The Billionaire’s Bound Bride

Elena’s POV “Ward, table four has been waiting for the longest time now. What exactly are you standing there like a statue for? Daydreaming again and being useless?"

Mr. Jenkins’ voice did it as usual, snapping me out of my many thoughts for the day, sharp and mocking as always. I steadied my grip on the tray to avoid more drama, and wore a fake smile to not make the customers nauseated because of my facial expression. “On it,” I said, though I would have been more fulfilled if I had the opportunity to shove the tray right into his ugly face.

“Faster, not sluggish movement, Elena,” he barked again. “Smiles don’t have the ability to pay bills. Customers do that part.”

For the first time, he actually made sense. No matter how hard you smiled and tried to put on a bright face, showing only the bright side to people around you, your bills would still be waiting for you after everything.

I quickly walked over to table four to avoid his wrath, balancing the tray like my life depended on the contents, and of course, it did. My rent was due, my mother was lying almost lifeless in the nearest hospital, with no money for her medications. And my leftover dignity had been trashed into the gutters long ago.

“Here you go,” I said in the most polite way possible, carefully setting the plates with precision.

“About time we actually do something,” one of the men muttered, but I paid deaf ears to whatever he had to say.

The others laughed like I was carrying a contagious disease. “Maybe she harbors the thoughts that her pretty face excuses her.”

I swallowed, forcing myself to stay calm. This was survival, not pride. “Enjoy your meal,” I murmured, backing away quickly.

Their laughter roared through the whole building like rain.

“Ward!” Jenkins barked like a mad dog again, even sharper this time. "Over to table six; at the VIP section. Don’t misbehave there."

VIP? How possible is that? Is he trying to set me up and let me go unpaid?

On getting there, I saw him sitting alone in a crisp suit, everything screaming old money. His posture was controlled and full of comfort. His hair was amazingly slicked back, sharp piercing eyes, and just a glance told me he didn’t belong in such a place as ours. He had the look of someone who owned the place — with no exception to me.

I approached him carefully not to create a scene, heart thudding. “Good evening. What can I get for you, sir?”

He lifted his gaze, then slowly landed them on me. Then, just when I had given up on him talking, he spoke up, his voice smooth, giving me goosebumps.

“What do you recommend for me, Miss Ward?”

I blinked in confusion. “How do you know...”

“The name tag did the magic,” he interrupted, already knowing the direction my question was taking. But the way he called my name, I wished he could continue mentioning it while I stood there, and never get tired.

“Right,” I muttered, taken aback as I never expected that. Fumbling with my notepad, I proceeded to give him my recommendation. “Uh… the chicken pot pie would do, it’s decent.”

“I’ll take that then. And add a coffee to it.” His gaze didn’t waver, still pinned on me. “Make it black.”

I scribbled his order quickly, too quickly that I feared I might end up doing the wrong thing. “Coming right up.”

As I turned to take my leave, his voice stopped me. “You don’t look like you belong here.”

I froze, as I never expected that from him, my throat suddenly dry. “Excuse me?”

“Waiting tables isn’t part of who you are,” he said calmly, like he was stating an obvious fact. “It doesn’t suit you in any way.”

I forced a shaky laugh, to lessen the tension. “Well, unfortunately, that’s the only thing that suits my rent.”

I saw the way his eyes moved — maybe pity, or maybe he was just playing around. I couldn’t place a hand on it.

The rest of the evening, I made sure to avoid him, taking different directions just to be far from him, as he screamed trouble. Then, when I finally brought his bill, he handed me a black card, his eyes still glued to mine. "You can keep the change."

I frowned at the gesture. "Sir, this is way too much."

He leaned in, and still with his smooth voice said, "Consider my gesture as an investment."

I opened my mouth to ask more questions, to know what it meant, but he was already far gone. When I checked the card, the tip was more than what I make in two months.

“Holy...”

“Ward!” That was Jenkins of course. “Don’t forget tips go through the register.”

“What? No, that’s not...”

He smirked triumphantly. “House rules, remember.”

My anger burned like wildfire. If permitted, I could crush him with my bare hands, but I had no right to fight him. Not long after, my shift ended, and I gathered my exhausted bones back to my apartment, suddenly remembering I never had time to visit my mom that day.

Then suddenly, I saw a dim light outside the street, directly opposite my apartment.

It was a sleek black car. This wasn’t the taxi we were used to in this part of town. It was too polished to be found here.

Out of curiosity, I reached for the door, and made my way outside.

Then a man in a suit, as if waiting for me, stepped out of the car, brought an envelope to me, and bowed slightly before leaving. The envelope was heavy, and on it was a silver seal. To my surprise, my name was written boldly on it.

I tore it open with shaky hands, and behold, there was a contract marriage.

It was for the period of one year, with Lucien Vale.

My vision blurred, and all I could see were the benefits attached to it.

My mother’s hospital bills cleared, compensation at the end of one year granted, full partnership.

Then came the hard question: why me?