The Billionaire's Mistake

NATHAN

(March 14 - Miami, Florida)

"Congratulations, Hawthorne." I endure congratulatory slaps on the arm and handshakes from excited wedding guests as the ceremony proceeds. 

Soft music plays in the background, and the delightful aroma of food fills the air. The air is well-conditioned in the event hall, tempering the varying scents worn by the wedding guests in attendance.

 Conversation ensues as everyone mingles, their noisy chatter punctuated by the sound of glasses clinking and music playing.

 I force a smile in response, duly returning the excited greetings. Deep down, I'm scowling at the deal I've gotten myself into.

It's a small wedding, with fewer than 100 attendees. Only a few of Mr. Alvarez's closest acquaintances are in attendance. I've invited Giovanni as my guest, excluding my immediate family from the invitation. They will be informed of the occasion eventually, but they're not welcome.

 "Love indeed is blind," I hear one of the ladies in attendance remark, the subtle innuendo in her words not lost on me. This is a sham of a marriage made to salvage the fate of a desirable future. It's evident that people are aware this marriage is not out of love.

 What man could possibly love Selina Alvarez as his wife, given how ignominiously she has conducted herself? Her father knew better than to push for a lavish wedding.

When I propositioned him for his help, I had expected his offer of agreement to be something I could navigate, although it wouldn't be easy. I wish he had made tougher demands than saddling me with the weight of marrying his profligate daughter. 

"If it isn't the man of the hour," Giovanni says, approaching me with a spark of amusement in his eyes, sipping a cocktail.

 I throw a glare at him. He led me to this, so surely he must be enjoying watching me contain my irritation. The excitement in the air contradicts how I feel. The guests in attendance are not here to celebrate with me; they're here to network and socialize.

Obviously, this is a good opportunity for me to build more connections. There are several high-society individuals from Mr. Alvarez's side in attendance. 

I should push my sentiments aside and strike up a conversation with a prospective ally, but I'm unable to think of anything to do. Not when the weight of my marriage contract hangs over my head.

 Giovanni holds my shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly. "It can't be that bad," he says. "It's just a marriage." He makes a poor attempt at understating the nuances of my arranged marriage.

"A marriage that raises more controversy about my taste in women than helping my campaign," I mutter begrudgingly, scraping the bad taste that settles on my tongue with my teeth.

 With this marriage, I've gained more popularity than I've had over months of campaigning. However, it's the wrong kind of influence.

I'm on the brink of regretting my decision to follow Giovanni's advice or agreeing to this arrangement. 

As Giovanni attempts to convince me to see the brighter side of my situation, waving emphatically across the hall, one of the men on my security team approaches us. 

His fitted black suit and glasses make him stand out, appearing commanding and intimidating.

 I follow Giovanni's hand movement, my gaze sweeping through the guests present, potential allies, and influential figures in society whose connections I cannot afford to miss. Networking with many of them will not only help with my campaign but also set a mark for the future of my business to soar beyond where it is.

"Don't act so surly, and enjoy," Giovanni states, taking a snack off the tray of a passing waiter and popping it into his mouth. His eyes glint with appreciation as he chews on the snack, and he turns to track down the waiter amongst the crowd, seeking more delights. 

I shift my gaze from him to Haran, my security guard, cutting his way across from the other end of the room towards me. I purse my lips as I wait for his approach, curious to know why he seeks me. It has to be something crucial.

"Mr. Hawthorne," Haran greets, his voice deep, firm, and professional, with a sharp nod.

 "Haran," I say. "What is it?" 

He steps closer to whisper in my ear, glancing preemptively at the beaming guests.

 It's the after-party following walking my supposed bride down the aisle. Selina Alvarez was as displeased with this arrangement as I am. 

However, we both managed to walk down the aisle without clawing at each other's faces. The hatred between us is mutual. Regardless, we present the perfect picture of the lovey-dovey couple for the media, corroborating her father's story of love in the air.

I hold back a snort, thinking back on the demands I've been forced to yield to per Mr. Alvarez's request, in a bid to gain his political backing. 

My eyes snap when Haran reports to me, "The bride is missing, Sir." However, I'm not surprised by it. 

I glance around at the ceremony ensuing. I don't really have to wait around, pretending to revel in the moment like the others. But, I am incensed that she has taken my chance of networking with the potentials I've mapped out this evening.

"Find her," I hiss under my breath, scanning the room.

 "I've dispatched a search team to uncover her whereabouts," Haran informs.

 "Okay," I nod, scanning the room for where Mr. Alvarez is. He is standing by one of the cocktail tables several feet away. I leave Haran to get to business and walk over to join Mr. Alvarez.

He welcomes me into his circle with a warm smile, slapping me encouragingly on the back as if we had known each other for years. 

He introduces me to each person in his circle. I welcome the invitation and engage in casual conversation before politely excusing myself from their company.

 My head seems to be reeling with the questions they throw my way. I lie through most of them, glancing at Mr. Alvarez's side. There's a hint of satisfaction in his gaze, and I know he's pleased with my answers. Or perhaps he's pleased to witness my unease.

"I will be retiring early with my wife," I announce. 

"Why? It's so early," Mrs. Donovan, the owner of a large generational clothing brand, states, touching her chest lightly. 

"Let him be. He must be eager to get to his wife," her husband says, waving dismissively. 

Laughter erupts from the other top and elderly CEOs gathered around Mr. Alvarez's cocktail table. One of them even winks meaningfully at me. I quickly hold back a snicker before it escapes, weaving my way out of the party.

When I get to the backseat of my car, I loosen the tie around my neck, exhaling heavily. That was one dreadful experience. 

I've never fancied lavish settings like weddings and festivities. Being at the center of one was enough to give me a headache.

 "Are you okay, Sir?" my driver asks, glancing back at me. He offers me a water bottle, and I gratefully take it from him.

 I will need more than doses of aspirin to relieve the discomfort I'm battling. I uncap the bottle and wash the bitter taste in my mouth away.

Luckily for me, people won't raise questions about my bride's absence. I had an answer ready for every annoying question the reporters threw at me as I left the venue for the quiet of the parking space.

 My answers made them blush and swoon, but I cringed inwardly. I might be needing antacids too. 

Goodness! It's been a long day. "Take me home, please," I groan, throwing my head back and closing my eyes. 

Adrian starts the engine and pulls away, much to my relief.

When I get home, I haven't heard a word from Haran. I drink a glass of whiskey, drumming my fingers impatiently on the wine counter.

 Selina's disappearance will affect not just my campaign; my business could crumble if the media discovers that they had been fooled by our charade of a lovely couple. I could only hope that they found her in time before a mess brews.

****

The vixen has been caught. I begrudgingly walk into my bedroom, where she has been held, awaiting my arrival.

 She struggles against her bindings. Her vile mouth is, mercifully, taped. I don't need to hear the string of curses swirling on her tongue. 

Honestly, I would have gladly skipped this part of the night. God knows what disease she's carrying in her body from her numerous escapades. 

However, I'm bound by a marriage clause to produce a grandson for Mr. Alvarez within the year of our marriage.

I roll on protection with a resigned sigh and climb into bed with her. She struggles against her bindings, her voice muffled, and her eyes flashing with fury. 

I avoid her gaze as I undress her quickly. I skip unnecessary foreplay, knowing her wanton body will be ready for me at the prospect of intercourse. 

I penetrate her in one swift move, hoping to finish quickly, but my body stills. My eyes connect with hers, her muffled cry of pain and still body registering in my head. 

I'm stunned. My body grows rigid, and I whisper in shock, "You're not Selina Alvarez."