The Billionaire's Hired Wife

CHAPTER TWO

Sebastian Williams stood in his private study, a room designed with the sharp, cool lines of modern art. It was perfectly silent, perfectly ordered, just like the life he had built—and the life he was desperately trying to rebuild. Outside, the first light of dawn was staining the expensive glass windows. Inside, he held a framed photograph of his late wife, Danielle.

Danielle was beautiful in a way that felt carved from marble—cold, smooth, and flawless. She had grown up in a powerful, old-money family, and she carried the weight of that legacy in every perfect, stiff movement. Sebastian remembered her most for her silence. She rarely laughed, and when she did, it sounded like a polite, practiced chime, not a real outburst of joy.

Their marriage had been a union of high power and perfect appearances. Danielle was high maintenance in every sense. Her clothes were always designer, her hair was always sculpted, and her voice was always level, even when she was angry. Sometimes, she would show small, sweet moments—a brief touch on his arm at a party, a rare compliment whispered late at night. But mostly, she was cold, a beautiful statue more than a warm partner.

Before she died, Sebastian had been a different man. He had a kinder heart. He used to laugh easily at a good joke and had a simple, good common sense that balanced Danielle’s high-class formality. He was warm, accessible, and his staff even liked him. But Danielle’s death had shattered everything. His grief hadn't been a soft sadness; it was a hard, freezing rage against the sudden emptiness. He believed that the world had robbed him of his perfection, and he had retaliated by becoming as cold as the memory of his wife.

He ran a thumb over Danielle's flawless, smiling face in the photo.

"It all went wrong the moment you left. The silence is too loud, Danielle. The structure is falling apart," he murmured, while looking at her.

He looked away from the photo, his gaze falling onto the empty desk where the signed contract should have been waiting for him this morning. The thought of Shuvee Alcantara signing that paper was now his only driving force. She was the flawed, common copy, but she had the essential shape. He would refine her. He would force her to be the silent, perfect proxy he needed.

Once she signs, everything will return to normal. The meetings will be covered. The investors will be convinced. The emptiness will be filled,” he added.

He didn't care about Shuvee's feelings; he cared only about the function she would provide. He needed the world to see Danielle again, even if the woman behind the face was a complete fabrication. He needed the illusion of perfection to quiet the guilt and the terrible grief that had turned his heart to ice.

He picked up his phone and called Arthur, his private investigator.

"Arthur. It's time to check on the asset. I need to know her current status. She should have signed by now. I left her with a clear ultimatum,” he ordered. His voice is sharp and demanding.

Arthur’s voice on the other end was hesitant, a little rough. "Mr. Williams, there's been a development. A complication at the Alcantara residence last night. I'm on my way there now. It's… serious," he replied.

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. He hated complications.

"What kind of serious? Is she trying to run?"

"No, sir. Her father. Ricardo. There was a violent incident. Gunshots. He's been badly injured. I believe she is at the local hospital with him now."

A faint, cruel smile touched Sebastian's lips. The incident was tragic, but for him, it was a godsend. The complication had just made his contract irresistible. Her hesitation had been punished by the world, leaving her utterly exposed to his mercy.

"Do not interfere, Arthur. Just confirm the hospital wing and the father’s condition. And tell her I'll be there in an hour. Tell her to have the paper ready. The time for thinking is over. The time for signing has begun,” Sebastian said.

He hung up without waiting for a reply.

He put the photograph of Danielle back on the shelf, his cold eyes already calculating how to use this new tragedy to finalize his capture of Shuvee. The illusion of salvation was a powerful weapon, and he was ready to wield it.

Shuvee was a wreck. She sat on a hard plastic chair in the hospital hallway, her clothes still stained with her father’s blood, the scent of antiseptic strong in the air. Hours had passed since the terrifying incident. Her father, Ricardo, was now in surgery, fighting for his life. Her mother, Amelia, was only a few floors above her, unaware that the struggle to pay for her medicine had nearly killed her husband.

Shuvee was exhausted, defeated, and utterly hopeless. She hadn't called the police—she knew they wouldn't save her father from the men who wounded him. There was only one thing that could save her family now, and it was the very thing that would destroy her: Sebastian Williams.

A man in a dark suit walked up to her. It was Arthur, Sebastian's investigator. He looked at her with a flicker of pity that he quickly hid.

"Miss Alcantara? My employer, Mr. Williams, is aware of what happened. I was sent to check on your father,” he said.

Shuvee looked up, her eyes dull and red.

"He's in surgery. It's bad. They shot him. I don't know if he'll live."

Arthur quietly handed her a clean bottle of water and a packet of tissues.

"Mr. Williams is coming here. He asked me to tell you that this entire situation—the hospital, the surgery, the aftermath—is going to cost a fortune. More than you can ever imagine."

