The Ruthless Billionaire's Temporary Bride

Melanie Hart learned early that hope was a dangerous thing. It made you believe in things that could be taken away in a heartbeat. She stood outside the hospital building, fingers curled tightly around the strap of her worn bag, staring at the payment notice in her hand. The paper was already soft at the edges from how many times she had folded and unfolded it, as if repetition could somehow change what it said. Outstanding balance: Urgent. Her throat tightened. Inside, her mother was asleep—fragile, hooked to machines that beeped steadily like a reminder that time was running out faster than money ever arrived. Melanie pressed the paper against her chest for a second, then forced herself to breathe. “You’re back again.” The nurse’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. The woman stood behind the glass counter, her expression neither kind nor cruel—just tired of seeing the same situation repeat itself. Melanie stepped forward quickly. “Please… I just need a few more days. I’m working. I’ll get it.” The nurse didn’t look convinced. “you said that last week.” “I know,” Melanie said softly, her voice breaking at the edges. “But I’m close. I promise.” A pause. Then the nurse sighed, lowering her gaze. “Melanie… the hospital can’t keep extending your mother's surgery , she's getting worse. Talk to your family.” A bitter laugh almost escaped her. Family. If they could even be called that. Outside the hospital, the sun felt too bright for a world that heavy. Melanie walked home slowly, weaving through the chaotic streets, ignoring the honking cars and shouting vendors. Her phone buzzed twice in her pocket, but she already knew who it was before checking. Stepmother. She didn’t answer. A third call came immediately after. Then a message: Stop embarrassing us by begging for money you can’t repay. Your mother’s illness is not our burden. Her steps slowed. For a moment, she just stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, people brushing past her like she didn’t exist. Not our burden. Her grip tightened on the phone until her knuckles went white. “If not yours… then whose?” she whispered under her breath. By the time she reached her small rented room, the sky had begun to dim. It wasn’t really a home—just four walls, a thin mattress, and a desk covered in sketches she didn’t have time to finish anymore. Fashion designs pinned beside job receipts, modelling flyers tucked under unpaid bills. Dreams layered over survival. Melanie dropped her bag and immediately reached for her laptop. No rest. Not yet. She had three jobs lined up tonight. A restaurant shift in an hour. A late-night event gig after that. If she was lucky, maybe a last-minute modelling call would come through. She changed quickly, pulling her hair into a neat bun, studying her reflection in the cracked mirror. The girl staring back at her looked tired. But still standing. “That’s enough,” she told herself quietly. “Just keep going.” The restaurant shift was quite exhausting , serving both nice and mean customers . Melanie moved between tables with practiced speed, balancing trays, smiling when necessary, swallowing fatigue when it threatened to show. The manager barked orders from behind the counter, and she didn’t complain. Complaints didn’t pay hospital bills. “Table six needs water!” someone shouted. I’m going! she replied immediately. As she turned, she barely avoided colliding with a man stepping inside. She stopped. He didn’t. But something about him made her pause longer than she should have. Dark coat. Expensive shoes. The kind of presence that didn’t belong in a place like this. The cool music seemed to dull for a second as he walked past, like the world was subtly adjusting itself around him. “Adrian Voss has arrived,” someone whispered near the entrance, rushing past. The name meant nothing to Melanie. Not yet. But when she looked back, she caught a glimpse of him through the glass wall as he stepped into a private room . Tall. Controlled. Unreadable. A man who looked like he didn’t just enter rooms He owned them. Their eyes didn’t meet. Not this time. But something strange settled in the air anyway, like the beginning of a story neither of them had agreed to start. And Melanie, still holding a tray in her hands, didn’t yet know that her life was about to change in ways she could never prepare for.