The Billionaire I Married by Mistake

11. SUNRISE

|Katherine|

How impossibly small could this world be? Out of the billions of people on this planet—and the countless men I could’ve been tied to in some alternate reality—why him? Why did fate, in all its twisted humor, lead me straight to him?

And now, standing just a few feet away from me, dressed in a suit tailored to perfection, was the man I was about to marry.

Gavin Ramirez.

But wait—wasn’t his name …Javier? That’s what he told me, right?

Fvck.

Did he lie to me? Was that just some alias he threw out that night at the bar, thinking it would never matter? Then again… what difference did it really make now? It’s not like we made promises or exchanged numbers. It was a one-night mistake wrapped in heat and impulsive desire.

And honestly? I’d done the same. I’ve given fake names at parties just to avoid awkward questions or clingy men who couldn’t take a hint.

I swallowed hard and turned to look at him again—the man who, in a matter of minutes, would become my husband. My lungs squeezed tight, as though my own body was trying to protest. My heart pounded so loud I could hear it over the silence of the church.

Every time our eyes met, I was dragged back—violently—into the memory of that night. That reckless, electrifying night when nothing else existed but the music, the drinks, and the stranger who made me forget who I was for a few dangerous hours.

Get it together, I told myself, forcing my spine to straighten. This was a church, for God’s sake, and yet my thoughts were anything but holy!

I inhaled sharply, trying to draw strength from the air itself. I needed to remember why I was here, dressed in white, walking into something that barely resembles love.

This marriage wasn’t about romance or fate. It was business. A merger in disguise.

His family was our lifeline. Their money would save our company from drowning. That was the reason. That was the deal. And right now, that was all that mattered.

I had no idea how long I stood there, frozen in place at the center of the aisle, my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my lips. Time seemed to pause, the silence stretching too long, too still—until my legs finally remembered what they were meant to do. I moved forward, one step at a time. The sharp click of my heels echoed through the church, each sound ricocheting off the marble like a countdown I hadn’t agreed to.

I clutched the bouquet so tightly, I thought I might crush the stems. The flowers trembled slightly in my grip, mirroring the chaos in my chest.

My gaze drifted—not to the groom, but to the man standing just behind him. His expression was carved from stone, blank and detached. He didn’t look like someone attending a wedding. He looked like someone watching a funeral he didn’t feel sorry about. It was clear he didn’t want to be here. Clearer still, he didn’t care.

I felt my brow crease.

Where was my witness?

I scanned the pews quickly, discreetly. Had something happened? Was he running late?

By the time I reached the altar, Gavin was already watching me. His eyes—piercing, unreadable—never left my face. There was something unsettling in the way he looked at me, as if he already knew a secret I didn’t. And then I saw it. The smallest twitch of his lips, the start of a smirk.

I glared at him without thinking.

His smirk widened, unabashed. He tilted his head slightly, eyes still fixed on mine, as though amused by a private joke we both weren’t supposed to laugh at.

“What a coincidence,” he murmured, his voice a smooth baritone that sent an involuntary shiver crawling up my spine.

That voice.

That night.

The memory—one I had buried, locked, and buried again—came rushing back like a flood I couldn’t outrun. His hands. His mouth. The way he had looked at me then.

No.

I swallowed hard and shoved the thought down where it belonged, deep beneath the surface. I couldn’t afford to remember that. Not now when my family was depending on me to make this sacrifice. I needed to focus—on duty, on survival, on everything but him.

"Let’s just get this over with," I muttered, my voice low but edged with quiet resolve. There was no room for softness, no space for second thoughts. My gaze locked on the priest who stood a few paces ahead, waiting patiently.

Beside me, he let out a chuckle. Light, almost amused.

I turned my head slightly, narrowing my eyes at him. A frown tugged at my brows. What could possibly be funny right now?

We were seconds away from binding our lives together in a ceremony neither of us had dreamed of. And yet, he hadn’t even asked if I was sure.

Then again…why was I expecting him to?

