Arranged marriage with mr stranger

9.3 / 10.0

Born into luxury but raised in the shadows, Ava Wilson was born into a wealthy family but was treated like a slave. Blamed for the death of her mother. Now she was bullied by her stepmother, half-sister, and the one and only man who should have protected her: her father. Just when she thought life couldn't get worse, Ava was forced into an arranged marriage with a stranger. He was the same man whom she saved, who was drugged and had a one-night stand with her, the same man who doesn't remember her anymore and makes her life a living hell. Ava was forced to live a new life. When he finally realized the big secret. Betrayal, hatred, and backstabbing found their way into her life. Would their love still bloom even after all the trauma surrounding them.

9.3

Billionaire Modern Romance

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Arranged marriage with mr stranger Chapter 1

Ava's POV

"Still sleeping like an asshole?"

My eyes snapped open as I jumped out of bed when I heard her voice.

No matter how deeply I slept, I could never mistake Clara Wilson's voice. My stepmom. I wondered if I would ever be able to be at peace, as I was years back before she came in. It had barely been 4 hours of sleep and yet she was already screaming my name. I had been called all manner of names as I was old enough to understand the meaning of those names.

My exams were tomorrow and I wished to sit and read. Of course not. All I ever did was work, work, and work.

"Ava!" I heard her heavy stomps thundering up the stairs. She was already close.

She pushed the door and I could see her eyes were filled with rage. I faced her, bracing myself as she walked towards me, holding a broom.

"Good morning, mother," I said softly, forcing the words through clenched teeth.

"I have been calling you for five minutes, lazy bitch. What were you doing?" she yelled.

I bowed my head low, panting like a dog. My stepmother hated me so much. Since I lost my mother, my father brought the witch into our home. I managed to get admitted into the same school as my sister, Alison, because my father wanted me to go there with her. Still, I couldn't keep up. One day I am at school, the next I am scrubbing the floor.

Today was supposed to be my exams, but instead, I am dragged out of bed to begin chores that might leave me too drained or too late to attend school.

The Wilson family is well known across the city, but no one knew I existed. They only knew about Alison, the Wilsons' only daughter. Perfect in every way.

"Are you now deaf as well as stupid?" She continued, advancing closer. My heart skipped a bit because I knew the next thing I was expecting was a slap. Indeed, I was given a thunderous slap. I stumbled backward, dazed. It felt like being struck by lightning.

"Mom, what have I done this time?" I cried, but then it was no use.

"Are you talking back to me?" She snapped, as I moved backward.

First, just apologize. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"I am not your mother. How do I keep saying that?" She had said that countless times, but then I kept making that mistake.

"I'm sorry ma'am," I apologized again. "I had a lot of chores last night and couldn't sleep early. I am sorry ma'am."

As I stood there, she clicked her tongue at me, getting impatient. "That explanation wasn't valid, I know you go around telling people I give you too many chores. I want to see you downstairs in five minutes."

I dashed into the small adjoined bathroom, changing in minutes, changing in record speed.

I got down in five minutes, as she ordered. "Ava, you must not mess things up for me today. "

"Yes mother," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Even though I wasn't sure of what I was not supposed to mess up, all I knew was that if I went against her orders, I would be in a world of pain.

She walked into the living room. "Your father and I had thought about some things and decided that there isn't a need for you to attend college anymore. From now on, you are on janitor's duty at the new hotel, the Silver Royale."

"Janitor duty?" I blinked, in confusion. "What on earth would I be doing there? Why has Father changed his mind? Did I do anything wrong?"

"So many questions. I don't like repeating myself. What do you do in school? Sleep with your sister's boyfriend, because that is all you do."

"W-what?" I muttered, my voice barely like a whisper.

Alison had told them that I slept with her boyfriend, Henry. Meanwhile, she was the one whom I caught a few days ago with my boyfriend having sex in the toilet at school. She is such an asshole. I cried but decided to let go because I had no one and the only one I had betrayed me.

Her glare caught me off guard from my thoughts. "Clean the house quickly and then get ready for your evening duty," she brought out clothes from the pack and said. "Take this, you will be wearing this tonight to serve the guests. I think I have made myself clear?"

"Yes ma'am," I said, with tears streaming down my face.

"And no one should ever hear that you are from the Wilson family," she said, not minding the tears.

