Married To My Cold Billionaire CEO For hundred days

8:06 PM.I was late.The driver didn’t mention it. He just drove through the automatic gates and stopped in front of a house that barely looked real.White stone. Black windows. Enormous and dead quiet.The kind of place that would echo if you so much as cleared your throat.A man in a black suit opened the door before I could knock.“Ms. Carter. Mr. Vance is in the study.”Right. Mr. Vance.My sneakers squeaked across the marble. Every sound carried.No photos. No plants. No sign that anyone actually lived here—just cold, expensive money.He stood by a fireplace that wasn’t lit. Black shirt, sleeves rolled up. Younger without the suit. And more exhausted.He didn’t turn when I walked in.“Close the door.”I closed it.“Sit.”I perched on the edge of a leather chair that probably cost more than my rent.He finally looked at me, giving me a quick once-over—jeans, plain shirt, the ring box in my hand.“You read the agreement,” he said.“I did.”“Then you know how this works.”He went to

The third place setting was the giveaway.Crystal. Silver. White roses centered on the table.Not for me. Not for him.For someone who had no business being there.I was still staring when the sound of heels struck the marble.Sharp. Costly. The stride of a woman who had never heard the word no.She didn’t wait for an introduction.“Oliver,” she said, brushing a kiss against his cheek.Then her gaze drifted to me—slow, measuring.Blue. Exactly like his.“You must be Nadia.”Mrs. Vance.The mother-in-law test.And I was standing there in cream silk with zero contingency plan.Oliver rose. “Mother. This is Nadia.”“Nadia,” she echoed, as if sampling the name on her tongue.“How lovely. Sit, dear.”Dear.Of course.Dinner began before I had a chance to catch my breath.Soup I didn’t want. Wine I had no business drinking.And questions—endless questions.“So the charity gala,” she said, blotting her lips.“Six months ago. That’s when you met?”“Yes,” Oliver answered for me. “June. Boston.

The event was the kind of place I hated.Crystal chandeliers. People smiling with their teeth but not their eyes.Press.His board.His mother.Day 5.Twenty-four hours since the boundary meeting.Since the key.Since he said he wanted me to stop acting like I hated him.My dress was gold. Way too gold.It felt like standing under a spotlight.Oliver was in black, like always.His hand hovered near my back the second we got out of the car.Rule 4: In public, we touch.Rule 4: Make it look real.His palm settled between my shoulder blades.Warm. Steady.He didn’t look at me.“Smile,” he said under his breath. Just for me.Cameras started flashing.“Oliver! Nadia! Look here!”We moved through the room like we’d practiced it a hundred times.We hadn’t.But his hand never left me—lower back, arm, the small of my back when he pulled out my chair.His mother was at table one.She saw.Her mouth went tight.Dinner was a blur.Speeches. Clapping. Wine I didn’t touch.Then the mic.The CEO of

Day 12.The leak was supposed to destroy us.Instead it made us famous.#VanceAndCarter#SecretBillionaireBride#WhoIsNadiaBy eight in the morning my photo was everywhere—me in the red dress, Okoye’s hand resting on my waist. Under every picture the same caption: Billionaire CEO Okoye Vance secretly marries mystery woman.Okoye didn’t speak at breakfast. He just kept scrolling, jaw tight.“Stop,” I said finally. “Reading it won’t make it disappear.”“They’re calling you a gold digger.” He looked up. “And me a fool.”“Are we?”He didn’t answer.“New rule,” he said instead, pushing his plate away. “You don’t go anywhere without security. Not the salon. Not for coffee. Nowhere.”“I’m not your prisoner.”“You’re my wife.” The word landed hard. “That makes you a target.”He left before I could argue.The house felt too quiet after he was gone. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—old classmates, distant cousins, reporters.At three the intercom rang.“Ms. Vance, there’s a Ms. Serena here. She s

Mrs. Vance Okoye’s heels clicked away down the hallway, but her words stayed behind, heavy in the air.“If you hurt him, I will make certain you regret the day you ever heard the name Vance Okoye.”My legs went soft. I grabbed the back of the chair just to stay upright. The wood was cool and solid under my hands—the only thing that still felt real while the rest of the night kept tilting.The door opened.Oliver stepped in, glanced at me, then at the empty chair, and shut the door quietly behind him, like any sudden noise might snap something fragile.“Well?” His voice was low, careful, the way you talk to someone who might crack.“She said if I don’t hurt you, I’m family.” I tried to laugh. It came out thin and shaky. “That’s a pretty big ‘if,’ Oliver.”He crossed the room in two strides and stopped right in front of me. Close, but not touching. The space between us felt tight, charged.“She’s testing you. She does that to everyone.”“Did she put Serena through this?” The name slippe