The Billionaire's Karma

I stormed into my father’s study, the heavy oak doors slamming behind me with a force that made the books on the shelves tremble. My fists were clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms, and I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. The room was dimly lit, as it always was, with a single lamp casting a golden glow over the mahogany desk. My father sat behind it, calm and composed, as though he hadn’t just crushed my dreams with a single phone call.

"How could you do this to me?” I demanded, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and disbelief. “You sabotaged my presentation, didn’t you? You’re the reason I was taken off the list!”

My father didn’t even flinch. He simply leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled together as he regarded me with that same cold, calculating expression he always wore. “Elena,” he said smoothly, as though he were addressing an unruly child, “you were wasting your time on that nonsense. I did you a favor.”

“A favor?” I repeated, my voice rising. “That ‘nonsense’ was my art! My passion! Do you have any idea how hard I worked for that opportunity? I was supposed to showcase my work to some of the most influential people in the industry—”

“And what would that have accomplished?” he interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through mine like a blade. “Do you think painting pretty pictures is going to secure your future? Provide you with stability? No, Elena. It’s time you stopped chasing childish dreams and started acting like the daughter of a Carter.”

I felt like I’d been slapped. “Childish dreams?” I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper. “You mean the dreams I put on hold because of you? Because you insisted I get an engineering degree instead of going to art school? I did everything you asked, and now you’re telling me that doesn’t matter either?”

He sighed, as though my anger was nothing more than an inconvenience to him. “Elena, you’re an intelligent young woman. I’ve always admired that about you. But intelligence must be paired with practicality. Art is not practical. It’s a hobby, not a career. I know what’s best for you, even if you don’t.”

I stared at him, my chest heaving with the effort to hold back the tears threatening to spill. I hated that he could still make me feel like this. Small, powerless, insignificant. “You don’t know what’s best for me,” I said through gritted teeth. “You never have. You just want to control me, to mold me into your perfect little puppet. Well, I won’t let you.”

He stood then, his imposing figure towering over me as he placed his hands on the desk. “Enough,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You will not speak to me like that. I have given you everything, Elena. An education, a home, a life of privilege. And this is how you repay me? By throwing tantrums over a silly art gallery?”

My hands trembled at my sides, but I refused to back down. “I never asked for any of that,” I shot back. “All I ever wanted was to pursue my own path, but you’ve never let me. You’ve always decided what’s best for me, without even asking what I want.”

“And what you want is irrelevant,” he said coldly. “You’re a Carter, and with that name comes responsibility. It’s time you started fulfilling it.”

I froze, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach. “What are you talking about?” I asked warily.

He straightened, smoothing the front of his suit as though preparing for a business negotiation. “I’ve arranged a marriage for you,” he said simply, as though he were commenting on the weather. “To Julian Blackwood.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. “You… you what?” I finally managed to choke out.

“It’s already decided,” he said firmly. “The Blackwoods are one of the most influential families in the country. This alliance will benefit both our families immensely.”

I shook my head, taking a step back as though I could physically distance myself from the insanity of what he was saying. “You can’t be serious. Julian Blackwood? The playboy billionaire? He’s practically infamous for his scandals! Why would you—how could you even think—”

“Because it’s what’s best for you,” he said, cutting me off once again. “Julian may have his flaws, but he’s a smart man. He’ll provide you with a life of security and luxury, something your so-called art could never do.”

“I don’t want a life of security and luxury!” I snapped. “I want a life of meaning, of purpose. I want to be happy.”

“And you think you’ll find happiness painting pictures in some dingy studio?” he sneered. “Don’t be naive, Elena. The world doesn’t work that way. Happiness comes from stability, from knowing your place and fulfilling your duty.”

I felt the tears spill over then, hot and unwelcome. “This isn’t fair,” I whispered. “You’re asking me to give up everything, my dreams, my freedom, my life, for a man who doesn’t even know I exist.”

“He knows,” my father said, his tone softening just slightly. “We’ve already discussed the arrangement. He’s agreed to it.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Why would he agree? He could marry anyone he wants. Why me?”

“Because he understands the value of this union,” my father said simply. “And you should too.”

I wanted to scream, to throw something, to run as far away as I could. But deep down, I knew it was hopeless. My father had always been the immovable force in my life, and I was just one of the many pieces on his chessboard

.

“You can’t force me to marry him,” I said, though my voice lacked the conviction I wanted it to have.

He met my gaze, unflinching. “You’re right. I can’t force you. But if you refuse, you’ll no longer have my support. No money, no connections, no safety net. You’ll be on your own.”

My heart sank. He knew exactly how to trap me, how to back me into a corner until I had no choice but to comply. I felt the weight of his words settle over me like a shroud, suffocating and inescapable.

“I’ve made sacrifices for you,” I said quietly, my voice breaking. “I gave up my dreams for you. Isn’t that enough?”

He didn’t answer, and in his silence, I found my answer.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I turned away, unable to look at him any longer. “Fine,” I said, my voice hollow. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry Julian Blackwood. But don’t expect me to thank you for it.”

And with that, I walked out of the study, my heart heavy with the weight of my father’s demands and my own shattered dreams.