The Billionaire I Married by Mistake

16. FAMILY

|Katherine|

“Did something happen, dear?”

The question came the moment we stepped through the front doors of the mansion, catching me completely off guard.

I flinched—barely, but enough to feel it in my shoulders. I hadn’t expected her to notice anything, let alone ask so quickly. The air in the foyer was still thick with silence when I turned to look at Javier, whose expression didn’t falter in the slightest. He met my eyes for a brief second—just long enough for something unspoken to pass between us—before turning smoothly to face his mother.

“She’s fine, Mom,” he said with practiced ease, his voice calm and convincing. “Why do you ask?”

I studied my mother-in-law closely. Her concern looked real, not rehearsed, not the kind that was faked for appearances. Still, part of me remained guarded.

Javier had introduced himself to me earlier. Lanford. It echoed somewhere in the recesses of my memory, pulling at a thread I couldn’t quite unravel. It meant something, though the details danced just out of reach.

He’d given me a quick summary of his family before we go back—enough to help me avoid embarrassing myself—but nothing could’ve prepared me for the overwhelming weight of their presence.

I turned back to his mother and attempted a smile, the corners of my lips twitching slightly.

“I’m okay, M-Mom,” I said, stumbling over the word like it was foreign. It felt unnatural in my mouth. Distant. Hollow. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d said it.

My throat tightened. No. This wasn’t the time to go there. Not now.

She stepped closer—Tita Rebecca—and gave me a look that only mothers seemed capable of pulling off. The kind that peeled back every carefully placed layer without even trying.

“Are you sure?” she asked gently. “We saw you two talking—so intently. And at one point, you had your hands over your face. I thought... I thought you might’ve been crying.”

The air caught in my lungs.

They saw that?

I flicked a quick glance at Javier, silently begging for a signal—a glance, a word, anything. But he didn’t turn to me. Didn’t acknowledge the moment. He just stood there—composed, cool, detached—like none of it mattered. Like the scene she had just described hadn’t even happened.

“It was nothing, Mom,” Javier said smoothly, his voice effortlessly charming as his arm tightened around my waist. He pulled me in closer, like he was staking a claim, and cast a smug, sideways glance at me, the corner of his mouth curling into a mischievous smirk.

I shot him a sharp look—daggers in my eyes—but masked it quickly with a tight, practiced smile. Turning back to his mother, I forced my expression into something far more presentable, polite, and composed.

“Yes,” I said, my voice light and breezy, trying to brush off the awkward moment. “We were just talking about something… a little embarrassing. That’s probably why it looked so strange from afar.”

Tita Rebecca’s face instantly relaxed, her features softening with relief.

“Well, if you say so,” she replied with an airy chuckle, her smile warm and genuine. “Shall we head inside? The food’s been waiting,” she added, her voice laced with enthusiasm.

Before either of us could answer, she looped her arm through mine with practiced elegance and began to gently guide me away from Javier. I glanced back for a second, watching as he fell into step behind us with his father, walking at a more casual pace.

As we approached the dining room, her tone turned softer, more intimate—curious but kind.

“This is the first time my son has ever brought a woman home,” she said, almost in a whisper, like she was confiding in me.

I gave her a small smile, unsure of how to respond. Because technically… I wasn’t just any woman. I was his wife—on paper, at least. And now, the role I had reluctantly agreed to play was beginning for real.

Over breakfast, the questions came—some harmless, others startlingly invasive. But I managed. I kept my responses polite, vague when necessary, and filled with just enough warmth to sound convincing. When I stumbled or hesitated, Javier would smoothly jump in, weaving the rest of the answer as if we’d rehearsed it a dozen times.

It was going well. Surprisingly well.

Until she asked it.

“So,” Tita Rebecca began brightly, her eyes twinkling with excitement as she set down her fork, “when are you two having children?”

The question hit me like a slap. I froze mid-sip, and nearly choked on my orange juice. I coughed once—twice—desperately trying to recover without making a scene.

She didn’t seem to notice.

“I want grandkids, Vier,” she went on, practically glowing with delight. “I can’t wait to see little ones running around the mansion again. Oh, and I’m not settling for just one,” she added with a mock pout, tapping his hand playfully. “Three. At least.”

I swallowed hard, the nerves hitting me all at once like a sudden wave crashing against a fragile dock. My fingers curled around the glass I was holding, and my gaze instinctively darted toward Javier, searching for reassurance. The question had been meant for me, but my mind had gone blank the second it was asked.

A child?

We hadn’t even figured out the full terms of our setup yet—let alone discussed the possibility of bringing a baby into the picture!

What kind of lie am I supposed to pull out of thin air this time?

