Todos los capítulos de Married To My Billionaire Stranger : Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

“Whenever you’re ready,” the officiator tells us tadjusting his robe properly, his voice telling me this is not his first nor twelfth wedding of today. “I can’t believe this is happening,” I mutter, inhaling deeply to relieve my stomach knot. Is this what they call wedding blues? I tighten the hold on my flowers. “I can’t believe this is happening!” Cassy yells from behind me, she’s fixing my white sparkly gown—it’s not anything dramatic, just a simple but stunning silk slip that shimmered faintly in the soft light. This is happening. Fast. Real. I stand in front of this impossibly good-looking stranger, and I’m able to see his face—in bright light now. I nod at the man on the altar, telling him I’m ready, ignoring the hammering of my heart. The officiant scanned the paperwork, then looked up with a practiced smile. “Andrew Thorne, please repeat after me…” Andrew. That was the name of the man I was marrying. His voice is steady, deep, like velvet wrapped around a

Ch 4:Wolves. “Smile,” he murmurs. “We’re in the wolves’ den now.” The doors open, and the flashbulbs explode. I flinch, momentarily blinded. It’s not just bright—it’s assaulting, like someone hurled a thousand paparazzi suns into my face. I blink furiously, the chaotic strobe searing into my retinas like I’ve just stepped onto the red carpet at the Met Gala mid-scandal. “Mr.Throne can you please introduce your wife?.” “Mr.Throne when did you meet your wife?.” “Is this a business plan or love?.” Cameras, voices, questions—all crashing together like a wave I never asked to stand in front of. Andrew’s hand is already at the small of my back, steering me forward with the casual control of someone who’s done this too many times to flinch. My heels click against the marble floor as we enter the gala. It’s confusing—gold-toned gowns, billion-dollar watches, the air thick with money and manipulation. A chandelier glitters above like it’s watching me. I force my mouth

Andrew pov Power demands sacrifice.I sacrificed my conscience long ago—it’s too messy, too distracting. Obedience is the only currency I accept now. But one thing stops is certain——Obedience is something you own and have to make sure you don’t transfer ownership. Tonight isn’t just another networking event. It’s a battlefield— one that is lit with crystal chandeliers and threatening toasts. The men in this room don’t just own companies. They own consequences. I’ve watched them ruin legacies with a smile and build empires over the bones of rivals.Their hands are soft. Manicured. The same hands that sign billion-dollar deals have ended bloodlines, quietly.They’re selfish, it’s something that makes them worthy of my space. This, is the kind of environment I function. I needed to be married before the next stage of the merger was signed off."You’ll have to marry our daughter," the old scrawny bastard had said like it was a rule in the merger. I’d laughed, refused and called h

Chapter 8Sage pov. “What… do you mean?” I say slowly.“What it means,” he says, moving closer to me, “is that—” He stops, standing directly in front of me. The woodsy scent of his cologne invading my nostrils. “You’re not going anywhere.”Low and certain.“I…I…I…” before a barely there “please.”His smirk is wide now, like he could barely hold it.This is the reaction he wanted.“I didn’t know what I signed.” I feel the back of my eyes stinging from tears.My legs go numb, and the only thing I could do was breathe through my mouth to stop.“Not my issue.” He is hovering directly in front of me. My eyes stay firm below his neck, refusing to meet his eyes.From the dark fabric of his shirt across his chest, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms.Everything about him looks calculated.“I was…drunk.”“I tested your alcohol level,” he says. I feel his hands reach up to my neck, before it moves to my chin. He uses his fingers to push my chin up until I am facing up to

Sage POVThe first thing I notice about Andrew's office building is how quiet it is.You can’t really describe it as peaceful. It’s kind of like… tight.It’s the kind of quiet that happens before a disaster.It’s controlled.From the gleaming marble beneath my feet, the recessed lights, the overly cool air, to every surface that looks as though someone has carefully wiped away the smallest evidence that actual human beings work here.Even the receptionist looks like she was put out here with intent.She's young, probably somewhere in her late twenties, with sleek dark hair gathered into a neat bun. Her cream blouse is tucked into a fitted black skirt, and a thin gold watch circles her wrist.Everything about her is polished, from her posture to the pleasant smile she has managed to maintain through the last five minutes of me repeating myself."Just call him and tell him his WIFE is asking for him.""I'm sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Throne doesn't have you on his schedule.""I know." I draw