Mr Billionaire Dangerous Love

Butterflies. That fluttering sensation in your stomach. Most people associate it with love, excitement, or the thrill of the unknown. For me, it’s more complicated. Sure, I feel them when I’m dancing with my best friend at a club or acing a tough project at work. But today, there are no butterflies. Today, my stomach feels like lead, sinking deeper with every word my mother says. “We know this is a lot to process, Sophia , but it’s for the best,” she says, her perfectly manicured nails tapping nervously on the arm of the leather couch. My father, usually a silent observer in family drama, looks worse than usual. His gaunt face, framed by graying hair, makes him seem like a ghost of the man I grew up admiring. He’s hunched over in his chair, gripping a whiskey glass like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. “‘For the best?’” I echo, my voice sharper than I intend. “You want me to marry some stranger to save your failing business? Are we in the 1800s?” My mother’s lips

Dante's POVFive minutes have passed already.Tardiness is one of the things I despise the most. It grates on my nerves.If I wait another five minutes and she doesn't show, I’m leaving. This time could’ve been spent on work—productive, meaningful work—instead of sitting here like an idiot.I steal one more glance at the restaurant door where I’ve been waiting for nearly ten minutes. A heavy sigh escapes me as my thoughts spiral back to the chain of events leading to this ridiculous meeting.At first, I thought it was some kind of joke. Learning about the betrothal and the stipulation that I must marry to inherit my grandfather’s construction company? It felt like some kind of cruel prank.That old man knew me too well. He knew I’d never willingly get married, so he rigged the system against me. My father, of course, had been conveniently silent about this little arrangement until now. That betrayal still stings.And yet, no one forced me to be here. I chose to come, perhaps out of cu

Dante's POVA contract marriage? Really?I chuckle, the sound echoing through the room. It's not just a laugh—it's one of those deep, mocking ones that make people uncomfortable. I half hope it'll make her squirm, but Sophia doesn’t even flinch.She’s calm, annoyingly so, with a determined glint in her eyes. It’s the kind of look that says, I know exactly what I’m doing. My laughter dies off, and I lean back in my chair.“Are you done?” she asks, leaning forward slightly. Her makeup—way too much of it—is hard to miss up close.I don’t reply. I wish I’d never suggested this meeting in the first place. And now, here we are.Married to this psycho? The idea alone makes my skin crawl. And yet, here she is, suggesting a contract marriage. Who even does that?As if reading my thoughts, Sophia arches an eyebrow. “Let me remind you. I had a boyfriend, a decent one at that. But I had to break up with him because I’ve apparently been destined to marry you. Neither of us even likes each other, Da

Dante's POVThe door is locked.My hand is still on the doorknob. I twist it again, but it won’t budge.It’s locked from the inside. Without pausing to consider why the woman I married just hours ago would lock me out of our bedroom, I raise my hand and knock.The knock is loud—loud enough to wake the dead. She can’t possibly tell me she locked the door and then fell asleep. I was only outside for thirty minutes, trying to make sense of everything and figure out what to do once this sham of a marriage runs its course.The memory of how she humiliated me at the church lingers, fresh and raw. She refused to let me kiss her. Isn’t that part of the pretense? Weren’t we supposed to make it look real, like we’re starting to like each other? Isn’t this what she said we’d do?I felt humiliated. What if someone had noticed?Luckily, no one seemed to catch on. Not the tension between us, nor the simmering disdain we clearly feel for each other.Still no answer.“Sophia, open the door!” I call lo

Dante''s POVShe practically jumps on me, startling me half to death. I sit up immediately, and she slides down with a big grin on her face.“What was that for?” I ask, frowning.She shrugs, her expression nonchalant, as if nothing happened.“I need to sleep,” I mutter, almost adding a “please” at the end. I’m already tired of this back-and-forth. It’s clear she has no plans of letting me rest.“Please?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow, her hand suddenly on mine. The gesture feels way too familiar, so I yank my hand away immediately.“Please,” I echo dryly, turning back to the bed and lying down, hoping she’ll finally leave me alone.“I didn’t say you could sleep yet,” she snaps, jumping down from the bed and tugging me upright. At this point, I’m convinced she must be training to compete in some kind of jumping championship.What does she even do for a living? I know I married a stranger, but I should’ve at least asked about her job—if she has one. Helping her parents is enough of a b