Thankfully, Javier answered before I could embarrass myself. His voice was calm, even practiced. “We haven’t talked about that yet, Mom.”

A flicker of disbelief crossed Tita Rebecca’s face. Her brows drew together, her mouth hanging slightly open as if she’d just heard her son declare he never planned to eat rice again.

“What? Why not?” she asked sharply, eyes narrowing. “You’re not getting any younger. And besides—”

“Let them be, hon,” Tito Nikolo cut in gently, placing a hand over his wife’s. I could’ve kissed him in that moment. “I’m sure they’re planning on it—just not right away.”

But Tita wasn’t satisfied. Her lips pressed together in a thin, disapproving line, the classic mother-in-law frown that could make anyone shrink in their seat. I felt heat creeping up my neck, panic rising in my chest like smoke from a slow-burning fire.

“Y-Yeah, we’ll talk about it… eventually,” I said, forcing a bright tone I didn’t feel. I offered a shaky smile, hoping to soften the tension. My heart pounded with every word. This was not a woman I could afford to disappoint—especially not now, when everything between Javier and me was already hanging by threads.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Javier glance at me. Whether it was surprise, amusement, or silent warning, I couldn’t tell. Either way, his parents were now both looking at me, expectant.

I straightened my posture and tried again, this time speaking slower, more deliberately.

“I mean… Javier and I just got married,” I said, giving a small, nervous laugh. “We want to enjoy our time together first—just the two of us—before we dive into parenthood and all the responsibilities that come with it.”

It was the best I could do on such short notice. A neatly wrapped excuse with a bow on top.

Because I couldn’t exactly say I wasn’t ready. That we weren’t ready. That the whole marriage was a product of our mistakes!

Tita stared at me, then to her son. Her brows slightly furrowed as though my words had only just begun to register. There was a long pause—one that stretched between us like a taut thread. Then, slowly, her features softened, the sternness in her eyes giving way to reluctant understanding.

“Oh, alright,” she said with a sigh, brushing invisible lint from her skirt. “I suppose I should stop meddling in your relationship.”

I wanted to breathe a little easier. But then she added, “I just want to be clear—I don’t just want grandchildren, okay?”

The words hit harder than I expected.

I inhaled sharply, forcing myself to respond with measured calm. “Of course, Mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice polite, controlled.

But I could feel Javier’s gaze burning into me—intense and sharp, like the prick of a needle pressing just beneath the skin. I didn’t dare look at him. I kept my eyes trained on my plate instead, focusing on the mechanical rhythm of cutting my food, chewing, swallowing. Anything to keep from unraveling.

Thankfully, the conversation soon veered into safer territory—talk of recent travel, a cousin’s engagement, and something about a property dispute that had the aunts arguing across the table. I let their chatter fill the silence in my head.

Time slipped past unnoticed. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I clung to the hope that after all this, Javier and I might finally get a few quiet minutes to ourselves. Just long enough to talk, to breathe, to figure out what came next.

But that hope shattered the moment Tita Rebecca clapped her hands together with a smile too wide to trust.

“I’m sorry!” she said, eyes sparkling with excitement. “I just got carried away when I heard Javier would finally be introducing his wife.”

My stomach dropped.

“So,” she continued, “I invited my other son and his wife. And… well, apparently word got around. Some of our other relatives heard and—they’re all coming too! Everyone’s eager to meet you!”

Of course they were.

Just when I thought I’d made it through the worst of the questions, now there was a whole new round waiting on the horizon. More faces. More names I’d have to remember. More smiles I’d have to fake. More careful answers to give—ones that wouldn’t contradict the story we’d rehearsed.

“They’ll be here by lunchtime,” my mother-in-law chimed in, sounding far too delighted.

I nodded along, the corners of my lips curling into a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. I feigned excitement, laughing at the right moments, chiming in with the occasional comment—all while a quiet dread simmered just beneath the surface.

The truth was, I felt the exact opposite of thrilled.

But Javier had already warned me—about the expectations, the scrutiny, the delicate roles we both had to play. And now, as uncomfortable as this performance was, the least I could do was act the part with conviction. I just had to survive the day and whatever chaos it decided to throw my way.

By midday, the quiet of the house had completely vanished. One by one, members of Javier’s family began arriving, turning the once still, elegant mansion into a vibrant hive of voices, laughter, and the occasional dramatic greeting. It was as if someone had sent out an unspoken invitation to stage a full-blown family reunion.

I stood beside Javier on the wide porch, the warm afternoon air brushing against my arms, and watched the scene unfold like an unfamiliar play I hadn’t rehearsed for. Cars pulled up. Hugs were exchanged. Familiarities floated across the air in rapid-fire chatter. I tried to anchor myself, to steady my nerves.

