THE BILLIONAIRE BRIDE

Chapter 3

Aliyah

“I struck a deal by midnight”

- Cyndara and the Glass Slipper

Every Tuesdays, my sister, my mum and I, would have a movie night. We would sit on the floor of our living room, legs tucked under us, a bowl of popcorn between us, watching 90’s romcoms like they are some kind of sacred ritual. The dramatic, over-the-top kind, the Henry met Nelly remade in the 2000’s and the Classics, a perfect adaptation of The Textbook, where men rode up in horse-drawn carriages, rent out entire halls and stand outside a woman’s window in the middle of the night, under the rain, holding a ridiculous sign that says Marry me, a boom box blasting some heartbreakingly romantic song, neighbours peeking through their curtains, judging but still invested.

I watched all of it, every single version of love, rehearsed and replayed so many times it started to feel like a script my life was supposed to follow.

So you can imagine when I pictured my own proposal, it was never supposed to look like this. Not at a masquerade ball I wasn’t even invited to. Not in a ball gown I rented with the last bit of my money. And certainly, certainly not standing in the men’s restroom with a man I had swore to bury.

“Marry me,” he repeated, his gaze never leaving mine. I looked away from his breath-taking face and toward the restroom door.

“You are out of your mind,” I said, watching as his hair falls over his forehead, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“What is in it for you anyway?” I asked my hands resting on my waist as my eyes raked over his body trying to figure him out.

“Marry me and you will find out” he said, glancing at the watch on his wrist like I was already wasting his time. The smirk, however, never left his face.

“You are so rude and arrogant,” I said, shaking my head. “Are all billionaires like this or is it just a you thing?”

“I am not arrogant…” he paused, adjusting his sleeve, “I am just smug.”

“Wow” I said with a feigned surprise expression on my face “that makes it so much better” I muttered rolling my eyes.

“It is,” he replied without missing a beat. “You should try it sometime.”

I scoffed. “Please, if I were any more confident, you’d be out of a job.” That made his eyes flicker to mine for a second, If I didn’t look fast enough, I am sure I would have missed it.

“Okay,” I said, exhaling. “Considering you don’t want to tell me why you need to marry a woman you don’t know so desperately, I will take my leave.”

I turned to walk out, but he moved too fast, and blocked my way.

Bingo. I knew he was desperate.

“Wait! Wait!”

I raised a brow, unimpressed. “This is getting repetitive.”

“Marry me and you get to star as the lead actress in one of our upcoming movies, the sequel to our latest blockbuster. Plus, I’ll pay you a million grand,” he said, his eyes dropping briefly to my lips, watching the exact moment my breath hitched before I met his deep, sea-blue gaze again.

“What makes you think I want to be an actress in any of your movies,” I said stepping a little closer, “and what makes you think I am in need of your money?” I tilted my head slowly, and folded my hands across my chest, studying him, toying with him, and enjoying the fact that, for once, I had the upper hand, and I knew exactly what I was doing.

Throwing him crumbs, fully aware it would only make him hungry for more.

“You don’t look like someone who says no to opportunities,” he said simply.

I let out a small laugh. “And you don’t look like someone who begs.”

“I’m not begging.”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m negotiating.”

“With a stranger, in a restroom?”

He paused.

“…fair point.”

I smiled despite myself.

“Okay!” he said, a little more impatient now. “What do you want? What would make you agree to marry me?”

I hummed lightly, pretending to think, even though I was enjoying this a little too much.

“Why do you want to marry me so bad?” I asked, eyes never leaving his. “What is in it for you?”

He exhaled, like I was dragging this out unnecessarily.

“I need to show my family that I can be responsible,” he said finally, his gaze steady on mine.

I looked at him. Then at the situation. Then back at him again.

“You chose this as your proof of responsibility?” I asked, one brow raised.

“Don’t do that,” he said quickly. “Are you in or out?”

Straight to the point. I like that.

“You already had me at a million grand, Mr. Smug,” I said coolly, giving him a small, dramatic bow. “I’m in.”

I nudged myself in the head, silently screaming at how ridiculous this was, how crazy and over-the-top my plan had become. I was supposed to come to this Masquerade Ball with one goal: get evidence that would work in Maggie’s favour and expose the Hawthorne Group Corporation for stealing her movie script without compensation. That evidence would most definitely tarnish their reputation. They’d be forced to give Maggie some royalties, enough to salvage what little dignity remained, and in perfect Talia Kendrick style, I would saunter into the office on Monday, drop the story that would make the front cover of Stella News Station, and finally erase my name from that unforgivable, excruciating list. But things didn’t go as planned.

He shakes his head lightly and moves toward the restroom door. He’s done with this conversation.

“Follow me,” he says.

Two simple words, but with a commanding tone. It has been a while since anyone talked to me in that manner, rather they phrase it to sound like they’re suggesting not commanding. Aliyah, working for the editorial team as a volunteer would look good on your resume. Aliyah, this meeting is only for front-page reporters; maybe you should interview Drake Shelton next instead of Karla Espinosa. Those words zap me out of my thoughts, but now I’m watching him walk out of the bathroom, and I train my eyes not to stare at his rear. Blake Hawthorne doesn’t seem like the type to be easily manipulated; he’s too confident for that. I have to play my cards right, or I might not make it past midnight.

The moment I step out, I find him standing in the hallway. Like before, he reaches for my hand, but this time softer, and leads me out. I try not to notice how perfectly my hand fits in his, how it seems like it was made to rest there.

The cool air hits me like a wave, and that’s when I remember I’m in a strapless gown. I wrap my arms around my slim frame instinctively. He stops, turning to look at me. His gaze lingers, intense, before he takes a step closer, close enough that I can catch the hint of sandalwood in his cologne. I try not to lose myself in it, but I can’t help it.

If I just reach up a little… we’d be kissing.

What am I doing? I shut the thought away just as I feel a weight draped over my shoulders. He’s taken off his blazer and placed it gently on me. The small act of kindness squeezes at my chest.

“Are you just going to stand there?” he calls, and I hurry to catch up. We walk toward a sleek, blue Rolls Royce. He moves to my side, opens the door, and I slip inside, hurrying to his side before he puts the car in motion.

“Where are we going?” I ask, suddenly realizing I just got into a car with a total stranger. Safety rules 101: never get in a car with someone you don’t know. And of course, I left my pepper spray back at the hall.

“My house,” he says, not even sparing me a glance.