The Billionaire's Ten Million Dollar Wife
To save my father's failing workshop from ruthless loan sharks, I sold one year of my life.
I signed a fake marriage contract with Cameron Fox, an icy billionaire who needed a wife to pacify his sick grandmother. The rules were strict: it was purely a commercial transaction, with absolutely no physical contact and no emotional attachments.
Soon after, that cold hearted man seemed different to me. Wait, is he pursuing me?
Chapters
Share
Chapter 6
The word "Dad" hung in the humid air of the small living room, echoing louder than a gunshot.
Burt's hand, which was reaching for his own rib, froze in mid-air. Aimee stared at Cameron as if he had just sprouted a second head. Her mouth fell open slightly, her brain completely short-circuiting.
Cameron didn't bat an eye. He brought the rib to his mouth and took a slow, deliberate bite. The thick, dark barbecue sauce smeared against the corner of his perfectly sculpted lips.
Burt was the first to recover. He let out a loud, booming cough to cover his shock, but the deep wrinkles around his eyes crinkled with undeniable pleasure. He muttered, "At least the boy's got some manners," and grabbed a rib for himself.
Aimee scrambled to grab a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table. She shoved it into Cameron's hand, her eyes wide with panic. Under the cover of the low coffee table, she swung her leg and kicked him sharply in the shin, a silent warning to stop overacting.
Cameron's face remained completely stoic. He calmly wiped the sauce from his lip. Then, beneath the table, he shifted his long leg. He hooked his calf around Aimee's ankle and pressed her leg firmly against the sofa frame, trapping her foot completely. The heat of his leg burned through her denim overalls. Aimee gasped softly, her face flushing, but she couldn't pull away without causing a scene.
The dinner progressed. Burt reached under the table and pulled out a six-pack of cheap, generic-brand beer. He popped the cap off a bottle with a loud hiss and shoved it across the table toward Cameron.
Aimee's heart leaped into her throat. "Dad, Cameron only drinks-"
Before she could finish the sentence, Cameron picked up the sweating glass bottle. He clinked it against Burt's bottle, tilted his head back, and took a long, deep swallow.
The cheap, metallic taste of the beer hit the back of Cameron's throat. He suppressed a grimace, forcing his facial muscles to remain relaxed. He lowered the bottle and gave Burt a firm nod. "Crisp."
By the time they finished the ribs, the tension in the room had significantly thawed. Burt wiped his hands on a towel, his expression suddenly turning dead serious. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Now," Burt said, his voice dropping an octave. "About that ten million dollars."
Aimee's stomach plummeted. The blood drained from her face. Her hands began to sweat profusely. She stared at her father, terrified that he had somehow uncovered the truth about the marriage contract.
"I appreciate the generosity," Burt continued, looking directly into Cameron's eyes. "But I need you to understand something. I am not selling my daughter. That money is not a dowry, and it sure as hell isn't charity."
The old mechanic straightened his back. A fierce, unbreakable pride radiated from his posture. "That money is a loan to the Berry Custom Workshop. I will pay back every single cent, with interest. Do we have an understanding?"
Cameron looked at the older man. He saw the fierce dignity that poverty and hardship hadn't been able to crush. He dropped the fake, accommodating son-in-law persona. His eyes sharpened, returning to the calculating, respectful gaze of a true businessman.
He didn't offer empty reassurances. He picked up his beer bottle and held it out.
"I expect to see the workshop's quarterly financial reports by next month, Mr. Berry," Cameron said, his voice ringing with absolute, equal respect.
Burt let out a loud, genuine bark of laughter. He slammed his bottle against Cameron's. "You'll have them on your desk, boss."
Aimee watched the exchange, her chest tight. A massive wave of relief washed over her, followed quickly by a profound sense of gratitude. Cameron had perfectly preserved her father's dignity.
Suddenly, a blinding flash of white light illuminated the living room window. Less than a second later, a deafening crack of thunder shook the entire house. The floorboards vibrated under their feet.