Then, from across the gravel path, a man stepped out of one of the sleek black cars. He had a confident stride and a face that stirred a flicker of recognition deep in my memory. There was something in the set of his jaw, the curve of his brow, the way his smile hinted at mischief.

It clicked the moment Tita Rebecca rushed up to him with a cheerful kiss on the cheek.

“Finally, you came, Nicolas!” she beamed.

Another woman—elegant, well-dressed, possibly his wife—followed suit, greeting him the same way. Then Nicolas made his way toward an older man who could only be Tito Nikolo, exchanging a quick hug before his gaze finally landed on us.

He walked straight toward Javier and me, his steps unhurried, his grin wide with ease and familiarity.

“Imagine my surprise when Mom told me you were married,” he said, voice light and teasing, like he hadn’t just dropped a casual grenade in the middle of our moment.

I glanced at Javier instinctively, only to find his entire demeanor shift. Whatever warmth had lingered in his expression vanished in an instant. His features hardened, jaw clenched, posture stiff. It was as if seeing Nicolas had flipped a switch inside him—one that replaced his usual cool composure with a silent, seething chill.

“This was bound to happen, Kuya,” Javier said evenly, though there was a cold bite to his voice that didn’t go unnoticed.

Nicolas raised a brow but didn’t press further. Instead, he turned his attention to me.

“And you must be Katherine,” he said, his tone smooth, almost charming.

I met his gaze, careful not to show how uneasy his sudden interest made me. I forced another smile—polite, measured, the kind you give when you’re not sure whether the person in front of you is a future ally or a walking complication.

“Ah, yes. It’s nice to meet you… uh, kuya,” I said, my voice wavering slightly as I reached out to shake his hand.

There was a brief pause—just long enough for my awkwardness to hang in the air—before he took my hand in his. His grip was firm but kind, and his smile didn’t waver, stretching across his face like he found this whole thing mildly entertaining. Maybe it was the way Javier had introduced me. Maybe it was just me.

Now that I was close enough to really look at him, I could see the family resemblance. He had inherited the softer features of Tita Rebecca—his mother’s warm, thoughtful eyes and that effortless gentleness that instantly made people feel at ease. But even with that calm aura, there was still something about him that hinted at authority. His presence was quieter than Javier’s but no less commanding. Just… smoother. Less intense.

Before I could think of anything else to say, a woman stepped up beside him. She moved gracefully, her presence small but striking. Her jet-black hair framed a delicate, heart-shaped face, and her almond eyes sparkled with curiosity. She didn’t look anything like me. Where my hair was a lighter shade of brown and my features were sharper—high cheekbones, slightly upturned eyes—she looked like she belonged in a porcelain painting. Soft. Feminine. Effortless.

“Hi!” she said brightly, holding out her hand with a friendly energy that was hard to ignore. “I’m Vienna—Nicolas’ wife.”

I reached out and took her hand, offering a polite smile. “Nice to meet you. I’m Katherine.”

She beamed at me, and for a second, I wondered how long it would take before I forgot everyone’s names.

Because that wasn’t the end of it. Not even close.

More and more of Javier’s family began to arrive, like a slow but steady parade of faces, voices, and warm greetings. Cousins. Aunts. Uncles. People who hugged him with affection and then turned to me with wide smiles and curious eyes. I tried to keep up, nodding and smiling, my brain working overtime to remember who was who. There were so many of them. His family was massive—an intricate web of generations that all seemed impossibly close-knit.

Some of the cousins looked to be around our age, while others brought their spouses and kids. I hadn’t expected that. Javier… was already an uncle.

“Hi, Tita Katherine!” a little girl called out as we stepped inside the family mansion.

She ran up to me with a grin so big it made her cheeks puff out, and I barely had time to react before two more children followed behind her, giggling and waving like I was some long-lost relative finally returning home.

Something about it caught me off guard.

I bent down just a little, smiling back at them without having to fake it this time. Their laughter echoed through the hall, bouncing off the tall ceilings and polished floors. And for a moment—just a fleeting one—it felt like I belonged here. Not because I actually did, but because they made it so easy to pretend.

I had no idea how long I’d been down on the floor, entertaining Javier’s little cousins. Time blurred in between chasing them around the garden, answering their endless questions, and helping one of them find a missing shoe. I only realized how much time had passed when someone finally called us in for lunch, and I was herded to the dining room like part of the pack.

And just like that morning with Javier’s parents, the interrogation resumed the moment food was served.

