The Billionaire's Arranged Bride

Rosalie

Being born into a wealthy family is often perceived as the ultimate advantage – a life without financial worries, instant access to desires. While true for many, that wasn't the case for me or my mother. Two years ago, my father orchestrated my marriage to Adrien Vasanten solely for his gain, disregarding my feelings. It marked another instance where he prioritized himself over me.

At the age of twenty-two, I found myself in a coveted position that many women would envy – married to Adrien Vasanten, the CEO of Gold Myne Corporation, but we had not yet welcomed a child into our lives. However, my reality differed greatly from the envisioned marital bliss I'd wanted for myself. 

Despite my love for him, Adrien harbored a strong dislike towards me. I relentlessly tried to improve his perception of me, yet I remained the woman he believed had separated him from his true love, with whom he maintained constant contact. To my dismay, I discovered he was cheating on me with her. 

Despite this, I hesitated to confront him about his infidelity, torn between my desire to be with him and the exceptional intimacy we shared. At this moment, my concerns about judgment took a back seat to my pursuit of closeness with my husband.

I moaned as one of his hands traveled down between us and I let out a shocked gasp as his fingers plunged between my thighs, stroking through my folds to tease my clit. He moved through my heat possessively, greedily. Two of his fingers dipped into my channel, curling around the sensitive place inside me that made me go completely insane.

"Adrien!" I buried my face in his neck as he increased the pressure to the bundle of nerves and fucked me with his fingers - hard and fast, hitting that spot inside of me. "Oh God." I threw my head back as I started to move my hips to the rhythm of his fingers. "Harder. Right there."

His mouth went for my breasts again as his fingers brought me to a point of no return and I let out a loud moan and arched my back as my climax hit me hard. I held onto him as I slowly came down from my high so I wouldn't float away, forced my eyes to open and I watched, mesmerized as he put his fingers into his mouth and sucked off my juices.

I brought his head down for a kiss and gasped into his mouth as he buried himself to the hilt inside of me. He pummeled into me with unrestrained lust, thrusting harder and burying himself deeply inside me with every stroke and within minutes, a second orgasm hit me like a freight train making me clench around his pummeling c*ck and he pumped into me thrice before he found his release.

"Oh, God," I exhaled, breathless as if I'd just finished a marathon. Our intimate encounters began a year ago, initiated by a drunken mistake when he confused me with Yvette. Despite our history, this particular encounter surpassed all others.

He rolled away, sighed, and left the bed. Naked, he strolled into the bathroom, and I reflexively closed my eyes at the sound of running water. Unlike other wives who could join their husbands in the shower, I remained acutely aware that I would not be welcome if I decide to join him.

My initial excitement about our intimacy turned to disappointment after our first night together. Waking up beside him filled me with joy until he accused me of seduction.

Despite my stepsister Yvette being his intended match two years ago, I ended up marrying him due to his father's directive, setting the foundation for a flawed marriage. For the initial year, Adrien refrained from any intimacy, until a night of drinking shattered my illusions of his acceptance. 

I believed my efforts had warmed his heart, only to wake up the next morning hearing him confess that he had mistaken me for Yvette.

In the subsequent days, our physical distance diminished, yet Adrien maintained emotional detachment. Although we engaged in marital relations, he never stayed overnight or allowed me to conceive. The unspoken truth lingered – his love was reserved for Yvette, and this realization haunted me each time he held me in his arms.

One might expect I'd grow accustomed to the routine, yet I still felt only marginally better than street prostitutes and acknowledging the absence of payment didn't improve my situation. Minutes later, as the water ceased, he emerged dressed in pants and a new shirt.

After our passionate encounter, one might anticipate a relaxed, perhaps smiling demeanor. However, the ever-present frown and clenched jaw persisted, as if he couldn't bear the sight of me. Covered to my chin, I contemplated asking him to stay, aware he likely wouldn't, but the prospect of asking lingered.

"Can you stay with me tonight?" I asked in a tentative voice as he turned toward the door. "Please?"

"Don't be so pathetic, Rosalie," he stated, turning to face me. "You know why I'm doing this, don't you?"

"I know."

"So, why do you always ask me to stay, knowing I'd never do so?"

"I'm hoping you'd finally get tired of hearing me beg you and you'll stay," I answered. "It's just this one night. Please."

"Get a hold of yourself," He ordered. "Or this will be the last time we ever have sex."

Ignoring my plea, he pulled open the door and exited, leaving me alone with unshed tears and aching in my chest. Falling in love with someone who clearly didn't reciprocate my feelings was a predicament I needed to resolve for my own peace of mind.

It was overly optimistic of me to believe that nurturing and being a dutiful wife would transform us into a loving couple. We both faced marriage pressures, but he remained oblivious to that. Shortly after our wedding, what should have been our honeymoon turned into a solo endeavor while Adrien immersed himself in work and became the new CEO of Gold Myne upon our return. 

Despite claiming to love Yvette, he clung to his role as the heir to the Vasanten empire. His blame and resentment were unfairly directed at me, and I had grown weary of being the scapegoat in their misguided love story.

Wrapping a sheet around myself, I left the bed and headed to the bathroom for a shower. I had plans to visit the hospital, check on my mother's recovery after surgery, and seek information from her doctor. While dressing, my phone rang on the bedside table, and I hurriedly answered it, fearing bad news about my mother.

"Hello?" I cautiously inquired.

"Mrs. Vasanten, this is Cecilia. You need to come to the hospital right away. Miss Yvette Truscott is here, insisting on seeing your mother. She's refusing to leave and might cause a scene," The nurse urgently informed me.