The lanyard in my hand is attached to a general access badge that states me, Ava Wilson, as a janitor. My chest tightened, but I nodded.

She left without saying another word. All through the day, I worked through tears.

It was evening already and the bodyguards were here to pick me up. I wonder why they were here, to protect me, I doubt.

Well, at least I left the cage that was called my home. I got started with work immediately after I was dropped off at the hotel. It was so beautiful! It felt like I was in another world. My first service was a delivery room service.

As I walked through the halls, I noticed the light, they were so lovely, glinting on the golden floor like something out of a dream. Balancing the tray in my hands, I made my way through the corridor leading to the private suites. I passed by the poker room, the murmurs drowning out the faint echo of my footsteps. They must be having some sort of party, from the sound of smooth jazz and occasional laughter. My nerves on edge, my head down, I avoided any eye contact with passing staff or guests.

As I rounded up, I caught unusual movement out of the corner of my eye, so I looked up.

I finally saw a tall man, his steps unsteady as he staggered towards the wall for support. He leans heavily on it. He must be drunk.

His head tilted as if he was trying to stay awake but his body wasn't cooperating. The next thing he was falling.

Without hesitation, the tray fell from my hands, as I tried to help him, grabbing him by his arms.

"Sir, are you okay?" I asked, knowing fully well that there was nothing I could do to help him if he fainted.

"Room..." he gargled. "They are.... after me."

I got what he was trying to say. But who was after him? I turned and didn't see anyone coming.

Before I could speak, he pressed his lips against mine. I tried to resist but then I heard some footsteps and couldn't help but pretend.

The footsteps were gone, and then I stood up angrily. "You wanted to take advantage of me. Impossible!"

"Please... the room..." I struggled to understand what he meant.

He wanted me to take him to his room.

"Need, to get away.... Now" he words slurs together.

The sharp, delicious scent of expensive cologne mixed with something more bitter hit me. That wasn't alcohol.

He had been drugged!

Arranged marriage with mr stranger of Contents

Chapter 1 Ch. 1 Chapter 2 Ch. 2 Chapter 3 Ch. 3

Chapter 4 Ch. 4

Chapter 5 Ch. 5

Chapter 6 Ch. 6

Chapter 7 Ch. 7

Chapter 8 Ch. 8

Chapter 9 Ch. 9

Chapter 10 Ch. 10

Chapter 11 Ch. 11

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He Married Me Just for Money

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“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “She won’t come up.” I did. I stopped breathing. Thinking. Existing. The voice came from inside my bedroom—our bedroom. My sanctuary. I stood frozen in the hallway, dinner still warm downstairs, candles flickering in a room that no longer mattered. The scent of truffle butter still clung to my sleeves. Through the door—left carelessly ajar—I saw enough. A woman with auburn hair and wine-colored nails was curled into my husband's side, her lipstick smeared across his throat like a bruise. Her fingers skimmed down his back, possessive, practiced. Oliver moaned softly. A sound I hadn’t heard in months. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I turned. Through the adjoining bathroom, I slipped into the walk-in closet, hiding behind the luxury he insisted I needed. Dresses lined in neat rows. Shoes in pyramids. A fortress of silk and leather and betrayal. I sat down, gripping the hem of my dress, listening. “I don’t know why you’re still stalling,” Lily said, her voice languid and confident. “She’s not stupid, Oliver. She’s suspicious. You said she keeps asking questions.” He sighed. “Let her ask. She won’t do anything. Not until it’s too late.” A beat. “She’s planning something tonight,” he added, almost amused. “Made some kind of fancy dinner. Probably filet again. It’s sweet, in a tragic way.” Lily giggled. “You think she’s figured out we’ve been using her?” “Scarlett sees what she wants to see. She’s desperate. That’s what makes it easy.” There was movement on the bed. Sheets shifting. “She still has no idea about the inheritance?” Lily murmured. “None,” he said. “Her father’s trust releases next month. Once the money hits the accounts, I’ll serve the papers. I’ve already started moving things offshore.” My throat closed. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. So this was what I got from our five-year marriage.

