The Billionaire's Hired Wife

CHAPTER ONE

Shuvee Alcantara turned twenty-five in a tiny, rented room that smelled of old paint and her mother's weak sickness. She didn’t have a cake or any kind of party. Her life was not a celebration; it was a heavy, constant struggle. She was the only child of Amelia and Ricardo, and all the weight of her family’s survival rested on her small shoulders. Her young adult life was completely defined by one simple truth: she was drowning.

Her mother, Amelia, had been a strong, bright woman, the light of their home. But three years ago, a terrible kidney disease had attacked her body, demanding expensive, repeated dialysis treatments and a constant supply of imported medicine that cost more than Shuvee’s monthly salary.

This was the core, the main wound that had slowly infected every part of Shuvee’s existence. It forced her to grow up fast, trading her dreams of studying at a good school for the reality of working any job that paid in cash.

Shuvee remembered a time when life felt safe, just years before. Her father, Ricardo, was a simple, honest man who worked in a small factory. He was kind, if a little quiet. But when Amelia’s illness hit, Ricardo changed. The fear of losing his wife crushed his honest spirit.

Flashback: The Morning Light

Shuvee was barely twenty-two years old when it started. One rainy Tuesday, she woke up to the sound of the front door gently clicking shut. She rushed out of her room. The apartment was quiet, the air cold.

“Ma? Where’s Papa?” Shuvee asked, finding Amelia already awake, looking worried.

Amelia sighed, holding a blanket tight around her thin shoulders.

“He left before the sun was up, Anak. He just kissed me and told me not to worry. He didn't say where he was going. He’s been doing that a lot lately. I think he’s looking for extra work, but he won’t tell me what kind of work it was.”

Shuvee felt a knot of worry tighten in her stomach. Ricardo had never kept secrets from them.

The worry lasted for two agonizing days. Shuvee called every factory and small shop he knew, but no one had seen him. Amelia was growing weaker, and the critical time for her medicine was passing.

On the evening of the third day, a frantic knock sounded on their door. It wasn't the police, which Shuvee had feared. It was Ricardo.

He looked terrible. His shirt was ripped at the sleeve, there was a nasty cut above his eyebrow, and his eyes were wide and terrified, like an animal that had just escaped a trap.

“Ricardo! My God, what happened to you?” Amelia cried, struggling to get out of her seat.

Ricardo rushed to her, grabbing her tightly, but his hands were shaking. He didn't answer her question. Instead, he reached into the back pocket of his pants and pulled out a small, rolled-up wad of cash. It was more money than Shuvee had ever seen him carry at one time.

He pushed it into Amelia’s hand.

“Here, Amelia. The medicine. The whole month. And the treatment next week. It’s all here.”

Amelia’s eyes were wide as she looked from the money to her husband's frightened face.

“Where did this come from, Ricardo? This is too much. Did you borrow it? From who?” Amelia asked.

Ricardo swallowed hard, turning his back to them as he slowly washed his bloody face at the sink. His voice was low and flat.

“Don't worry about it. I found a way. A quick way. Just… just know that it’s for you. For your life. I did it for you,” he replied.

Shuvee, watching from the doorway, felt a sudden, cold dread. The money felt tainted, dirty. It bought her mother life, but it had clearly cost her father something vital. That night, she learned the terrible truth from a neighbor: Ricardo had started to sell small amounts of illegal drugs for a local group, using the money to save his wife. He had entered a dark, deadly world just to keep his family afloat.

From that moment on, Shuvee’s life became a silent battle to save everyone. She worked constantly, trying to earn enough money to make her father stop. She was fiercely loving, but hopelessly burdened.

Which brought her to this moment: standing across the counter from Sebastian Williams, a man whose money could end all her suffering.

Sebastian looked like a king who had wandered into a poor village. He had just asked her, plainly and simply, to become the proxy.

“...You will be my stand-in,” Sebastian repeated, his blue eyes intense and emotionless. “The details are inside.”

He slid the heavy, white envelope across the counter. The contract to become a proxy of his wife. It felt like a stone, both a promise of relief and a tombstone for her own identity.