The sky opened up. A torrential, violent summer thunderstorm slammed into Brooklyn without warning. Rain lashed against the glass like bullets.
Aimee's phone, sitting on the table, shrieked with an emergency alert. The screen flashed red: NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE - SEVERE FLASH FLOOD WARNING. BROOKLYN STREETS FLOODING. DO NOT TRAVEL.
Cameron frowned. He pulled his phone from his pocket to call his driver, but the screen showed "No Service." The storm was interfering with the cell towers.
Burt stood up and walked to the window. He peered out at the street, which was already turning into a rushing river of muddy water. He turned back to the room, his face set in stone.
"You're not leaving tonight," Burt announced, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.
Aimee jumped up from the sofa, her heart hammering wildly. "Dad, no! Cameron has... he has insomnia. He can only sleep in his own bed. We have to go back to Manhattan."
Burt scowled, pointing a stern finger at his daughter. "Don't be ridiculous, Aimee. You want your husband to drown on the expressway? The Maybach won't make it two blocks in this water."
Burt turned to Cameron. "You'll sleep in Aimee's room tonight. It's small, but the sheets are clean."
Aimee whipped her head around to look at Cameron. Her eyes were wide, silently screaming at him to refuse. She needed him to be the ruthless, uncompromising billionaire right now.
Cameron looked at the sheets of rain violently pounding against the window. He looked at Aimee's terrified, pleading face. And then he looked at Burt's stubborn, protective stance.
To Aimee's absolute horror, Cameron gave a short, polite nod.
"Thank you, Dad," Cameron said smoothly. "Sorry for the intrusion."
Burt grinned, clapping Cameron on the shoulder before heading to the hallway closet to find extra towels.
Aimee stood frozen in the middle of the living room. The blood roared in her ears. The reality of the situation crashed down on her. She was going to have to spend the entire night locked in a tiny room, sharing a 1.2-meter-wide single bed with a man who terrified her.
You may also like
8.0
When gifted cellist Vivienne Aurel inherits her late father's catastrophic $4.2 million debt, she expects to lose everything. She doesn't expect the debt to be bought by Caspian Vane, the most feared private equity magnate in New York. Caspian doesn't want to ruin her; he wants her to work exclusively for him as the artistic director of his new cultural foundation for eighteen months. Forced into his world under a binding agreement, Vivienne prepares to fight against a cold, transactional cage. But as the intense, quiet proximity between them begins to blur the lines of their contract, she discovers a terrifying truth: the man who now owns her future has been watching her from the shadows long before she ever knew his name.
7.4
I single-handedly saved my family's corporate empire from a hostile takeover, securing our market share for the next decade.
But my grandfather didn't see me as a hero. He saw me as a flawed piece of inventory.
To calm the board and fix the reputation I supposedly ruined, he forced me into an arranged marriage, auctioning me off to the highest bidder.
Desperate, I turned to my childhood friend, Egnacio, the only person who ever promised to protect me.
But instead of saving me, he publicly humiliated me. He used my desperation as a networking opportunity, pitching my arranged marriage as a business deal to a ruthless private equity king named Dexter Mathews.
Later that night, I caught Egnacio holding my cruel cousin in his arms.
"What man wants to be with a woman who looks at you like she's planning a hostile takeover?"
Hearing him mock my pain shattered the last bit of hope I had.
I realized I was never family to them. I was just a sharp knife, used to cut down their enemies and then traded for cash before I got dull.
The heartbreak vanished, replaced by a cold, violent rage.
I didn't break, and I didn't run.
Instead, I got into the back of Dexter Mathews's car. He had watched my family tear me apart, but he didn't see a broken pawn. He saw a queen.
And together, we were going to burn their entire empire to the ground.
7.5
Five years of a fake marriage to a billionaire.
Christi thought she was a wealthy wife-until City Hall told her the truth.
No marriage license. No legal rights. Nothing but a lie.
Her husband cheated on her for four years.