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Just like the evening breeze leaves no trace

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Chapter 1 It was their seventh wedding anniversary. Carolyn found the divorce agreement in Roger’s nightstand. The pages were covered in scribbles and corrections, as if he’d agonized over them for years. *"If, during the marriage, I fall in love with another person, I voluntarily relinquish all assets and leave with nothing. Asset details as follows…"* His first impulse had been to walk away empty-handed. But the asset section told a different story—a mess of revisions. First, he’d crossed out the property he intended to give her. Then, the fifty million earmarked for her was scratched out and replaced with five hundred thousand. Finally, as if in penance, he had written a single line. *"Better to have Carolyn leave with nothing. No choice, Catherine is pregnant."* … Carolyn sank onto the bed, disbelief washing over her. On the agreement, Roger’s signature was clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation. And the document had been drafted seven years ago—the very year they married. That year, Roger had been willing to give up everything for her. Yet every year after, he had crossed out another piece of their shared life. Now, seven years later, the one leaving with nothing would be her. Her phone buzzed abruptly. A message from Roger. *"Urgent business. Won't be back."* She called, only to find his phone already switched off. Another notification flashed—a screenshot from a friend. Catherine, the student she sponsored, had posted on social media. *"Wow, got praised! To commemorate my first period without a leak, the big boss said we should celebrate properly!"* In a nine-photo collage, Roger gazed at her, eyes crinkling with affection as he fastened a dazzling gemstone necklace around her neck. The post was tagged at a couples-themed hotel. Carolyn’s breath caught. He couldn’t remember seven years of marriage, of weathering storms together—but he could find the energy to celebrate Catherine’s… leak-free period. And that pendant… she’d seen it at an auction just last week. It was her mother’s lost heirloom. She’d been ready to bid when her bank card was frozen. She’d asked Roger why. A long time later, he finally texted back, telling her not to waste money on such impractical things. Clutching her bidding paddle, she’d sat helplessly in the auction hall. In the end, she resolved to sell one of her own designs to raise the funds. But someone on the phone swooped in with an unbeatable offer and took it. For weeks afterward, Carolyn hated herself—hated that she couldn’t protect her mother’s last keepsake. She never imagined the one who snatched it away was Roger. He knew exactly how much that pendant meant to her. Yet he gave it to Catherine. Even on their seventh anniversary, Roger had lied about being busy with work, while wining and dining the girl she’d sponsored. The anniversary gift he left her was a divorce agreement demanding she leave with nothing. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of infidelity. And Carolyn had known nothing. She’d even introduced the other woman to him herself. Catherine was the impoverished student Carolyn sponsored. The first time Catherine came to their home to give thanks, Roger found her intrusive and disliked her on sight. *"That girl has no manners. Tracked mud all over my cashmere rug."* *"If her grades aren’t up to par, cut the sponsorship."* Back then, Carolyn had teased him, saying not to be jealous—it was good the girl had a grateful heart. She never once suspected Roger and Catherine. For seven years, everyone in their circle believed Roger never played around. That he loved only Carolyn. But by their next meeting, Catherine had become Roger’s personal assistant. Roger explained, *"The girl’s had it tough. You’ve sponsored her for years. Giving her a job is just helping you out."* Carolyn had laughed it off. Now, hands trembling, she opened Catherine’s social media feed. Catherine had always hidden her posts from Carolyn. Now, she seemed desperate to flaunt everything. While Carolyn drank until her stomach bled to secure a deal for Roger, Catherine was using Roger’s card to buy her first Louis Vuitton. While Carolyn changed bedpans for Roger’s bedridden grandmother, Roger was taking Catherine to a perfume atelier for a blending class—calling it a business trip. Catherine had even complained online. *"Your wife is such a pampered princess. Can't handle the tiniest thing without you running back. Can she not live without a man?"* And Roger had replied beneath it. *"If she were half as independent as you, I’d have an easier life."* But that day… Carolyn’s mother had lost her battle with cancer. She’d cried until her heart felt shredded, scrambling to handle the arrangements. All the while, Roger kept checking his phone impatiently, eager to leave. Not for work, she realized now—but because he was desperate to get back to Catherine.

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I stared at the financial records spread across my kitchen table, my fingers trembling as I traced the columns of numbers. Three years. Three years since I'd forgiven Oliver for his affair with that rogue she-wolf, Summer Wilson. Three years of rebuilding our mate bond, of raising our daughter Hope, of believing we'd moved past his betrayal. And now this. "Large withdrawals," I whispered, circling the figures with my pen. "Every month for... two years." The amounts were substantial—more than what we spent on pack supplies. More than what we allocated for Hope's education. The destination was always listed as "security expenses," but the pattern was too regular, too consistent.

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