The Billionaire I Married by Mistake

10. ROAD

|Katherine|

“So… tell me about the man I’m supposed to marry,” I asked Noel, my voice soft but unwavering, like someone bracing for a truth they couldn’t escape.

We were both seated in our usual places—the quiet receiving area inside Grandpa’s private room. Noel placed his leather briefcase gently on the coffee table, the sharp click of the lock disengaging echoed louder than it should have, cutting through the silence that hung thick between us.

The past few days had blurred into a haze of worry and sleepless nights. I had barely left Grandpa’s side, hoping for some miracle, some twitch of movement that would prove he was still fighting. Because after his last cardiac arrest, I think I lost it. And so, after how many days, the doctors finally spoke the words we had all been dreading.

‘He’s in a coma.’

Four simple words. And yet they landed with the weight of a thousand regrets.

It felt like the universe was punishing me. Like some cosmic force had finally grown tired of my selfishness and decided to teach me a lesson. I had turned a blind eye for too long—to Grandpa’s exhaustion, to the sacrifices he kept making for me. I’d been too wrapped up in my own comfort to see the toll it had taken on him. He wasn’t young anymore. But still, he worked. He pushed himself beyond his limits… all for me.

The guilt clung to me like a second skin.

I swallowed hard, trying to ease the tightness in my throat as my gaze drifted to the hospital bed. Each time I looked at him like that—frail, unresponsive—it struck me again and again: I couldn’t keep living like this. I couldn’t keep pretending nothing was wrong. That I didn’t have to change.

Responsibility had finally caught up to me. And it wasn’t knocking gently—it was pounding at the door.

Noel broke the silence, his voice composed but careful.

“His name is Gavin Ramirez, Miss Kat,” he said, flipping open the briefcase and pulling out a neatly prepared folder. “Your grandfather finalized everything before he—” He paused, glancing toward the bed. “Before he had a heart attack.”

Gavain…Ramirez.

“He’s the third son of Juan Gregorio Ramirez, the man who owns Ramirez Holdings.”

He paused as he opened the folder in his hands, flipping through several crisp sheets of paper before finally passing them to me. “According to the private investigator I hired, Gavin is currently staying in the States.”

My fingers curled around the file, but I didn’t look at it right away. “And do we have a photo of him?”

Noel shook his head, exhaling sharply like he’d already anticipated my reaction.

“No. I couldn’t get one,” he said. “The investigator couldn’t find any recent image of him. Apparently, Gavin Ramirez is an intensely private individual. He’s an artist, and from what I was told, he sells his work anonymously. No public appearances. No interviews. Not even a social media footprint.”

I turned to him, eyebrows knitting together in disbelief. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

He shrugged. “It seems some people are just built that way. Off the grid by choice.”

I remained silent.

“Apparently, his father wanted him to get married because he didn’t like his hobbies.”

I finally opened the file in my lap and began to skim through the contents. Everything Noel had just said was written in clear, formal language across the pages: Gavin Ramirez. Elusive. Independent. Artist. Third son of Juan Gregorio Ramirez.

And—most importantly—the man my grandfather had chosen for me.

There was something about his name that tugged at the edges of my memory. It lingered there, like a half-forgotten song you hum without realizing. I knew I’d heard it before, recognized it somehow, but the when or the why remained frustratingly elusive. As I skimmed through the remaining pages in the folder, I tried to piece it together. Maybe we’d crossed paths in some social or business function, maybe our families had once been linked in some long-forgotten deal. That would explain the strange familiarity his name stirred in me.

Noel’s voice broke the silence, drawing me back to the present.

“I’ve already visited Mr. Ramirez, Miss Kat,” he said, his tone careful but firm. “I informed him that you’ve accepted the marriage proposal involving his son. He seemed eager to speak with you directly, but unfortunately, his doctor advised against receiving any guests. His condition has worsened. I was the only one permitted to see him—given the urgency of his agreement with Sir Anton.”

His words fell heavily between us, and I instinctively bit down on my lower lip, trying to hold back the storm rising inside me.

None of this sat right with me. Not the arrangement. Not the decision that had already been made in my name. Not even the calm way Noel recited it all.

But what choice did I really have?

This wasn’t just about me. This was about the company my grandfather had spent his entire life building—his pride, his legacy. It was about the employees who relied on that legacy to put food on their tables, who gave their sweat and years to carry his dream forward.

I slowly lifted my gaze, meeting Noel’s eyes with quiet intensity.

And what about him?

If Grandpa truly went through with filing for bankruptcy… where would that leave Noel? What would become of everything he’d worked for?

All it would take to fix everything was one thing—marriage. That was the deal. If I agreed to marry Gavin Ramirez, his family would step in and pull our company out of the wreckage. They’d pour in their influence, their wealth, their name—everything we needed to survive. On paper, it sounded easy. Simple, even. Marry a man, save a legacy.