This wasn’t about feelings. It never had been. This marriage was an agreement. And I needed him. I needed this to happen—whether I was ready or not.

But something didn’t sit right.

A subtle unease stirred in my chest as I tilted my head. There was a disconnect—something that didn’t quite line up.

Everyone spoke about him like he was a ghost. Private. Elusive. The kind of man who kept to himself and stayed far away from the spotlight. Word was, he’d just flown in from the States to attend this wedding. That this was the first time anyone had seen him in years.

But that wasn’t true.

Because I met him almost a month ago. In a bar.

He extended his hand toward me, palm open in silent invitation.

For a heartbeat, I hesitated. Then, with a deep inhale, I slipped my fingers into his. A strange sensation shot through me—electric, sharp, unnerving—but I clenched my jaw and forced my expression to remain unchanged.

But how would I know what’s going on in his life, right? And honestly, why should I even bother worrying about it when I’ve already got too much on my plate?

We walked forward, step by step, until we stood before the priest. The man gave us a soft, knowing smile, as though he had officiated a hundred love stories and thought ours was no different.

I didn’t return the smile.

The ceremony began.

I stood still, almost frozen, as the priest’s voice echoed through the church—calm, practiced, and oddly impersonal. His words fell around me like raindrops on stone, soft but distant. At his sides stood the two altar boys who had greeted me at the door earlier, their hands folded, their faces solemn.

But then came the moment. The moment.

The vows.

The words “I do” hung heavy in the air, as if they weighed more than they should. As soon as I said them, reality struck like a tide, sudden and merciless. It washed over me, crashing through the dam I’d tried so hard to build inside my chest.

And this time, there was no holding it back.

A knot formed in my throat as tears welled in the corners of my eyes, blurring the priest’s face, the groom’s, even the stained glass behind them. My voice trembled when I repeated the words, and by the time we exchanged rings—those small, cold circles meant to bind us forever—I was already teetering on the edge of falling apart.

This… wasn’t the way I’d imagined my wedding. Not even close.

Just a month ago, I was mapping out a carefree summer—flipping through travel blogs, choosing sun-drenched beaches to explore, marking restaurants I wanted to try, and plotting spontaneous road trips with my friends. Laughter and freedom had been my only concerns.

Now here I was, in white dress, reciting vows in a church heavy with the scent of lilies and incense, committing myself to a future I hadn’t truly chosen.

Funny how quickly life turns. How it doesn’t ask for permission before it changes course. One day you’re dreaming of faraway shores, and the next… you’re standing at an altar, holding hands with someone you’re expected to love.

After the final blessing, the ceremony officially ended, but I wasn’t truly present. The marriage contract was placed in front of me, its inked lines swaying in my watery vision. I must have hesitated too long, because the priest leaned in with a patient smile and pointed at the exact spot where I needed to sign.

"Why the tears?” he asked with a chuckle. “This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, isn’t it?"

I forced a laugh, masking the lump in my throat. “Just overwhelmed with joy,” I lied. “It’s… a lot.”

He nodded, satisfied with the answer, and moved on.

But deep inside, I knew better.

It wasn’t joy.

And I couldn’t even explain what it was, not really. Maybe it was the pressure. Maybe it was the silence that had grown louder in my head these past few weeks. Maybe my emotions were spiraling because my period was due.

"Why are you crying when you agreed to this?" Gavin—my husband now, whether he liked it or not—spoke with a voice so cold it nearly sliced through my chest. His words landed the moment we stepped out of the church, like a slap I hadn’t seen coming.

I quickly wiped away the tears trailing down my cheeks, furious that he caught me at such a vulnerable moment. My glare met his sharp gaze.

"Can’t I cry now?" I shot back, my voice cracking as I struggled to hold myself together. "Call it tears of joy, if that helps your ego. We’re married now, after all."

He exhaled as if I were exhausting every ounce of his patience. His hands went to his hips, and for a moment, he just stared at me. Not with affection, not even curiosity. Just a quiet, simmering frustration, like he was trying to make sense of a riddle he never wanted to solve.

