The Lost Billionaire’s Lover

LENA'S POV

I stood by my window, my gaze drifting over the lush green of our family mansion. The late afternoon sun bathed the flowers in gold, casting long shadows that stretched toward the buildings. The magnolias swayed gently, their scent faint but familiar. It was peaceful, deceptively so, like the eye of a storm waiting to unravel.

Then, I heard it.

"Lena," my name carried through the walls, spoken in a tone that felt like an invocation rather than a call.

I straightened, listening carefully. Voices followed—urgent, hushed, and insistent. My mother’s voice. My grandfather’s. They were talking about me.

Every since dad’s death, this was my new normal. Everyone seemed to get on my nerves—worse off, seemed to look up to me in expectation , of me, being in my best behaviors at all times.

But still, I remained a feminine boss, who wouldn’t take shit.

I turned away from the window, my pulse quickening. Something about the way they spoke made my skin prickle. My name was mentioned again, and this time, I caught a phrase that sent a chill up my spine.

Series of theories roamed my mind as 24-year old, impulsive me decided to check their conversation out.

“…her marriage should be finalized before the month ends.”

I froze in realization.

Marriage.

For a moment, I stood frozen. My fingers curled into my palms, nails digging into my skin. I wasn’t engaged. I hadn’t agreed to any marriage.

The floor was cold beneath my feet as I stepped away from the window. The voices grew louder. I moved swiftly through the hall, my heart pounding against my ribs. As I turned the corner, I collided into something solid—someone.

It was my grandfather.

He barely moved from the impact, but I stumbled back, startled. Beside him stood my mother, her arms crossed, her expression tight with worry.

"Lena," she started, but I stepped past her, my chest rising and falling with barely contained fury.

Stomping into the large, lit-up veranda, were maids lined up for our family catering needs and services. For a moment, I had envied each and every single one of them who were free-willed and capable to make crucial decisions like this, alone.

“Lena! Come back here! I’m talking to you!”

I ignored Mother’s plea while walking into the living room gracefully. All those wouldn’t be happening if Kian was still alive.

At least, that’s what I was forced to believe.

The living room was bright, too bright, the chandelier casting an artificial glow over everything. The house resonated in argument—just my mother and my grandfather, deep in some discussion they should never have had without me.

“I don’t care how much you argue about it,” My grandfather was saying. His voice was steel wrapped in velvet, old but sharp. “The deal was made years ago. Lena will marry him.”

I stopped in my tracks, my breath halting.

I wasn’t just married to someone, whom I harbor no feelings and emotions for.

“What deal?” My voice cut through the room.

Both of them turned to me, startled. My grandfather recovered first, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable.

"Lena," my mother said again, softer this time.

I ignored her, my attention locked on my grandfather. “What deal?” I repeated, my voice steadier now.

His gaze held mine, assessing. Then, without hesitation, he said, “The arrangement between our family and the Cartwright’s.”

The name sent a ripple of unease through me. The Cartwright’s. As in Harlin Cartwright. As in the son of my late father’s business partner. A man I barely knew, save for the forced pleasantries at social events, the polite smiles exchanged across crowded ballrooms.

The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in. I was becoming suffocated in a fully air-conditioned room.

“You arranged a marriage for me?” My voice barely masked the incredulity, the rising fury beneath it.

“Your father and I did what was best for this family. Long ago.” my grandfather said, unyielding.

"Best?" I let out a short, bitter laugh. "For whom? Certainly not for me."

"Lena," my mother interjected, stepping forward. "This isn't what you think. It's—"

"An agreement," my grandfather finished. "One that will strengthen our family's business. One that ensures your future."

"My future?" I repeated, the anger bubbling to the surface now. "You’re discussing my future as if I have no say in it. As if my life is just a tool for you to barter."

"Don’t be dramatic," my grandfather said, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. "This is how things have always been done. You will marry Harlin, and that is final. Don’t pretend as if you’re never saw this coming.”

Final.

The word rang in my ears, thick and heavy with expectation.

I felt the weight of their decisions pressing down on me, like a noose tightening around my throat. But no—no, I would not be suffocated by this.

I took a step forward, my hands trembling, but my voice was steady. "I will not marry Harlin Cartwright. I will not marry anyone you choose for me. And I will not let you decide the course of my life. And that’s my own final take.” I shot back at grandfather.

The silence that followed was deafening.

My grandfather's face darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You will do as you're told," he said, his tone colder now. "This isn't about love, Lena. It's about duty. About family."

I smiled before addressing his statement. "No," I said simply. "It's about control."

My mother’s expression faltered. "Lena, please," she murmured, but I shook my head.

"I won't do it," I said again, firmer this time. "Whatever deal you made, undo it. I am not a contract to be signed. I am not a pawn to be moved for the sake of your business ambitions."

My grandfather exhaled sharply, his patience wearing thin. "You think you have a choice in this? You really think you can disobey me?”

"Yes," I shot back. "I do."

His jaw tightened. My mother looked away, unable to meet my gaze.

I could feel the battle lines being drawn, the room charged with an unspoken war.

"I won't ask again," my grandfather said, his voice like granite. "You will marry him, Lena." He added, a familiar scowl creeping up to his face.

"And I won't say it again," I countered, my voice just as firm. "I. Will. Not."

A sharp silence followed.

Then my grandfather turned to my mother. "You see? This is what happens when you give a girl too much freedom. It’ll tend to mess with her head.”

My mother flinched, but she said nothing.

I clenched my fists, my breath coming fast. "If freedom means the right to make my own choices, then yes, I have too much of it. And I plan to keep it."

I turned on my heel before they could say another word, my body thrumming with adrenaline.

"Lena!" My mother called after me, but I didn’t stop. Mother would always support grandfather regardless of his say.

I pushed through the hall, my heart hammering, my mind racing. They thought they could decide my life for me. They thought I would bend, would break under their will.

They were wrong.

I reached my room, slamming the door shut behind me. The walls, once comforting, felt too narrow, too suffocating. I took a shaky breath, trying to steady the storm inside me.

I wouldn't let them dictate my life.

They could argue. They could threaten.

But I was not theirs to control.