The Billionare's Redemption

The church looked like something out of a dream. White roses decorated every aisle, their petals glowing softly under the light of the chandeliers. The air smelled fresh and sweet, as if the flowers themselves were trying to cover the heaviness in my chest. The chandeliers sparkled like stars, scattering their light across the polished marble floor. A grand string quartet played, their music so soft and beautiful that it almost hurt to listen. Guests whispered among themselves, their voices like faint echoes. I could feel their eyes on me, waiting, judging, envying. Their gowns shimmered, their jewelry sparkled, and their smiles were painted on perfectly. To them, this was the wedding of the year. A union between two powerful names. To me, it was the day I became a prisoner. I was Elena Delgado—only daughter of Eduardo Alvarez. The girl who grew up believing her father would protect her from anything. But now, I wasn’t walking down this aisle as a bride in love. I was walking as a payment for a debt. We were never as rich as the Mirandas. Not even close. My family lived in comfort, yes, but nothing compared to their empire. To them, we were small. Weak. Disposable. And I, the only child, was the perfect bargaining chip. The long lace gown I wore felt beautiful but suffocating, like chains disguised as silk. I clutched the bouquet so tightly that my knuckles turned pale. My heart raced, pounding so loud I thought the guests could hear it. The tall church doors loomed ahead of me. Soon, they would open. Soon, I would walk to a man I barely knew. And I would marry him. Not for love. Not for happiness. But for survival. Flashback The memory returned, sharp and heavy. It was late when my father called me into his office. The air smelled of old cigar smoke, thick and suffocating. Books lined the shelves, though they seemed untouched for years. The room felt cold, even though the lamp on his desk glowed warmly. He looked different that night. Smaller. Older. His shoulders slumped, his face lined with stress. He was no longer the strong, proud man I grew up with. He was desperate. “Elena…” His voice was quiet, breaking slightly. “I wouldn’t ask you this if there was any other way.” I frowned. “Ask me what?” He pushed a folded paper toward me. My hands trembled as I opened it. My breath caught. Millions. Debt we could never repay. “Papa…” I whispered. “What is this?” His eyes dropped. “The business is gone, hija. The Alvarez name… it’s almost finished. I borrowed all I could. I tried everything.” Tears stung my eyes. “There has to be another way! We can sell something, ask for more time—” “There is no more time!” he snapped, his voice filled with pain. Then softer, “The Mirandas agreed to help. They’ll pay everything.” I felt a small flicker of hope. “Really?” But the way he looked at me told me the cost. “There’s a condition,” he said. My chest tightened. “What condition?” “You must marry Damien Miranda.” The name made my stomach twist. The Damien Miranda. The cold, powerful heir of the Miranda empire. Handsome, yes—but known for being ruthless, distant, untouchable. I stared at my father. “Why me?” He sighed. “I don't have a choice.” The words cut deep. “So I’m the sacrifice.” “You’re the only one who can save us,” he said firmly, though guilt filled his eyes. I stood, tears spilling. “I hope our name is worth it.” And I walked out, my heart breaking. He didn’t call me back. Because he had already chosen. --- Present “Elena?” The wedding coordinator’s voice pulled me back. The church doors were about to open. My chest rose and fell quickly, my heart racing. The music swelled, and the heavy doors opened. Every guest turned to watch. Their eyes glowed with curiosity, with envy. To them, I was a lucky bride. To me, I was a prisoner stepping into her cage. At the altar stood Damien Miranda. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair, neat and perfect. His navy suit was flawless, tailored like it belonged only to him. He was handsome in a way that could silence a room. But his eyes… Cold. Unfeeling. Not even a flicker of warmth when our gazes met. He didn’t smile. He didn’t reach out. He just stood there, waiting. Step after step, I walked closer, my gown brushing against the floor. The closer I got, the heavier it felt. When I reached him, he didn’t offer his hand. Didn’t even look at me. The priest’s voice filled the air. “Do you, Damien Alexander Miranda, take Elena Marie Delgado to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The silence that followed was heavy. Guests exchanged glances. Damien’s jaw clenched. Finally, he said, his voice flat and cold, “I do.” My chest ached. I whispered, “I do.” We sealed the vows with a kiss. Or at least, that’s what it was supposed to be. His lips brushed mine for less than a second. Cold. Empty. The guests clapped. The sound echoed through the church. But it wasn’t for us. They weren’t clapping for love. They were clapping for power. I forced a weak smile, my lips trembling. Inside, I whispered the truth. This isn’t a wedding. This is a cage. The applause still rang in my ears as Damien and I walked down the long aisle together. His arm was stiff beneath mine, as though he couldn’t wait to be rid of me. My smile stayed in place, but it was fragile, like thin glass that could break at the slightest touch. Outside, the cameras flashed brightly, and I could hear the shouts of photographers calling his name. Not mine—just his. To the world, I was a shadow beside the infamous Damien Miranda. He walked quickly toward the car, not once glancing at me. He slid inside first, leaving me to follow. I hesitated for a moment, staring at the crowd of people cheering for something that felt like a funeral rather than a celebration. I climbed in silently, and the door shut behind me. The silence inside the car was deafening. I clutched my bouquet and finally whispered, “Damien… I know this isn’t what you wanted. It’s not what I wanted either. But maybe we can at least—” He cut me off without even looking at me. “There’s no need to pretend, Elena. We both know what this is.” The way he said my name—cold, sharp—made my chest ache. I tried to stay strong. “We don’t have to like each other. But we could… at least be civil.” His eyes stayed on the tinted window. “We’ll keep up appearances. That’s all I ask of you.” That night, the suite was glowing with soft light. Rose petals were scattered across the bed. Champagne rested on ice by the window. Candles flickered, casting warm shadows on the walls. It should have been magical. But the magic was missing. I sat on the edge of the bed, still in my gown, my hands twisting nervously in my lap. I waited for Damien. Minutes passed. Then hours. Finally, a knock came. My heart jumped—maybe he had changed his mind? Maybe he would try? But when I opened the door, it was only a hotel butler. He handed me a folded note. “Mr. Miranda will be staying in his penthouse tonight. He will return in the morning.” My breath caught. I forced a smile and nodded, dismissing him. When I shut the door, the silence felt heavier than ever. I poured myself a glass of champagne, the bubbles rising quickly before fading into nothing—just like my hope. I sipped, but it tasted bitter. So this was my wedding night. Alone. --- The Next Morning, the sun streamed through the curtains, too bright for the heaviness I felt inside. I woke still wearing the same gown, my makeup smudged. The door opened quietly. Damien walked in, perfectly dressed, not a single sign of exhaustion. I sat up quickly. “You didn’t come last night.” He barely glanced at me as he adjusted his cufflinks. “I had work to finish.” I stared at him. “Work… on our wedding night?” He didn’t answer. The staff knocked, bringing breakfast. Silver trays of eggs, bread, and fruits were placed neatly on the table. I waited for Damien to join me, but he didn’t sit. Instead, he took a phone call, speaking in a low, firm tone. I caught a glimpse of the screen when he turned—an unfamiliar name. A woman’s name. Selene. I tilted my head slightly, curious. Who is she? I didn’t know it yet, but that name would change everything.