“If you expect me to play the doting husband just because we're married now, forget it,” he said, his tone clipped and dismissive. “If you’re already regretting this, we can end it right now. Tear up the contract, erase the day—whatever you want. I won’t waste my time on something this pointless.”

He turned on his heel, his polished shoes clicking against the stone steps as he made his way back toward the church doors, not even waiting for a response.

Panic surged in my chest, rising like a tide I couldn’t fight off.

He wasn’t serious… was he?

He couldn’t just walk away. Not like this. Not after everything!

“Wait!” The word escaped me before I could think. I rushed forward and clutched his wrist, my grip firm, desperate. "I said I'm fine!"

I managed to stop him in his tracks. Slowly, he turned to face me. I met his eyes head-on, refusing to drop my gaze even for a second. My hand was still gripping his wrist, tense with all the emotions I couldn’t put into words.

“I... I told you I’m fine,” I repeated, but this time my voice came out softer, trembling at the edges. I released his wrist, letting my arm fall to my side. “I just wanted to cry, that’s all. Is that so wrong? Can’t I have that?”

For a few long seconds, he didn’t move. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled—slowly, heavily—like the weight of everything we weren’t saying had finally caught up to him. He dragged his hand through his hair in one fluid, frustrated motion. And then I heard it—barely a whisper under his breath.

“Fvcking Gabriel.”

My brows pulled together instinctively. The storm in my chest—the hurt, the pressure, the ache—I felt it ease, if only a little.

“What did you just say?” I asked, quieter this time. My voice no longer breaking, but seeking clarity.

He looked at me again, this time more guarded. His posture straightened, shoulders squaring as if nothing had slipped past his lips.

“Nothing,” he said. “Are you done crying?”

The question was blunt, emotionless, and it stung in a way I couldn’t explain. I bit my lower lip, swallowing the embarrassment rising inside me. My tears had already dried, but their presence still clung to my skin like a confession I hadn’t meant to give.

He looked like he hadn’t been affected at all—like everything I had just crumbled over meant absolutely nothing to him. Meanwhile, I had just broken down over a marriage that was meant to save our company. I had said my ‘I do’. I had agreed. And yet, I broke under the weight of it.

But now—now I could breathe again. My chest felt lighter. My mind, clearer.

“Yeah,” I said quietly, brushing away the last remnants of my tears. “I’m fine now. I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“If you’re feeling better now, let’s go. I told my parents we’d have breakfast together,” he said, his voice even and composed, as if this were just another routine morning.

I tilted my head up to the sky, catching the faint hues of dawn bleeding through the clouds. The sun was still low, its golden light barely stretching across the horizon—silent proof of how absurdly early our wedding had been. The ceremony itself had been quick, almost like a transaction, as if the ceremony could be signed off and sealed before the rest of the world even opened its eyes.

He was already walking toward the parking lot, not waiting to see if I’d follow. I did, almost automatically. A sudden gust of wind cut through the still air, wrapping around me like a warning. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself, suddenly too aware of the clothes I was wearing and how bare the world felt in that quiet hour. Only a few cars rolled by in the distance, the streets still half-asleep, just like my thoughts.

When we reached the parking lot, he clicked his car key. A crisp beep echoed into the stillness. He came to a stop in front of a sleek, jet-black sedan—clearly expensive. He opened the passenger door for me, silent and unreadable.

I arched a brow and sighed. “I can open it myself, you know,” I muttered under my breath, though I still slid into the seat without waiting for his reaction.

He didn’t respond. Just closed the door with quiet precision and circled around to the driver’s side. I had barely buckled my seatbelt when he settled in beside me, every movement fluid, controlled, like he was always several steps ahead.

As the engine hummed to life and the car pulled out of the lot, I glanced sideways. “So… are we really showing up at your parents’ place in our wedding clothes?”

His eyes remained on the road, expression smooth. “No. We’ll stop by my penthouse first to change. Then we’ll head over.”

Of course. Everything with him had to be done on his terms.