horrified, but Austin had simply wiped the mud from his face and said, ‘Well, now we know what a real mess feels like.” He came from a world so different from mine. He was so free, while I was trapped in a house full of expectations. His school might have been just a short bus ride away, but to me, it felt like another universe. My phone buzzed again with a new message from Austin. You should tell them no, Anna. Just once. I stared at his words. I wanted to believe him, but he didn’t live under their eyes. I can’t. Austin. Let’s not talk about this, and don’t worry about me, I'm fine, I replied. However, it didn’t feel better at all. I put my phone down. I knew the conversation was over before it even started. The holiday break felt more like a punishment than a rest. It was a constant, exhausting game of avoiding the wrong words or looks. I was counting the days until I could go back to boarding school. It was far from perfect, but at least there I had some space from my parents’ constant demands. So, when Austin suggested inviting a few friends over – just music, laughter, something small — I agreed. We were all celebrating the end of our national exams. The air was full of laughter from my friends, the warm smell of chocolate chip cookies, and the upbeat rhythm of pop music spilling from a phone speaker, and for a short while, I almost forgot where I was. For the first time, I felt like a normal teenager, not the perfect girl. I had even baked a huge tray of cookies, something I was quietly proud of, and I was just about to hand a plate to a friend. When my stepmother, Susan, walked in from work, her heels clicked against the floor like gunshots. The room froze. She stopped in the middle of the living room, looking furious. The music died down, and the laughter stopped. Everyone’s eyes were on her. “Anna,” her voice was icy. She looked at me, then at the tray of cookies in my hand. “Who told you that you could throw a party in my house? Who said you could give away food and drinks? You don’t pay for anything in this house.” I felt my face turning red with embarrassment. I froze, the plate of cookies still in my hand. Austin, who was standing next to me, looked just as shocked. The happy mood was completely shattered. My friends stared at their shoes, and a few mumbled “Sorry” and then left. They just walked out and left me standing there, feeling totally humiliated. As the door shut behind them, I stood frozen, cookies still in my hand, the laughter gone as if it had never existed. Susan walked off to her bedroom without another word. Austin put his hand on my shoulder. I couldn’t bear his pity, not when I felt so embarrassed. I shrugged it off and ran to my room, tears blurring my vision. He followed me, shutting the door behind us. “Are you okay?” he asked, but he knew the question felt pointless. We both knew the answer. I shook my head, my voice quiet with shame. “I don’t like living like this, Austin. I’m just so exhausted pretending everything is okay. I’m tired of not having a normal life like other kids. I just want to be okay with who I am. I’m not perfect, and that’s alright.” “Of course, Anna,” he said, his voice full of a frustrated energy I wished I had. “You are still young; you can make mistakes. They’re wrong, Anna. You don’t have to be perfect, and you have every right to eat and share things with your friends. You did nothing wrong.” I knew he was right, but that didn’t stop me from feeling ashamed. The last few weeks of my break were spent either in my room or with my cousin Austin, away from the house. Soon enough, it was time to go back to school. The morning came too fast. I said goodbye to everyone, including my mom, who was stuck at work and could only wish me well over the phone. My father and my stepmother, Susan, each drove their own car to work without even offering me a ride to the bus station. The bus to my new boarding school was outside the city, so I dragged my suitcase and a large duffel bag to the bus station, heavy with the weight of everything I was leaving behind. It felt like pulling a mountain. I didn’t think twice about it. I just told myself they must have a good reason to be so busy. They were adults, and their lives were more complicated than mine. I pushed and pulled my cases through the crowded, messy bus station until I found the right bus and collapsed into a seat, the window showing me the blur of the city as we left. I finally felt a wave of relief. “This was my new life, or at least, that’s what I thought.”