My Billionaire’s Redemption

“Marry him.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and sharp, slicing through the fragile peace of the kitchen. My paintbrush slipped from my hand, landing with a soft clatter on the floor. I stared at my father, his shoulders hunched, his hands trembling as they clutched the edge of the worn oak table.

“What?” My voice came out quieter than I intended, a hoarse whisper that barely contained the confusion clawing at my chest.

He didn’t look at me. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the mug in front of him, the chipped ceramic rim flecked with the remnants of his morning coffee. “Alexander Wells,” he said, his tone flat. “He’s agreed to marry you. It’s…it’s the only way.”

The only way.

Those three words hit me harder than they should have, weighted with an unspoken finality that I couldn’t yet comprehend. My legs felt unsteady beneath me, and I reached for the back of the chair, my fingers gripping the wood so tightly my knuckles turned white.

“You can’t be serious.” My voice rose this time, the disbelief cutting through the tension like glass shattering against concrete.

Finally, my father lifted his head, and what I saw in his eyes made my breath catch. Regret. Shame. Desperation. A kaleidoscope of emotions I couldn’t untangle.

“I wouldn’t ask this of you if I had another choice, Elena,” he said, his voice breaking. “You know how bad things are. The debt… it’s swallowing me whole. He’s offering a lifeline—for you, for me, for the business. Without it…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. I knew what came next. The foreclosure notices piling on the counter. The calls from creditors that he silenced but couldn’t ignore. The slow, agonizing collapse of the life he’d spent decades trying to build.

I wanted to scream, to slam my hands on the table and tell him this was absurd, cruel even, to ask me to trade my life, my future, for his mistakes. But when I opened my mouth, the words caught in my throat.

“Why me?” The question came out small, almost childlike. “Why does he want me?”

My father exhaled a shaky breath and looked away. “He says he admires your character, your loyalty to family. He… he thinks you’d make a good wife.”

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “A good wife,” I repeated, the words tasting foreign and wrong on my tongue. “To a man I’ve never met. To a billionaire, no less.”

My father flinched, and guilt crept into the edges of my anger. He wasn’t just asking me to marry a stranger—he was begging me to save him, to shoulder the weight of his failures because he couldn’t bear it alone anymore.

“I need you to trust me, Elena,” he said quietly. “This is the right thing to do.”

I stared at him, my mind racing, my heart pounding so loudly I thought it might drown out his words. My father, the man who raised me after my mother died, who taught me how to ride a bike and sat through every art show I’d ever been part of, was asking me to give up everything. For him.

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, until I couldn’t bear it anymore. “I need air,” I muttered, pushing away from the table and grabbing my coat.

Outside, the winter chill bit at my skin as I walked aimlessly down the quiet street. The bare branches of the trees swayed in the wind, their skeletal outlines stark against the gray sky.

I pulled my coat tighter around me, trying to ignore the growing ache in my chest. My father’s words echoed in my mind, each one twisting the knife a little deeper.

Marry him.

The absurdity of it all made my stomach churn. I didn’t even know this man, Alexander Wells, beyond the occasional headline about his business empire and the rumors of his ruthlessness. He was a man who built his fortune by tearing others apart—what could he possibly want with me?

I stopped in front of a small park, the swings swaying idly in the wind, and sank onto a cold bench. My breath fogged in the air as I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

This was my life now, wasn’t it? Trading my freedom for a man’s mercy. The thought made me feel hollow, like the world I’d built for myself—my art, my independence—was crumbling beneath my feet.

But as much as I wanted to run, to scream and say no, I couldn’t shake the image of my father’s face, the lines of worry etched into his features, the way his voice trembled when he said my name.

He’d given me everything he could, sacrificed so much to raise me on his own. How could I turn my back on him now, when he needed me most?

I felt tears sting my eyes and blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t change anything.

“Excuse me, miss?”

The voice startled me, and I looked up to see a man standing a few feet away. He was tall, with a sharp jawline and a sleek black coat that probably cost more than my rent.

“Yes?” I said, my voice cautious.

He gave me a polite smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “My name is Victor Langley. I work for Mr. Alexander Wells.”

The air seemed to leave my lungs all at once.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

“Mr. Wells asked me to deliver this to you.” He extended a sleek envelope, his gloved hand steady. “He wanted you to have it before you made your decision.”

My fingers hesitated before taking the envelope, the weight of it unfamiliar and heavy. Victor nodded once, as if his job was done, and turned to leave without another word.

I stared at the envelope in my hands, the paper thick and expensive, as if it alone carried the weight of the man who sent it. My fingers trembled as I opened it, the cold air nipping at my skin.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, the words typed in clean, precise lines.

Elena Spears,

I look forward to meeting you.

—Alexander Wells

That was it. No explanation, no details. Just a few simple words that somehow managed to unsettle me more than any declaration ever could.

I folded the paper back into the envelope, my hands shaking as I placed it in my coat pocket. My breath was shallow, my heart racing as I stared at the empty street in front of me.

Somehow, without even meeting the man, I felt like my life was no longer my own.

When I returned home, the house was eerily quiet. My father was no longer in the kitchen, but his coat was still hanging by the door, a reminder of the conversation we’d had just hours before.

I moved to my room, the familiar smell of turpentine and paint comforting me as I closed the door behind me. My canvases leaned against the walls, unfinished works that now felt like relics of a life I wasn’t sure I could hold onto.

Sitting at my desk, I pulled out the envelope again, staring at it as if it held all the answers I didn’t want to know.

This man—Alexander Wells—he had everything. Money, power, influence. And now, apparently, he wanted me. But why?

My chest tightened with a mix of fear and anger. I didn’t want to be a pawn in someone else’s game, but the sinking feeling in my stomach told me that I might not have a choice.

As I stared at the envelope, a knock on the door startled me.

“Elena?” my father’s voice called softly from the other side. There’s….something I need to give you”.

I hesitated, my stomach twisting into knots, but his tone left no room for argument.

"What's this?" I asked, eyeing it warily.

He held it out to me, his expression unreadable. "It's from him. Alexander."

I stared at the envelope, my breath catching in my throat. Slowly, I reached for it, my fingers brushing against the crisp edges of the paper.

"Open it," my father urged quietly.

I slid a finger bent the flap, pulling out another neatly typed document from the same man. My heart skimmed the bold letters at the top.

Every word on the page blurred together as my chest tightened, panic clawing its way up my throat. This wasn't just a proposal. This was a transaction, a deal laid out in cold, clinical terms.

“I...." My voice faltered as I looked at my father, searching his face for any sign of reassurance.

But he didn't say anything. He couldn't.

My hands trembled as I clutched the paper, the weight of it pressing down on me like a tidal wave.

This was real.

This was happening.

And there was no out.