The words weren't a threat; they were a cold statement of fact. Shuvee knew he was right. The hospital was already asking for a down payment for the operation.

"He also asked me to remind you that your father's safety is now zero. The men who shot him will not stop. Unless Mr. Williams steps in, your father will either be arrested for his work, or he'll be killed when they find him again,” Arthur added.

Shuvee's hand went to the pocket where she still had the heavy, white envelope. She didn't need any more convincing. She was staring at the barrel of a gun, and Sebastian was offering the only way out.

"When is he coming? I'll sign it. Just tell him... tell him to make sure those men never come near my father again. Tell him to move my mother to a private room where she's safe. I'll sign anything,” Shuvee replied, her voice was shaking.

Arthur nodded, a look of quiet resignation on his face.

"He'll be here shortly, Miss Alcantara. He'll have the fully legalized contract ready."

An hour later, Sebastian Williams arrived. He didn't come through the main entrance; he used a private elevator, appearing suddenly and silently, like a phantom. He looked fresh, perfectly groomed, and completely out of place in the messy, human setting of the hospital.

He walked up to Shuvee, who slowly stood up, facing her captor. He didn't ask how she was. He didn't offer a word of comfort. He simply carried a leather briefcase, which he placed on a nearby, unused gurney.

"The choice has been removed, Miss Alcantara. The world has made the decision for you,” he said. His voice was low, but carried the weight of a judge. "I have already instructed my legal team to take over all your father's medical bills. The cost of the surgery is now mine. The men who did this will be dealt with—not by the police, but by my own security detail. They will never harm your family again. This act of mercy is conditional, of course."

He opened the briefcase and pulled out the crisp, official contract. It was thicker than the paper in the envelope he'd given her the day before.

"Here it is. The final agreement. It clearly states that you are entering into service as a proxy for my late wife, Danielle Williams. You agree to live under my roof and follow my instructions regarding your behavior, your schedule, and your appearance without question or complaint,” he added. He held out a fancy silver pen. "Sign here, on the bottom of every page. Your father is safe the moment the ink dries."

Shuvee stared at the contract. The words OBEDIENCE, NO COMPLAINT, and PROPERTY seemed to jump out at her. She knew she was signing away her freedom, her messy laughter, her genuine heart. She was trading her identity for a signature.

But then she pictured her father’s bloody shirt, his gasping breaths. She pictured her mother, frail and sick, needing the medicine that only this man’s money could guarantee.

The true cost of being a good daughter was her soul.

Shuvee slowly took the pen from Sebastian's cold fingers. The metal was smooth, expensive, and heavy in her hand. The act of signing the paper felt like burying a part of herself.

She looked up at Sebastian one last time, her eyes pleading for a small concession, a moment of human decency.

"Will I… will I at least be able to see them? My Mama and Papa? To know they are safe?" she asked.

Sebastian expression didn’t changed. "You will be informed of their status. But your primary focus will be your new role. Danielle was devoted to her life; you must be too. Once you move into the mansion, your world becomes the mansion. Your duty is to me. We begin your transformation immediately."

He didn't promise comfort; he promised control.

Shuvee lowered her gaze to the first page. She could feel Sebastian watching her, his perfect silence pressuring her, demanding her compliance.

She pressed the pen hard into the paper, her hand steady despite the tremors running through her body. She signed her name, Shuvee Alcantara, on the dotted line. Then she signed the next page, and the next, on all the clauses that stripped her of her basic rights. She signed away her past, her present, and her unknown future.

With a final, terrible scrape of the pen, she finished.

She pushed the contract back toward Sebastian. It was no longer a piece of paper; it was a surrender document.

"I signed it,” she said, in a flat, defeated voice. “Everything you asked for. Now, do what you promised. Save my father, and keep my mother safe."

Sebastian took the pen, closed the contract, and tucked it back into his briefcase. His perfect composure never slipped.

"Consider it done. Your father is now under my protection and will receive the best care. Your mother will be moved to a luxury wing. They are safe. You are now my property, Miss Alcantara,” he said before he nodded toward Arthur. "Arthur will arrange your transit to the mansion. You will leave immediately. Your old life is over."

Shuvee knew this was the moment of no return. She gave one last look at the hallway leading to the surgical wing, a silent goodbye to the daughter who was about to die.

As she walked with Arthur out of the hospital, leaving her family’s life and death struggle behind, she made a silent promise to herself. She repeated it like a mantra, a burning coal of resolve in the pit of her stomach.

“I will be her. I will be the best copy of Danielle he could ever want. I will be silent, I will be perfect, and I will endure every cruel thing he throws at me. I will do it for my Mama. I will do it for my Papa. He may own my face, but he will never own my heart,” she said in her mind.

The promise was her only weapon, a hidden strength she carried into the gilded cage. She was going to survive Sebastian Williams’ madness, no matter the cost.