“Sir, I… I can’t just say yes,” Shuvee said, her voice shaking. She picked up the envelope, but she didn’t open it. She was trying to buy time, trying to find a loophole where there was none. “This is a huge thing. This is about being another person. I need to think about my Mama and Papa. I need a day, at least.”

Sebastian raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, showing a flicker of annoyance.

“Miss Alcantara, time is money. I am offering you an immediate, life-changing solution to a desperate problem. Your mother’s medicine costs you a thousand pesos a week. Your father’s ‘side job’ will land him in jail or the morgue. I will wipe it all away. To think about it is to delay your mother’s comfort and risk your father’s life.”

He made it sound like her hesitation was a selfish act.

“I understand that, Sir. But I have to go home and check on them. I can’t sign anything without knowing they are safe,” Shuvee insisted, holding the envelope tight.

She was a good daughter, and that was her one true strength. Her father’s safety and her mother’s comfort were her whole world. Sebastian knew it, and he used it against her perfectly.

Sebastian Williams’ silence was louder than any shout. He simply stared at Shuvee, his expression a cold challenge. He wasn't used to being told 'no,' especially by someone as powerless as she was.

“Fine. One night. But know this, Miss Alcantara: every hour you delay, the risk increases. My offer is tied to my current schedule. If you decide to prioritize your feelings over your family’s survival, someone else will happily take your place tomorrow,” Sebastian said. He turned to leave, but stopped at the door, delivering one final, cutting blow. “Also, I’ve already paid off your father’s debt for the next seventy-two hours. He is safe for now. But after that, he's back on his own. I’m giving you a taste of freedom, Shuvee. Don't waste it.”

With that, he walked out and got into his black car, which then drove away silently.

Shuvee stood there, feeling both relieved and utterly defeated. He had already taken control. He hadn't asked her to sign the contract yet, but he had already shown her that her father's life was a switch he could turn on or off. The relief that Ricardo was safe for the next three days was a powerful drug, forcing her mind toward acceptance.

That evening, Shuvee rushed to the hospital. Her shift ended late, and she hurried to her mother’s room, clutching the white envelope like a time bomb.

Amelia was resting, but her face was pale and drawn. Shuvee sat beside the bed, carefully wiping her mother’s forehead with a cool cloth. She looked at her mother’s thin hands, hands that used to bake the best bread and hold her tight. Now, they were frail and weak.

“Mama,” Shuvee whispered, trying to hold back the tears. “I have a chance. A really big job. It will pay for everything. You won't have to worry about the medicine anymore.”

Amelia slowly opened her eyes and smiled weakly. “Anak, you are too good to us. What is the job? Is it decent work?”

Shuvee hesitated. How could she explain that the job was to erase herself? That it was a gilded cage offered by a man whose eyes were full of ghosts?

"It’s… it’s decent work. For a very rich man. He just needs a personal assistant, someone who looks a certain way. It means I’ll be living away from here, but I can send money for a private nurse for you. And Papa... he can stop doing the dangerous things,” she replied.

Amelia’s brow wrinkled in concern. “Your Papa… I haven’t seen him smile a real smile in so long. He’s carrying too much guilt. Shuvee, don't sacrifice your own happiness for us. You deserve a life outside of this room.”

“My happiness is seeing you healthy, Ma. Nothing else matters,” she said.

She stayed with her mother until visiting hours were over, then made the long trip back to their tiny apartment in the crowded part of the city.

She found her father, Ricardo, sitting alone in the dark kitchen, nervously tapping his fingers on the table. He looked up at her, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and relief.

“Shuvee! Did you see your mother? Is she okay? I couldn’t go. I was trying to lay low. The men… they said they wanted me to do a big job tonight,” he said.

Shuvee rushed to hug him, feeling the bones beneath his thin shirt.

“Pa, listen to me. You are safe. For now. A man… a very rich man, Sebastian Williams, paid off your debt for three days. You don’t have to do anything tonight. You are safe.”

