Married for a billionaire’s Revenge

The soft murmur of conversation crowded the ballroom, every glittering chandelier casting gold across unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar smiles. My palms sweated, hidden beneath the lace gloves my mother had made me wear.

It wasn't a wedding.

It was a bargain.

The orchestra struck a note, and my heartbeat wavered. My gaze wandered over to the man standing at the altar tall, dashing in his black tuxedo, eyes as cold as honed steel. Alexander Knight. The richest man in the world who had ruined my family. The man I was now being forced to marry.

We locked eyes down the aisle.

No tenderness. No love. Only ice and something even more sinister revenge.

Smile, my mother gasped, clutching my arm with a grip that seemed to anchor my nerve firmly in place. "Don't forget what's at stake."

I yearned to rage that I remembered far too well. My father's debt. My family's honor lost. The extremes Alexander had taken to get me here, marrying me in satin and vows.

When I finally reached the altar, he did not grasp my hand. He did not even attempt it. He bent down just far enough that his words could slice through the veil.

"You'll pay for each of your family's sins," he whispered, his lips not so much as twitching. "And this wedding is only the start."

My breathing grew tight, but I lifted my chin. If he thought that I'd be some silent victim, he was wrong.

"I'd burn with you," I breathed again, "before I let you believe you've won."

For a moment, I glimpsed the mask shatter and the jaw clench. Then the priest's mouth opened, and my fate was sealed with every word.

It was my wedding day.

And the start of my war.

The house was quiet that evening, but Isabella was in a state of unrest. Her every step off the marble floors reverberated, reminding her this was not a house it was a prison built on lies and money.

Over dinner, Alexander sat at the far end of the long table, his crisp suit, his expression blank. He didn't even glance her way as servants placed silver covered plates before them.

"You'll attend the charity ball tomorrow," he said finally, his tone level, as though he was making a business deal.

Isabella's hands curled around the fork. "You should have asked instead of commanding me."

His eyes looked up then, sharp and frigid, and the air around them became thick. "You forget yourself, Mrs. Knight. You are here because I decide to permit you. Don't forget it."

Heat flashed in her chest anger, humiliation, something she could not put into words. "And you forget, Mr. Knight, that you married me. If you wished for a puppet, you should have bought one."

For the first time, his mask cracked. The corner of his mouth curled, nearly a smirk. Nearly.

Their gazes met over the table, ice and fire. And in that treacherous silence, Isabella realized something awful there was more than hate burning between them.