The Devil’s Bride

Chapter Seven: The Billionaire’s Game

Megan’s POV

I need to get out of here.

This place suffocates me. The walls, though draped in luxury, feel like they’re closing in—tightening around my throat, stealing the little air I have left.

I stood near the edge of the room, trying to come up with a plan, any plan, to sneak out. Maybe when everyone’s asleep. Maybe there’s a back door, or a crack in the wall big enough to slip through. I don’t care how—I just can’t stay here.

But before I could gather my next thought, the door creaked open.

Alexander stepped into the room, exuding his usual air of arrogance.

“You stink,” he said flatly. “There’s something called a shower in this mansion. Try it.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The shame crept in fast and hot, burning through my skin.

Then he added with a shrug,

“Or is that too foreign for you poor people?”

My throat tightened. I looked away, swallowing the bitter lump rising in my chest. I refused to let him see me cry. I refused to give him that satisfaction.

Without a word, I brushed past him and headed to the bathroom. The tiles were cold against my feet, but the water was warm. I turned on the shower and stepped in, letting the cascade drown my thoughts.

This isn’t a home. This is a goddamn prison.

I pressed my forehead against the cold wall, eyes closed as water running down my spine.

So I’m expected to marry a man I barely know? Just because I’m carrying his baby?

I let out a sharp breath. Why does my entire life revolve around pain? Was I created to suffer?

When I was done, I wrapped myself in a towel, the scent of lavender oil clinging to my skin. I slipped on my bra and underwear quickly and stepped out, freezing when I saw him again.

Alexander was standing near the window, the moonlight bathing his body with a silver glow. He leaned slightly against the curtain, eyes locked on his phone.

God, I hated him.

I moved slowly to my bag, pulled out a simple nightgown. My skin prickled with unease as I realized I’d have to change right here—in front of him.

My hands trembled slightly. “Can you… can you please step outside for a moment? I need to change.”

He didn’t even look up. He just scoffed, loud and mocking. But he walked out, each step filled with disdain, like I’d insulted him by even asking.

I hated him for that. For how small he made me feel without even trying.

Once dressed, I stared at the king-sized bed and made a decision. I wouldn’t share it. Not with him. Not after how he treated me—as if I were beneath him. He could have the whole damn thing to himself.

I dragged one of the throw pillows onto the floor and lay down on the cold tiles. The chill seeped into my bones, but I didn't mind.

The door creaked again. He walked in and stopped.

“What the hell are you doing?” he barked.

I didn’t even bother sitting up. “Sleeping.”

“On the floor?” He sounded disgusted. “Get on the bed.”

“No,” I said firmly. “I’m comfortable.”

He let out a sharp hiss, muttered something under his breath, and stalked toward the bed like I was the one being ridiculous. Fine. Let him have it.

I closed my eyes and let the exhaustion drag me under.

The next morning, everything felt…off.

I blinked against the soft sunlight pouring in through the window. My back didn’t ache like it should have. My skin wasn’t pressed against cold tile.

I wasn’t on the floor.

I shot up, heart pounding. I was in the bed.

What the hell?

My gaze darted around the room until it landed on him—Alexander, standing by the mirror, knotting his tie with surgical precision. His back was turned in my direction, his eyes fixated on the silver coated mirror.

“How…?” I asked calmly. “How did I get on the bed?”

He didn’t answer.

“Alexander,” I pressed, more insistent now. “I’m asking you a question.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, still not looking at me.

“You were freezing. I didn’t want to wake up beside a corpse.”

I stared at him.

“You carried me?”

He finally turned his head slightly, just enough for me to see the edge of his jaw.

“Don’t flatter yourself. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re carrying my baby, I’d have let you rot on the floor.”

The words hit me like a slap. Always about the damn baby.

I looked down at my stomach, my hand instinctively resting over it.

And then, as if to complete the humiliation, my stomach let out a loud, grumbling growl.

Perfect.

He smirked.

“Go downstairs and eat. I’d tell you to starve, but I need you alive. For now.”

Every part of me burned with humiliation, hatred, and helplessness. But I slid out of bed anyway, chin high, and walked to the door.

I took the last step down the staircase and almost turned back. The entire dining hall screamed wealth—gleaming chandeliers, ivory walls, polished cutlery that probably cost more than my monthly rent back in Brooklyn. I felt like a stain in a spotless room.

Alexander walked past me, heading to the dining table and sitting at the head of the table. He grabbed his fork and began digging into the food. His father sat at the other end of the table, already half way into the food.

I slipped into the seat beside Alexander, trying not to look too nervous, even though every nerve in my body was screaming.

A maid placed a plate of pancakes and eggs before me, and without thinking, I started eating—fast. I hadn’t eaten the night before, and now the hunger was almost unbearable. I barely chewed, just shoved the food in.

Until I noticed the silence in the atmosphere.

I slowed, fork halfway to my mouth, when I realized both of them—Alexander and his father—were staring at me.

Shit.

I froze, lips parted, a smear of sauce staining the corner of my mouth. Alexander’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes had narrowed just slightly, like I’d just committed a sin.

Before I could reach for the napkin, his hand moved.

He picked up a tissue from the table and leaned in, wiping the corner of my lips with a practiced ease. My skin flinched under his touch.

“There,” he said with that condescending voice. “Try not to eat like you’ve never seen food before.”

My cheeks turned red and my jaw clenched tightly.

“I—I’m sorry,” I muttered, pushing my plate away slightly. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore. The shame had killed whatever appetite I had.

Of course. I wasn’t eating like the rich. I wasn’t using the knife and fork in perfect manner.

I could feel the way Alexander’s father was still watching me and it made me uncomfortable.

Then, he spoke, his voice deep and calm,

“Alexander will be taking you to the company later this afternoon,” he announced, as if he were dictating the weather.

My stomach dropped.

Wait, what?

Alexander’s fork froze mid-air.

My entire body went cold.

He turned slightly toward his father, brows pulling into a hard frown.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes. She needs to see how things are done in the company as your girlfriend,” his father said, his eyes averting to the food on the table.

This wasn't going as planned. I was supposed to leave this god damn mansion immediately after they leave for their workplace. Ofcourse, I tried as much as possible to look comfortable with these shitty arrangements just so that their attention would leave my body. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life with this stranger. I saw no future with someone as arrogant as he was.

“Dad, I have other things to…”

His father raised his hand and silenced him.

“You do what I say. This topic isn't up for a debate,” he said with a tone of finality.

The chair scraped on the floor as he stood, he sighed before retreating into his bedroom.