And honestly, wasn’t that better than letting Grandpa wake up to a world where the company he spent his entire life building had crumbled? He had given everything to that empire. I couldn’t let him open his eyes just to see it fall apart.

I inhaled sharply, filling my lungs with air that suddenly felt too heavy to hold.

This is my share of the sacrifice, I reminded myself, trying to steady the chaos rising inside me. This is how I give back—for everything Grandpa has done for me. For everything he gave up, so I could have the life I do.

It was time to stop pretending that life would magically fix itself. No more waiting. No more excuses. It was my turn to step up.

Across from me, Noel stood quietly, phone still in hand, updating me with the latest developments—none of which I felt remotely prepared for.

“Apparently, Mr. Juan wants to expedite the wedding,” he said, his voice careful, measured, as if testing the waters. “Mr. Gavin is scheduled to return in two weeks, and the ceremony will take place during that window, Miss Kat.”

I jerked my head toward him, disbelief flaring in my chest. “What?!”

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath too. “Those were Mr. Juan’s terms. And it seems Mr. Gavin has agreed. According to Mr. Juan, the wedding is the reason Gavin is coming home.”

My fingers moved to my temples, pressing hard in a vain attempt to dull the sudden throb building behind my eyes.

A wedding. In two weeks?

Why the rush?

But then again, what was I expecting? Wasn’t this the point all along? Wasn’t this what we agreed on when I said yes?

And if the company needed saving… wouldn’t it be better to marry Juan Gregorio Ramirez’s son sooner rather than later? The faster this marriage happened, the sooner their help would start pouring in. Right?

I leaned back into the couch, letting my head fall against the cushion. The ceiling above me offered no answers—just blank white space that matched the emptiness pooling in my chest. I wanted to believe there was another option, some overlooked path that didn’t lead straight to the altar. But no matter how many times I circled back, marriage kept staring me in the face like an immovable wall.

I closed my eyes for a second, breathed in, then opened them again.

“Tell me more about the wedding,” I murmured, looking back at Noel.

He gave a brief nod, shifting into his usual professional tone. “It’ll be a private ceremony—minimal witnesses. That was Mr. Gavin’s request, though his father originally preferred something… grander. The date has already been set,” he added, then paused before saying the rest. “But the location and exact time? You’ll be informed a day before. That, too, was Mr. Gavin’s condition.”

“One day?!” I sat up straighter, disbelief tightening my voice. “Are you serious?”

Noel winced, offering me an apologetic look that didn’t do much to soften the blow. “Yes, Miss Kat. Mr. Juan agreed. It was non-negotiable, apparently.”

I sank back down, frustration simmering just below the surface. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Was this really the right decision?

Even hours later, after our conversation ended, the questions didn’t stop. I returned to Grandpa’s aisw. Watching his chest rise and fall, slow and steady under the soft beeping of monitors. I held his hand more tightly that night, hoping—no, needing—to believe that this was all going to be worth it.

Noel and our legal team came and went, helping me prepare for the upcoming business conference, which was scheduled a week after the wedding. I dove into the details—presentation notes, financial briefings, anticipated questions. I memorized everything they gave me like my life depended on it.

Noel had also taken it upon himself to start teaching me the ropes of our company—the structures, the flow, the endless list of responsibilities I would soon be expected to understand like the back of my hand. I tried to keep up, really. I nodded in the right places, scribbled notes when I could, and asked questions that only proved how lost I was. A few things made sense here and there, but most of it flew over my head like a language I had no time to learn.

Each day felt like being shoved into a lecture hall with no syllabus, no preparation, and absolutely no warning. The pace was relentless. By the end of each session, my head would throb so violently it felt like my brain was knocking against my skull, begging for mercy.

Between Noel’s daily visits and the lawyers who dropped by every weekend like clockwork, my days began to blur together in a mess of documents, schedules, and vague legal jargon I had yet to decipher. It was only when Noel reminded me that it hit me—I was getting married tomorrow.

“The ceremony is at six in the morning, Miss Kat,” he said. Then he gave me the church’s name and location.

I blinked, nodded, and pretended to know where that was. Manila, he said. So at least it wasn’t here. That already felt like a win.

“Your flight’s booked for 4 PM,” he added. “Everything’s confirmed.”

I gave him another small nod, this time with my eyes closed, trying to push back the pounding ache behind my temples. I’d been up since dawn, reading. I thought maybe, just maybe, starting early would help me retain something. But my brain was saturated, overloaded and fogged like a sponge that couldn’t hold another drop.

After a short nap, I forced myself to eat a late lunch—barely tasting the food—and packed what little I could manage. I decided to head home early to catch my flight. Before leaving the care facility, I kissed Grandpa on the cheek and whispered a soft goodbye, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

The fear clung to me like a second skin. What if something happened while I was gone? What if he needed me?

But maybe… maybe nothing would. Maybe, for once, the world could hold itself together without me. I just needed a day. One day. Then I’d return—officially married to Gavin Ramirez.

The thought felt surreal. Heavy. Like I was standing in someone else’s life.

