Bound to the billionaire

Bound by paper

Amira pov

The sunlight that filtered through my curtains that morning felt different sharper, heavier, almost as though the sky itself knew what today was. My chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm as I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the suitcase I had packed the night before. Inside it were just clothes, but to me, it felt like pieces of my old life folded away.

Today wasn’t just another day.

Today I was going to sign away my name into someone else’s world.

I smoothed my palms over the simple cream gown I had chosen to wear. It wasn’t anything dramatic, but it made me feel less invisible. Still, my hands wouldn’t stay still I kept tugging nervously at the hem.

At exactly 9:00 a.m., my phone buzzed. Damien.

I’m outside.

That was all the message said. No good morning. No smiley face. Just two words that carried the weight of my future.

I swallowed, grabbed my small purse, and stepped outside.

His black luxury car was parked neatly in front of the building, polished so well I could almost see the reflection of my anxious face in it. Damien leaned casually against the car, suit crisp, tie knotted perfectly, as though this was just another business meeting. His gaze lifted the moment I appeared.

“You’re ready,” he said, opening the passenger door.

“Yes,” I murmured, sliding into the seat.

The drive to the registration office was quiet except for the low hum of the engine. I kept my hands folded tightly in my lap, my eyes glued to the blur of traffic outside the window. Every once in a while, Damien glanced at me, but he didn’t say anything until he noticed how tightly I was wringing my fingers.

“You don’t have to look like you’re walking into an execution,” he said, his eyes still on the road.

“I just… I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“No one has, until they do,” he replied simply.

By the time we arrived, my stomach was in knots. Standing near the entrance was Damien’s grandmother, her warm eyes and gentle smile instantly softening the sharp edges of my nerves.

“Amira,” she called warmly, stepping forward to take my hands in hers. “You look beautiful, child.”

Her words felt like a small blessing. I smiled, genuinely this time. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Beside her stood John straight-backed, silent, his expression unreadable. He gave me a polite nod, nothing more.

We all went inside together.

The office smelled faintly of polished wood and ink. Papers were neatly arranged on the registrar’s desk. The registrar, an older man with silver-rimmed glasses, looked up at us with the practiced air of someone who had done this a hundred times before.

“Mr. Damien cole Miss Amira Blake ,” he said, glancing at the documents. “Are you both ready to proceed?”

I felt Damien’s hand brush against mine for the briefest second under the desk not a hold, not even comfort, just a reminder that he was there. I nodded.

“Yes,” Damien said firmly.

The registrar pushed the documents forward. “Sign here. And here.”

My hand trembled slightly as I picked up the pen. For a moment, I hesitated, staring at my name on the paper Amira Blake . My name. My life. And just like that, with the stroke of a pen, it would no longer be just mine.

I signed.

The sound of Damien’s pen scratching across the paper beside me was confident, almost too certain. When it was done, the registrar stamped the documents with a heavy thud.

“Congratulations,” he said with a small smile. “You are now legally married.”

The words floated in the air, surreal, until Grandma squeezed my hand.

“It’s official now, dear,” she whispered, her eyes glistening. “You are family.”

I smiled faintly, but inside, my chest was heavy with questions I couldn’t voice.

By the time we left the building, the sun was high, and I thought I would finally get to breathe. But Damien was already on his phone, giving instructions to someone. He hung up, then turned to me.

“My driver will take you home to pick up your things,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re moving into the villa today.”

I blinked. “Okay”

“Yes. There’s no point in waiting.”

Before I could argue, a sleek car pulled up behind his. A driver in a sharp suit stepped out and gave a small bow. Damien opened the passenger door for me, this time without a word.

The drive back to my apartment was a blur. I walked into my small space with the driver waiting outside, and for a moment I just stood there. My eyes scanned the room the worn sofa, the little kitchen table, the photographs tacked on the wall. My life. My safe place.

I pulled my suitcase from the corner and added the last few things an old photo of my mother, a sweater, a worn notebook filled with scribbles. When I zipped it shut, my throat tightened.

This was it.

The car slowed, turning into a long driveway lined with trimmed hedges and tall lamps that glowed faintly against the evening sky. My heart thudded harder with every second. The house finally came into view, and I almost forgot to breathe.

It wasn’t a house it was a mansion. Walls of pale stone rose high, windows glimmering like glass mirrors, and wide steps led to a pair of heavy oak doors that seemed fit for a palace.

The driver stopped at the entrance and stepped out quickly to open my door. My legs felt stiff as I climbed out, my eyes darting everywhere at the sprawling garden, the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, the balcony that stretched across the top floor. It was all too much, too grand, too different from the life I knew.

“Welcome,” Damien’s voice came from beside me, smooth and steady, as though he had lived in this world of wealth all his life. Of course, he had.

The door swung open before I could respond, and a man in a black suit appeared, tall and stiff, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. His face was unreadable, but his bow was precise.

“This is Harrison, the butler,” Damien said. His tone was cool, businesslike. “And that…”He nodded slightly toward the woman who had appeared just behind Harrison, dressed in a crisp uniform, “is Mrs. Green, the housekeeper.”

“Good evening, ma’am,” they both said politely.

I forced a small smile. “Good evening.” My voice came out softer than I intended.

Damien’s eyes flicked to Harrison. “Take her to her room.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harrison stepped forward, his movements smooth and efficient. “This way, ma’am.”

I followed him through the grand foyer, my shoes clicking against the marble floor. The chandelier above sparkled like frozen stars, and the walls were lined with paintings so detailed they almost seemed alive. Every corner of the house whispered money, history, power.

The staircase curved upward, its banister polished to a shine. We climbed, and Harrison led me down a wide corridor, stopping at a door near the end.

“Your room,” he said, opening it.

The space beyond was overwhelming. A king-sized bed with silk sheets stood in the center, a vanity gleamed near the window, and soft curtains flowed to the floor. A vase of fresh lilies sat on the table by the wall, their scent light but sharp.

I stepped inside slowly, my hand brushing the smooth fabric of the drapes. This room was bigger than my entire apartment.

“If you need anything, just ring the bell beside the bed,” Harrison said. He bowed slightly again. “Dinner will be served shortly.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

When he left, silence filled the room. I sat on the edge of the bed, running my fingers over the sheets, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I was here now. This was my home.

A knock came at the door not long after. Harrison’s voice followed. “Ma’am, Mr. Damien requests your presence downstairs for dinner.”

I smoothed my dress quickly and stood, my heart thumping again.

The dining room was just as grand as everything else. A long table stretched across the space, though only two places were set. Damien sat at the head of the table, his posture straight, his expression unreadable.

He looked up when I entered. “Sit.”

I obeyed, taking the seat opposite him. The butler poured wine into our glasses, and the housekeeper set dishes in front of us. The scent of roasted meat and herbs filled the air.

We ate mostly in silence. His movements were precise, calm, deliberate. Mine were careful, clumsy, my hand shaking slightly each time I lifted my fork.

When I dared to glance up, his eyes were already on me. Steady. Sharp. Unwavering.

This was my new reality.

His house. His rules.

And me …his wife.