Ricardo’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “A rich man? Why would he do that?”

Shuvee showed him the white envelope.

“He wants to hire me. To be a stand-in for his dead wife. He wants me to be like her. I have to sign this contract tonight or tomorrow morning, or all the debt comes back, and you won’t be safe anymore.”

Ricardo took the envelope and his rough hands trembled. He didn’t open it. He just held it, realizing the cost of his momentary safety.

“No, Anak. You cannot do this. You are Shuvee. You are loud and messy and you are good. Don’t let some rich man buy your soul,” he pleaded, which made Shuvee shake her head.

“But Pa, if I don’t, you will go to jail or worse. Mama will die. This is the only way to save you both. He wants me to be his proxy. I have to say yes,” she said.

She spent the rest of the night packing her few clothes and reading the contract. The words were a legal maze, clearly written to trap her. It said she was his property during the term of the agreement, bound by the strictest obedience rules about her appearance and behavior. It also had a huge penalty clause if she quit early. It was a terrible deal, but the thought of her mother smiling without pain made her heart ache enough to ignore the warning signs.

Shuvee didn't sleep. She sat by the window, watching the streetlights, the white envelope sitting next to her on the bedside table. She knew she would sign it in the morning. It was settled. She had to become the "Living Memory" to protect her own living family.

Around three in the morning, the heavy silence of the city’s early hours was violently broken.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The sound was sharp, close, and terrifying—gunshots.

Shuvee shot straight up from the bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. She immediately knew what it was. Her father. The men. Sebastian’s temporary protection was just that—temporary. Perhaps the men had not believed Ricardo was safe, or maybe Sebastian's seventy-two hours had run out sooner than he let on. The fear was a cold, hard lump in her throat.

She scrambled out of bed, rushing to the front door of their small apartment.

“Pa! Pa!” she screamed, her voice shaking.

She could hear her father groaning, a terrible, muffled sound from the other side of the door.

“Papa! Are you there? Hold on!”

She wrestled with the multiple locks on the door, her hands shaking so badly that she dropped the key twice. Finally, the door flew open, hitting the wall with a thud.

The sight in the dim light of the hallway made Shuvee’s scream die in her throat.

Ricardo Alcantara was lying on the worn cement right in front of the door. He was curled on his side, his body weakly shaking. The front of his thin, white undershirt was rapidly turning crimson from the blood pouring from a wound in his chest.

His eyes were squeezed shut in pain, and he was gasping for air.

Shuvee dropped to her knees beside him, tears instantly blurring her vision. “Papa! Who did this? Papa!”

Ricardo couldn’t speak. He just groaned again, a sound of deep, raw pain. His arm was stretched out, his hand tightly clutching something small and square, pressing it against his bleeding chest.

Shuvee gently tried to move his arm to see the wound, but he held on with surprising strength. He opened his eyes, now cloudy with pain and fear, and looked up at his daughter.

“Anak… the money… it wasn’t enough… they came back…” he said while painfully looking at his daughter.

He coughed, and more blood bubbled up, staining his lips.

“You have to… you have to sign it. For your Mama… for me… sign the paper, Shuvee,” he added.

His eyes rolled back, and his body went limp, his hand finally relaxing its grip. Shuvee looked down at his open hand and saw what he was clutching: a small, worn photograph of Amelia on their wedding day.

But there was no time for tears. He was bleeding too much. Shuvee’s mind went into a panic. She looked up and down the empty, dark hallway, knowing that the people who did this were probably still close.

She desperately pulled her father toward the safety of the apartment, the terrible wet warmth of his blood staining her pajamas.

“I’ll call an ambulance! Papa, stay with me! Please, you have to stay with me!”

As she struggled to drag his heavy body over the door frame, her eyes landed on the table where she had left it: the sealed, white envelope from Sebastian Williams. It was the only way to save her mother, and now, it was the only way to save her father too.

The terrible choice was no longer a choice. It was a command. Shuvee looked from the contract to her unconscious, bloody father, knowing that her own life, her own identity, was now a small price to pay.