Still, no matter how uneasy I felt, I couldn’t miss that flight. I wasn’t about to make Noel book me another one—not when every peso counted now. We couldn’t afford unnecessary expenses. It still stunned me how quickly we’d fallen—how real bankruptcy had become.

Before boarding, I hastily pulled out my phone and messaged Noel to ask for the church location again. I’d been too tired to save it earlier, and now it had vanished from my brain completely. I hit send just in time—seconds before my phone died in my hand. Of course, I had forgotten to charge it. Typical.

After one grueling hour in the air—cramped, cold, and too anxious to sleep—I finally landed in Manila. By the time I arrived at my condo, night had already swallowed the city. But Manang Pasing was waiting. Noel must have told her I was coming.

Dinner was already laid out, steaming and fragrant on the table.

I didn’t even pretend to be polite. I ate like someone who hadn’t had a proper meal in days. Then I dragged myself to the shower, letting the scalding water wash away the fatigue wrapped around my bones.

The moment I hit the bed, I was out cold. No thoughts, no dreams—just darkness.

I woke long before dawn, before even the sky hinted at light. The world outside was still cloaked in darkness as I slipped into a white formal dress—smooth, simple, and familiar. It was the same dress I’d worn to a charity gala months ago. I paired it with my YSL heels, the ones adorned with delicate pearls that clicked softly against the floor as I moved.

Truth was, I didn’t have the luxury of options. A new dress was out of the question. This wasn’t just a rushed wedding—it was a last-minute arrangement, the kind that didn’t come with fittings or fanfare. And I didn’t have the money to throw at it.

Gosh. Since when did weddings come with budgeting stress? I let out a breathless, humorless laugh. Of all the things to worry about today, here I was fretting over finances and recycled outfits.

The drive to Forbes Park took less than thirty minutes. No traffic, no distractions. Just me, clutching a bouquet like it was some kind of shield. I got dropped off along McKinley Road. If I remember right, there was a small café that marked the path to the church—my landmark.

But as I stepped out onto the pavement, a horrible realization hit me.

Wait. What was the name of that church again?

Panic bubbled in my chest as I fumbled through my purse and pulled out my phone. I pressed the power button, praying it would light up.

Nothing.

Dead.

Shit.

I’d been so tired last night that I collapsed straight into bed, never even thinking to plug it in! Now, here I was, dressed like a bride in a ghost town, with zero idea where I was supposed to be married!

Fvvvckk.

My breath caught as I started walking, heels clicking against the concrete, each step growing faster. I looked around like a tourist who’d lost their map—eyes darting left and right, hoping for a miracle. A few early morning joggers passed by, their expressions a mix of confusion and mild curiosity. To be fair, I probably looked insane—hair freshly done, a white dress clinging to my body, bouquet in hand, pacing around the sidewalks of McKinley Road like I’d escaped from a rom-com gone wrong.

And maybe I had.

Just when I felt the prick of tears threatening, I caught sight of a church up ahead, its baroque architecture cutting a striking figure against the soft gray of the morning sky. Across the road, there was an empty parking lot and a…building. I stopped walking, heart thudding.

I looked back at the church. Is this the church?

It had to be. What were the chances there’d be two churches this close together?

Still, doubt itched beneath my skin. What if it was the wrong one? Then, as if the universe had grown tired of my internal meltdown, two acolytes stepped into view near the front entrance. Their eyes landed on me—and immediately, recognition flashed across their faces.

One of them stepped forward, eyes wide, voice brisk. “You’re late, miss. The priest and your groom have been waiting.”

Shit.

My stomach dropped. “What time is it?” I asked, bracing myself.

“Ten past six, ma’am,” the younger one replied politely.

A sharp curse hovered on my tongue, but I bit it back, pressing my lips into a tight line.

“Well,” I muttered, smoothing down my dress and adjusting my grip on the bouquet. “The important thing is—I’m here now.”

The heavy wooden doors creaked open slowly, the scent of incense and old wood wafting out to greet me. I straightened my spine, took a breath, and stepped forward.

The aisle stretched long and quiet in front of me. At the altar stood three figures—the priest, a tall man beside him, and a second man standing just off to the side. His witness, probably.

But something felt… wrong.

With each step, my unease grew. My heels echoed against the marble floor, my heartbeat suddenly louder than the soft organ music playing in the background. I narrowed my eyes as the groom turned, just slightly, and that’s when I saw him—really saw him.

My heart seized.

No. No. No.

It couldn’t be.

I stopped walking.

My breath hitched, caught somewhere between disbelief and full-blown panic. My fingers tightened around the bouquet. My knees threatened to give way.

I knew that face. I’d memorized it in the dark, in whispers and heat and trembling limbs. I knew the shape of his mouth, the cut of his jaw, the weight of his hands.

He was the man from that night!

And now… he was standing there at the altar, waiting for me?

My mind reeled.

What the actual hell?

Don’t tell me…

He’s the man I’m about to marry?