Billionaire's Prisoner

2. Fake Marriage

Emma left the bar. Her lip, and neck were still burning from the previous interaction. A heavy sigh escaped her as she drove back to the villa—the place that was supposed to be her fairytale with her husband, Oliver Jones.

The moment she stepped inside, she locked the door with trembling fingers and hurried to her bedroom. She inspected every corner, every shadow, before bolting the door from the inside. Only then did she exhale, a shaky breath of fragile relief.

This room had become her waking nightmare— a place tainted since last week, when Oliver had drugged her and brought another man. Deliberately.

The horror of it all came rushing back. Emma escaped that hotel room and took shelter inside snogger. She thanked that man who left the room for her, saving her from the disaster.

After that night, when Emma returned home, Oliver was furious, “where the hell was you? Did you know how much money I spent on that man?”

“You are insane! How could you do this to me?” Emma barked, still in disbelief.

But he didn’t even flinch.

“Grandfather wants a baby,” he said coolly, eyes still on the screen. “I can’t inherit the shares unless we have one. I am just a CEO in name. I want those shares and since I’m not touching you, this was the only option.”

His words hit her like a slap.

“A baby? You wanted me to get raped so that you can have a baby? If you want a baby, it should be from you. But you won't touch me since you are so loyal to your little mistress,” she choked, voice cracking. "How do you want me to conceive on my own? I'm not the mother Merry!"

"That seems like a you problem now. Didn't I arrange a fine man for you?" Oliver gritted his teeth.

“You are a monster, Oliver. You can even get me raped for your shares! Even if only in name, I’m still your wife!” Emma yelled.

“Then do your duty,” Oliver replied, his tone devoid of emotion. “Get pregnant.”

“With a stranger?” Emma’s voice rose, fury replacing fear. “This is assault, Oliver! Do you even realize what you’ve done? You are pathetic. I will tell grandpa everything.”

“Don’t test my patience,” he warned, finally turning to face her. “Unless you want a divorce. Don’t forget— you still owe millions for your father’s debt which needs to be settled. Unless you wanna spend the rest of your life in jail.”

Emma stood frozen, her skin burning with rage. Her fists clenched as she struggled to stay composed. She couldn’t go to jail. Then who would look after her sick mother who was still fighting brain cancer? She needed money and that was the only reason she had been tolerating Oliver and his humiliations. Only if she had another way...

“Fine,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “If that’s what you want, I’ll do it. But I’ll choose the man myself.

And hence went her venture to a strip club. Emma laid on her bed, staring at the ceiling blankly.

Finally, I am alone. And safe.

How did I end up like this? Things would have been different if my dad was alive. He probably would have found a way to pay off the debts we had due to mom's medical bills.

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

It had been five years since her mother was bedridden in the hospital due to cancer. Her father tried so hard to gather the money. He ended up taking a huge debt that drowned him slowly.

He didn’t last long after that, the weight of grief and mounting debt crushing him. In the end, all of it was passed to her— every last dollar, and a mother still barely alive in the hospital bed, fighting day and night.

She had worked relentlessly, sacrificing her youth, her dreams, just to stay afloat. Just so the hospital didn't throw her mother out of the ward.

Then one day, fate intervened. She saved a man— William Jones— from a car accident. He turned out to be the billionaire patriarch of the Jones family.

And that chance encounter bound her to this nightmare of a marriage.

William wanted Oliver to settle down, in his eyes, Emma was the perfect candidate. Though Oliver never wanted this, he needed to be the CEO and Emma needed money. So they struck a deal— a contract marriage. Oliver would pay off her debts, and in return, she would play the role of the perfect, devoted wife in front of his grandfather.

At first, it seemed like a fair trade. A win-win. Emma was always respectful towards Oliver, thinking one day he would come around. But the day never came. And the weight of her past never stopped chasing her.

Just when she thought she might finally catch a breath, laughter echoed through the house— light, flirtatious giggles that made her stomach twist.

They’re back.

Oliver and his little mistress, Shelby Brown.

A sharp knock on the door jolted Emma to her feet.

“Open the door, Emma.” It was Oliver’s voice—firm and cold.

She opened it reluctantly. The wall clock read past midnight. What now?

“What is it?” she asked, arms crossed.

Oliver looked at her from head to toe. She was still in her sleek black dress, makeup bold and smudged from the night. His brows drew together. Emma generally wore simple clothes and almost no makeup.

“Where did you go?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.

“That’s none of your business,” Emma shot back. “What do you want?”

“Shelby is hungry,” he said without missing a beat. “Make her some pasta.”

Emma froze. For a moment, disbelief shadowed her face. Then came the anger— sharp and hot.

Of course. This man had stripped her of every shred of dignity, and now he expected her to serve his mistress?

“If she’s hungry,” Emma said coolly, “she can cook for herself.”

Before Oliver could respond, Shelby appeared at the doorway, her voice syrupy sweet. “I was just craving your pasta, Emma. Can you please make it for me?”

Emma looked at the two of them—her so-called husband and his shameless mistress— then she met Oliver’s eyes directly.

“Ask your mistress to cook for herself,” she said flatly.

And with that, she slammed the door shut.

Leaning against it, she closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath.

And with that, she slammed the door shut.

Leaning against it, she closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath.

“Babe! She insulted me again!” Shelby’s exaggerated pout echoed through the wood.

Oliver’s fist hit the door, over and over. “How dare you? Open the door and apologize. Now!”

Emma said nothing. She let the noise, the entitlement, and the insults wash over her like background static.

If only there was another way…



She would’ve never stayed in this hell of a marriage.