His entire family mocked her, used her, and planned to trap her with a baby.
She was ready to ruin them all.
Then a secret changed everything:
Her late parents were DARPA elites. She is the sole heir to $50 billion.
There's only one catch-marry Cornelius Gregory, Wall Street's ruthless paralyzed tycoon.
She signs the contract in an instant.
Freeze their accounts. Destroy the Rivera family.
The game is over for them.
And the queen has just arrived.
7.7
I trusted the wrong people in my past life.
My supposed lover and my sweet sister conspired against me, locking me inside a burning warehouse to die.
But the man I had spent my life hating, my ruthless captor Damien Sterling, rushed straight into that inferno and burned alive just to try and save me.
In my past life, I was utterly blind. I believed Julian's forged documents and Scarlett's fake affection. I even tried to assassinate Damien with a silver dagger they provided, breaking the heart of the only man who truly loved me. I died choking on thick ash, realizing too late who the real monsters were.
Why was I so incredibly foolish? Why did I let their vicious manipulation turn me into a weapon against the one person who would sacrifice absolutely everything for me?
Opening my eyes again, the phantom smell of smoke vanished.
I was sitting in the bloody water of Damien's bathtub, right after my staged suicide attempt.
When my sister sneaked into my penthouse suite and handed me the dagger to kill him again, I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed her hand tightly and plunged the sharp blade directly into my own shoulder.
"Please don't kill me, Scarlett!"
This time, I will ruthlessly ruin them both, and I will never let Damien go.
7.1
For six years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to billionaire Hartwell Ware, enduring his coldness because I thought my love could eventually thaw his heart.
Then, my friend sent me a photo. Hartwell was at the airport, tenderly holding the waist of his first love, Eveline Craig.
He came home smelling of her synthetic rose perfume, accused me of stalking him, and coldly demanded a divorce.
His lawyer handed me a thick settlement agreement. It offered astronomical alimony and luxury properties, but it came with a humiliating ten-page non-disclosure agreement.
He wanted to buy my silence. He wanted to strip me of my rights to our son and gag me permanently, just so he could parade his new life with Eveline without any PR backlash.
Even now, he still thought I was a gold digger who had orchestrated a media scandal to trap him into marriage.
I stared at the man I had worshipped for two thousand days. My six years of desperate devotion had been nothing but a humiliating, one-sided delusion.
Hope was finally dead, and with it, my tears had completely dried up.
He expected me to cry, to beg, to negotiate for more millions.
Instead, I snatched the pen, crossed out the massive alimony, and signed my name on the dotted line.
"I am taking the basic child support, and not a single red cent more."
Leaving my five-carat diamond ring on the marble table, I walked out the door with nothing but my old suitcase.
8.1
My billionaire husband, Cooper, was thirty minutes late to my father's funeral.
When the heavy cathedral doors finally opened, he wasn't there to comfort me. He was tightly shielding his mistress, Celeste, under his umbrella, treating her like a fragile lily while I stood alone in my black mourning dress.
The whispers in the pews were deafening, but they were nothing compared to the truth I soon uncovered.
Cooper hadn't just humiliated me—he had secretly taken my father's life-saving spot in a medical clinical trial and given it to Celeste's family. My father died gasping for air because of him.
Days later, while I was shivering in the ER with a 103-degree fever, I saw Cooper sneaking into the VIP maternity ward. He was holding Celeste, his face glowing with the ecstatic joy of a man about to become a father.
For three years, I swallowed my pride to be his perfect, obedient wife, only to let his elite friends openly mock me to my face.
"You were just keeping the seat warm until the real queen came back."
He let my father die, hid all our marital assets in offshore trusts, and made me take birth control every single morning, claiming he wasn't ready for kids.
I didn't scream, and I didn't let him see me break.
Instead, I hired Manhattan's most ruthless divorce lawyer, smiled sweetly as I handed Cooper his coat at home, and began secretly gathering the evidence to burn his entire empire to the ground.