Taming the billionaire playboy

Chapter 1 : marry him or ur mother dies

Jasmine smoothed the front of her blouse for the third time before the gates opened. It wasn’t expensive—just a soft cream top and dark jeans—but it was the nicest outfit she owned that didn’t carry a memory of the hospital, or at least the smell of poverty.The guard barely looked at her before stepping aside, like he’d been told to expect her.

The mansion stood in front of her, white stone and glass, nothing like the cramped apartment she and her mum lived in. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, but her face stayed calm. She was here for her mother.

A maid opened the door before she could knock twice.

“Miss Jasmine?” the woman said quietly.

Jasmine nodded.

“he is expecting you. This way.”

They didn’t walk far—just down a wide hall that smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive furniture. As they approached the living room, Jasmine heard nothing, no voices, no footsteps—just the soft hum of air-conditioning.

Then she saw them.

Lorenzo, her half brother lounged on one side of a velvet couch, phone in hand but attention clearly elsewhere.

Liana, his twin sister sat opposite him, legs crossed, posture perfect. A velvet robe in wine-red draped over her like she’d woken up beautiful on purpose. Her gaze trailed over Jasmine, slow and assessing, not a word spoken, but everything said.

Their mother was there too. Elegant, composed, the kind of woman who didn’t soften even when she smiled. Her expression didn’t change when Jasmine passed, but her eyes narrowed, as if measuring how much trouble had just walked in. She used to be her father's secretary, but after they were caught to be having an affair, Jasmine's father left her mum for her, completely abandoning her, and her mother.

Not one of them spoke. Not hello. Not who are you. Not why are you here.

The maid didn’t pause.

Jasmine kept her steps steady and her face high , even though she could feel their eyes at her back—questions, judgment, maybe even annoyance. She didn’t look their way again.

At the end of the hall, the maid stopped beside a closed office door.

“He’s waiting for you inside,” she said, then slipped away without knocking.

Jasmine took a slow breath, fixed her shoulders, and reached for the handle.

The door clicked shut behind her, soft but final.

He was sitting behind a wide mahogany desk, fingers steepled, watching her like she was a meeting he didn’t have time for. The years hadn’t softened him. His hair was mostly dark with a few strands of silver, his suit tailored, his posture straight enough to make the room feel smaller.

For a moment, he didn’t speak.

Just looked at her.

Like she was a face he was trying to place.

Then, finally—

“So,” he said, voice calm, almost bored, “you found me.”

Jasmine stood in front of the desk. She didn’t sit, even though he gestured lazily to the chair opposite him.

“I need your help,” she said, her tone steady. “My mother is in the hospital. The treatment is expensive. I know you can"

“I’m aware of her condition,” he interrupted, as if she were reciting something he’d already read in a file. “Your message mentioned it.”

Her hands curled at her sides. She’d spent nights building the courage just to ask. Hearing him speak about it like a business memo made something inside her tighten.

“She doesn’t have time,” Jasmine said. “If we start treatment this week, the doctors said—”

He lifted a hand, silencing her without raising his voice.

“I can pay for it.”

Relief flickered in her chest—brief, sharp, disbelieving.

“But,” he added, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t do charity.”

The word stung more than she expected. She kept her eyes on him.

“What do you want?”

For the first time, his gaze sharpened, like he was looking at someone useful instead of inconvenient.

“There was an agreement,” he said. “A marriage arrangement between this family and the Phillips family.”

Jasmine didn’t move. Her pulse rose in her throat.

“It was meant for Liana,” he continued, “but her mother declined. And now the Phillips family is reconsidering our partnership.” His eyes didn’t waver. “Alexander Phillips is the heir. He needs a bride. You will take the place intended for your sister.”

Your sister.

Like the word was nothing more than a title, not a relationship he'd never acknowledged.

Jasmine stared at him. “You’re asking me to marry a stranger so you’ll pay for my mother’s treatment?"

“I’m not asking,” he said simply.

There was no threat in his voice.

He didn’t need one.

Because he knew exactly what she couldn’t afford to do.

Jasmine didn’t look away. If she blinked, she might break.

“And if I refuse?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t lean forward. He didn’t even shift. His expression stayed smooth, like her answer was irrelevant to the outcome.

“Then your mother’s treatment doesn’t happen,” he said. “And you leave the way you came.”

Her breath caught—just once—but she held his gaze.

“So that’s it,” she said. “You’ll pay her bills if I marry into a family I’ve never met—because Liana won’t.”

A faint, dismissive sound left him. “Liana has expectations. You don’t.”

“You’re not shackled by their standards,” he went on. “You’re not associated with our public image. If anything goes wrong, it doesn’t stain us.” Us. Not her.

Jasmine’s jaw clenched. “You knew where we were all along.”

It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t deny it.

“There’s no point discussing the past,” he said. “You’re here now. And I’m giving you an opportunity.”

She almost laughed. Opportunity. Like she’d been handed a scholarship, not sold into convenience.

“And what,” she said slowly, “does Alexander Phillips get out of this?”

“Stability,” he said. “A wife makes him look anchored. His grandfather is reconsidering the succession after his last... scandal. The board thinks marriage will fix his image. His parents agree.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So I’m a reputation bandage.”

“You’re a solution,” he corrected.

Silence stretched between them, humming with choices that weren’t choices at all.

Jasmine drew a quiet breath. “And if I do this—how fast will you pay for her treatment?”

“As soon as you agree,” he said, like they were finalizing a contract. “The hospital will be wired the full amount today.”

Today.

Her heartbeat tightened painfully in her chest. The doctors had said the word urgent three times that morning.

“And if I leave after the wedding?” she asked.

His eyes hardened—not angry, just calculating. “You won’t. Not until the Phillips family no longer needs you.”

She swallowed the dry lump in her throat.

He was done speaking. She could tell. This was a transaction, not a conversation.

Jasmine straightened, not trusting her voice for a second.

“Fine,” she said at last. “I’ll marry him.”

There was no triumph in his face. Just the mild satisfaction of a deal closed.

“I’ll have the papers drawn up,” he said. “And Jasmine—”

She paused at the door, hand on the handle but not turning it.

He looked at her like a businessman confirming inventory. “Don’t make a mess of this.”

She didn’t answer.

Because she couldn’t promise that.

Not when he’d dragged her into his world only to use her as leverage.

Not when he’d called it an opportunity.

Not when he’d called it charity.

She opened the door and stepped out, closing it quietly behind her.

And for the first time since she arrived, she let herself breathe—but not in relief.

In preparation.

Because she had just agreed to save her mother’s life… by becoming someone else’s solution.

And she didn’t even know his face yet.