OOPS! I MARRIED A BILLIONAIRE.

Amarae Losing the biggest deal of my life felt like getting personally evicted from my own future. I dragged myself back into the office like a soldier returning from a war she had single-handedly lost. My head hung so low I could practically count the tiny cracks on the tiled floor. My palms were sweaty, my throat tight, and I could already feel the judgmental stares burning holes into my skin. There she goes. The office disaster. The human wrecking ball. “She made us lose the Hawkins deal,” someone whispered loudly enough for the entire floor to hear. I didn’t bother looking up. What was the point? He was right. I had ruined it. And the worst part? I had done it in the most spectacularly stupid way possible. Because apparently, my brain has a PhD in self-sabotage. The tears I’d been heroically holding back since the elevator finally betrayed me, spilling down my cheeks in hot, traitorous streaks. One fat drop landed on the floor, and I stared at it, thinking, Great. Even my tears are underperforming today. Shame burned through my chest like acid. This wasn’t just another mistake. This was the final nail in the coffin of my already crumbling career. I had let everyone down — again. The team that had worked so hard on the presentation. The company that had trusted me with their biggest client. Myself. “Miss Amara John!” My boss’s voice cracked through the open-plan office like a whip. “My office. Now!” The tone alone told me everything I needed to know: I was about to be executed, professionally and publicly. I shuffled into Thomas’s office like a criminal heading to the gallows. He sat behind his massive mahogany desk, arms folded so tightly I was surprised he could still breathe. His face looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon dipped in disappointment. “Sit,” he ordered. I sat. Thomas stared at me for a long, painful second, then exhaled like a disappointed father. “Amara… what the hell happened?” I opened my mouth, but he raised a hand, already knowing whatever came out would probably make things worse. “You had them. You had them, Amara. The Hawkins team was impressed. The CEO was nodding along. We were this close—” he pinched his fingers together until there was barely space between them “—and then you started talking about… ducks.” He said the word “ducks” like it was a contagious disease. I cringed so hard my soul left my body for a second. The shame deepened, wrapping around my throat until it was hard to breathe. “There was this little duck,” I mumbled, staring at the beautiful marble floor. Wow, Thomas really upgraded his tiles. When did that happen? Anything to avoid looking him in the eyes. “A duck,” he repeated slowly, as if testing the word for sanity. “You stopped a multi-million-dollar negotiation to talk about a duck swimming in the fountain outside his office.” “It was really cute,” I offered weakly, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I thought… maybe if he held it, he’d feel calmer. More… connected to nature. You know, mindfulness and all that.” Thomas blinked at me like I’d grown a second head. “So you picked up the duck,” he continued, voice rising with disbelief, “carried it into a formal meeting, and placed it on the CEO’s lap so he could ‘feel its calming energy’?” I sank lower into the chair, wishing it would swallow me whole. “And then,” Thomas continued, barely containing himself, “the damn thing pooped all over his $15,000 Tom Ford suit.” In my defense, the duck had looked very peaceful right up until that moment. Hot tears pricked my eyes again. The weight of my stupidity pressed down on me until I could barely breathe. Why am I like this? Why can’t I just be normal for once? “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my hands twisting nervously in my lap. “I just… I get excited. And when I get excited, words fall out of my mouth like they’re on a water slide with no brakes.” Thomas rubbed his temples, looking genuinely pained. “Amara, this is the fifth job in three months. Five. At this rate, you’re going to need a new career… or a very understanding sugar daddy.” The words sliced deep. I slid off the chair and dropped to my knees dramatically, clasping my hands together like a Victorian orphan. “Please, Thomas! I’m begging you. Don’t fire me. I’ll do better. I’ll tape my mouth shut during meetings. I’ll wear a muzzle. I’ll communicate only through interpretive dance if necessary. Just… please. I can’t lose this job.” My voice cracked. “Williams is already tired of lending me money, and my landlord has the emotional range of a parking ticket. I have nowhere else to go.” Thomas turned his chair around, so his back faced me — the ultimate sign of corporate rejection. “I’m sorry, Amara,” he said quietly. “You’re not just unprofessional. You’re a walking liability. I can’t keep risking the company’s reputation because you think ducks are emotional support animals.” The silence that followed was deafening. I stayed on my knees for a few more pathetic seconds, hoping for a miracle that never came. The shame and guilt sat heavily in my stomach like stones. I had disappointed everyone — again. And this time, there was no coming back. Finally, I stood up on shaky legs, wiped my tears with the back of my hand, and whispered, “I understand.” As I walked out of his office, I could feel the weight of twenty pairs of eyes following me. Some looked sympathetic. Most looked relieved that the chaos gremlin was finally leaving. I clutched my little box of belongings — mostly snacks and a sad, dying succulent — and headed for the elevator, my chest tight with guilt. How was I going to explain to my brother that I’d been fired for duck-related crimes against a billionaire? I stood outside the office building like a tragic heroine in a very unfunny rom-com, clutching my sad little box. My mascara had staged a full rebellion down my cheeks, and my hair looked like it had lost a fight with a fan. My life was falling apart, piece by humiliating piece. I didn’t have to wait long. William’s sleek black car came screeching around the corner like he was auditioning for Fast & Furious: California Edition. He parked so close I could have reached out and touched the hood. The window rolled down, and there he was, my flying knight, my professional crisis manager, and the only person who could make me laugh even when I wanted to disappear. “Girl…” William pushed his designer glasses down the bridge of his nose, taking in my ruined face and bird’s-nest hair. “What fresh hell happened this time?” “I don’t wanna talk about it,” I muttered, already climbing into the passenger seat. “Oh, we’re definitely talking about it,” he said, pulling out into traffic with the grace of someone who believed speed limits were mere suggestions. “Five jobs in three months, Amara. You’re not just unemployed, babe, you’re on fire. A whole walking inferno.” I groaned and slumped deeper into the leather seat. “My rent is due next month. How am I supposed to tell my landlord I have zero money? The man already looks at me like I’m a cockroach that learned how to sign a lease.” Tears welled up again. This time, I didn’t even try to stop them. I burst into the kind of ugly, hiccupping cry that should come with a warning label. William glanced at me sideways, completely unfazed. “Well… technically, if you move out before the due date, you won’t have to tell him anything.” I paused mid-sob and slowly turned to stare at him. “That… actually sounds genius.” He pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me. “No. Absolutely not. Do not even think about it, Amara John. You are not moving in with me. Not while Justin is around.” I gasped dramatically. “This gay-ass motherfucker! Your fiancé is always there! Where am I supposed to go, Willy? The streets? Should I start selling water on the roadside?” “You gotta figure it out, girl,” he said, way too cheerfully as he made a sharp turn that nearly sent my box flying. “I love you, but I’m not about to let your chaos ruin my peaceful love nest.” A few minutes later, the car came to a smooth stop right in front of my apartment building. William turned to me with the fakest, sweetest smile I’d ever seen. “Now, get out.” I clutched my bag tighter, refusing to move. “I hate you.” “I love you too, drama queen!” he sang, blowing me an air kiss. Byeee!” Before I could beg any further, he sped off, leaving me standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy. I stared up at my apartment door with dread pooling in my stomach. What was waiting for me inside was worse than losing my job, worse than the duck incident, and definitely worse than William’s betrayal. Because behind that door was the one person I had been avoiding for weeks. My older brother. And he was going to kill me.