Married to Mr Billionaire

Chapter One: Shattered Hearts “Jason!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “Why would you do this to me? Cheating—with my best friend?” He didn’t even flinch. Just stood there, smug as hell, pulling on his shirt like nothing happened. “Why are you acting like a child, Selena?” he said coolly. “Fine, I’m with your best friend. So what? Her body’s better than yours anyway. You’re just... a dumb mule.” Tamara laughed. Tamara—my best friend. My ride-or-die. My sister in everything but blood. I felt like I’d been punched in the chest. “God, Jason… after everything I did for you—why? I loved you. I gave you everything.” He shrugged like it was beneath him. “That’s your problem. And this relationship?” He pointed at the door. “It’s over. You can use the front door.” I just stood there, staring at the two people who tore my world apart. My eyes burned, but I didn’t let the tears fall—not yet. I tried to speak, to beg, but my voice died in my throat. And then he physically nudged me toward the hallway like I was some one-night stand who overstayed her welcome. He threw a pillow at me. “Go.” I turned and walked out, into the cold, into the rain. I turned once or twice thinking he would come after me, and sadly enough, he didn’t. I had come here without informing him because I had just been laid off from work and needed his reassurance. But this was what I met, I thought bitterly. Our relationship was supposed to clock five years by next month—and only God knows how long he had been cheating on me with my best friend… --- I didn’t have a plan. Just my duffel bag, my soaked clothes, and the shattered pieces of everything I thought I knew. I tried calling my mom. Straight to voicemail. Of course. She never picked up when I needed her. So I wiped my own tears, flagged down a taxi, and told the driver to just… drive. Anywhere. I didn’t care. I just needed to sit and not collapse in the middle of the street. The cab smelled like old air freshener and regret. I hugged my bag and stared out the window as the city blurred into smears of light and shadow. “You okay, miss?” the driver asked, glancing at me in the mirror. “I will be,” I lied. A love song droned from the radio. I almost laughed at the irony. --- Earlier that day, my world had already started to unravel. “We’re letting you go, Selena.” That’s how my manager said it. No warning. No sugarcoating. Just a clean kill. Three years of breaking my back for that firm—late nights, weekends, missed holidays. I practically bled for them. And all I got was a white envelope and a room full of pitying stares. “Terminated effective immediately.” They said it was due to budget cuts. Restructuring. Bullshit. We all knew the truth: Sarah from HR had finally gotten her revenge. I blew the whistle last quarter on the fraud she tried to bury. And now she buried me instead. No thank you. No goodbye. Just the echo of my heels on polished marble as I walked out of that building like a ghost. The rain was waiting for me outside—cold and cruel, like the sky itself wanted to pile on. And somehow, I still thought Jason would make it better. And ironically, he didn’t. --- The cab pulled to a stop downtown. I didn’t even know why I told the driver to stop there. I had nowhere to go. No job. No home. No one. I stepped into the night. The rain soaked straight through my coat like it was personal. That’s when the black car appeared. It rolled up silently, sleek and expensive. The tinted window slid down, and a woman stepped out. She looked like she’d walked straight out of an aristocrat’s dream—silver hair slicked back, face sharp, unreadable. Her eyes locked onto mine like she already knew me. “You’re Selena Vane?” she asked. I froze. “Yes,who are you?” “My name is Vivienne. And I believe we were fated to meet.” I almost walked away. “Look, lady, I’m not in the mood for cryptic rich people tonight.” She smiled faintly. “Neither am I. But I’m here to offer you purpose.” I stared at her, water dripping from my eyelashes. Purpose, that's a big word to say. “What kind of purpose?” “There’s a man—my grandson. His life depends on someone like you. Broken, yes. But unyielding.” “Sorry but am not interested in fairy tales “And yet,” she said softly, “you followed your gut here, didn’t you?” She wasn’t wrong. My instincts weren’t screaming danger—just mystery. Cold curiosity curled in my gut. “If this is a scam…” “It’s not.” “…Fine. I’ll hear you out.” Her smile widened, just a little. A queen satisfied with her play. “Good girl.” But then what if Vivienne was just another person who would just use and dump me I thought as I slid into the back of the car, soaked and unsure. The seat was too soft. The silence too heavy. But I sat still, letting the unfamiliar warmth sink into my skin. We drove for what felt like forever, until the city fell away and the trees swallowed us whole. When the gates finally opened, I thought I was dreaming. The estate looked like it belonged in a gothic novel—towering marble walls, iron fences, gardens trimmed with surgical precision. Even the air tasted different here. Inside, it was quiet. Rich. Too clean. Too perfect. Vivienne turned to me before the housekeeper led me away. “You’ll meet him tomorrow. For now, rest.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t have the energy. The guest room was ridiculous—silk sheets, gold fixtures, chandeliers. It all felt fake, like I’d stepped into someone else’s life. I lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, too wired to cry, too numb to sleep. Her grandson. A man whose life was somehow tied to mine. It sounded insane. But insanity still beat invisibility. --- Elsewhere in the estate, a man stood alone on his balcony. Lucien Thorn. I’d heard the name before—whispers in news articles, boardroom gossip, old money with a mean streak. He sipped whiskey, his eyes locked on the skyline like he could tear it down with a look. His features were carved in grief and fury. Power in retreat. He was dying. Slowly. Quietly. And the world didn’t care. Vivienne joined him without a word. “Still breathing,” he muttered. “I brought someone.” He didn’t turn. “What now? Another therapist? Psychic? Spiritual healer?” “No. A girl.” He laughed once, bitter and hollow. “You’re matchmaking now?” “She’s a mirror, Lucien.” That made him pause. He didn’t know me yet. But he would. And neither of us would walk away from this unchanged.