It was subtle at first—questions disguised as polite curiosity. But by the third round of "So how did you two meet?" and "When did you know it was serious?" I started to recognize the rhythm. This wasn’t just lunch. It was a continuation of the evaluation process.

That’s when I finally understood what that second dining room was for—the one I’d glimpsed earlier with the impossibly long table and a chandelier that looked like it belonged in a palace. It wasn’t just for show. It was built to hold this entire clan of Lanfords when they descended in full force.

Seriously, how rich are these people?

We’re well-off too—comfortable, privileged even. But our mansion in Iloilo doesn’t have two dining rooms. Our extended family just squeezes in wherever they can during holidays. Here? They probably have designated seats.

The day didn’t slow down after that. If anything, it escalated. A full-blown barbecue party was announced out of nowhere for dinner, and before I could even process it, I was being introduced to more relatives—second cousins, great aunts, uncles who had flown in just to "meet the bride." I smiled until my cheeks hurt. I laughed at stories I barely understood. I nodded through long-winded anecdotes from relatives whose names I’d already forgotten.

By the time it was finally over, my body was running on fumes. I couldn’t get to the bedroom fast enough.

The moment I stepped inside, I kicked off my heels and made a direct path to the bed like a woman possessed. I didn’t even bother changing out of my dress. I collapsed onto the mattress with a muffled groan, the plush softness catching me like a cloud. My limbs sank into the sheets as if they, too, had been waiting for this all day.

I didn’t care if this wasn’t technically my room. I didn’t care if someone expected me to knock first or act a little more modest. At that point, I was too tired to pretend to be anything but exhausted.

The whole day had felt like a non-stop Q&A session—with different sets of judges at every table. I hadn’t realized until now that I even had a limit. But I’d found it. Social battery: fully depleted.

I let out a long, satisfied sigh and closed my eyes, finally allowing my body to go still. Only then did a fleeting thought cross my mind—Should I have asked before using the bed?

Maybe.

But then again… why would I?

We’ve already slept together. We’re married. I’ve met his parents, survived their extended family, and smiled my way through three separate meals with a hundred different people. If I’m going to act shy about lying in his bed now, then really—what’s the point of everything that’s already happened?

“Now that we’re alone, we need to talk about the problem between us.”

His voice wrapped around the room like a heavy cloak, dense and unavoidable. It vibrated in the still air, deep and commanding, the kind of tone that demanded a response—even if all I wanted was sleep.

For a moment, I considered pretending I hadn’t heard him. Just a second of stillness. A second to breathe. But I couldn’t ignore him completely.

“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” I murmured, eyes still closed. My voice came out soft, almost fragile. “I’m exhausted.”

“We’re both tired,” he said and I could hear the edge beneath his voice. “But no, Katherine—we’re not pushing this to tomorrow. We need to talk. Now.”

His words weren’t loud, but they landed like a gavel—final and immovable.

I let out a dramatic sigh and flopped back against the pillows, draping an arm over my eyes like I was starring in some overacted play.

“Of course we do,” I muttered under my breath.

When I finally peeked through my lashes, he was already standing at the foot of the bed. Arms crossed. Shoulders squared. His gaze locked on me, hard and unyielding. That look of his—it wasn’t angry, not exactly. It was worse. It was deliberate. Controlled. Like he had already decided how this would go, and he wasn’t about to entertain any of my usual theatrics.

“Can’t I just lie here while you unload whatever it is you’re dying to say?” I grumbled, lazily dragging the blanket over one leg. “We can multitask. I listen. You vent.”

He didn’t flinch. “Sit up. We’re going to talk.”

His voice had sharpened—low, clipped, and completely devoid of patience. The kind of tone that left no room for negotiation.

Naturally, I took that as a challenge.

I nestled deeper into the bed instead, curling into the soft warmth of the sheets like I belonged there more than he did. “I don’t want to,” I said flatly, my tone laced with open defiance.

“Katherine.” My name left his lips like a warning. It wasn’t loud, but it was loaded.

I didn’t move. Instead, I smirked and closed my eyes, pretending to fall asleep just to spite him. Childish, maybe—but being married to him came with its own share of power plays, and I wasn’t about to fold first.

But I had forgotten one thing: he didn’t bluff.

The next second, his hand wrapped around my wrist—firm but not rough—and with a swift, practiced tug, he pulled me upright. The suddenness knocked the breath from my lungs, and for a split second, I just sat there, blinking, completely thrown off balance.

Then I met his eyes.

There was no anger in them—just certainty. Purpose. A quiet but undeniable demand.

“I told you,” he said, his voice low, steady, and maddeningly calm. “When we talk, I want your full attention.”