Claimed By The Billionaire At The Altar

KIMANI

It was already evening. I thought someone was going to bring me my meal like they did this afternoon. Instead, I got invited to the dining room. I changed into something better and followed the lady out,as we walked, I tried to make conversation. "What's your name?" I asked her. "Danielle, Mrs Walker." She replied. "Please, call me Kimani, that makes me feel like I'm some Richie rich lady." I told her. She only nodded, I hope she does.

The dining room was nothing short of breathtaking. Golden chandeliers hung low, their light bouncing off polished marble floors and the glossy mahogany table that seemed to stretch endlessly. A table that could easily seat a dozen people but tonight, only two places were set.

My sandals clicked softly against the floor as I made my way to the chair on the right side of the one at the head. The seat at the head was already occupied.

Alaric sat there, poised, his posture relaxed but commanding. His phone was in his hand, his sharp gaze fixed on the screen, as though the world outside me required his attention more than anything else.

I slid into my chair, my hands folding nervously in my lap. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet tap of his thumb against the screen.

Then, as if sensing my unease, he placed the phone face down beside his plate. The action was subtle but deliberate—like he was telling me, you have my attention now.

Immediately, the maids stepped forward in seamless coordination, uncovering silver domes and serving dishes. Steam and rich aromas filled the air—seared steak, buttered vegetables, creamy pasta, roasted potatoes. My stomach tightened with a mix of hunger and nerves.

One of the maids leaned toward me with a polite bow. “What would you prefer tonight, ma’am?”

I blinked at the sheer variety, pointing carefully at a few things. “The pasta… and some of the vegetables, and a little of the potatoes please. Oh, and just a little chicken.”

She nodded, piling the food gracefully onto my plate before stepping back.

Once both our plates were served, silence lingered between us for a few bites. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it wasn’t easy either. The sound of cutlery against china echoed in the vast room.

Then, his voice came—low, calm, steady. “What do you want to do, Kimani?”

I froze, my fork pausing halfway to my lips. His gaze was on me now, unwavering, the kind of look that stripped away every excuse or deflection.

“What do I… want to do?” I repeated slowly.

“Yes,” he said, his tone unreadable. “With your time. With yourself. You’re not bound by anything here. Not by me.”

I exhaled, setting my fork down. “Honestly? I hadn’t thought about it. I was supposed to be on a honeymoon for the next three weeks.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. My lips twisted with irony. “But obviously, that’s not happening anymore.”

His expression didn’t change much, but I caught the faintest flicker in his eyes. Maybe pity. Maybe understanding.

“I’m on break,” I continued more softly. “Three weeks off work. I don’t even know what to do with myself now.”

He leaned back in his chair, regarding me carefully. “Then you’ll rest. And when you decide what you want to do with your days, tell me. I’ll make the arrangements.”

The casual certainty in his words made my pulse skip. He said it like there were no limits, like anything I wanted could be done if I only asked.

I toyed with a bite of pasta, chewing slowly, my thoughts churning. Alaric’s calmness made it impossible to read him, yet it also made me… braver somehow.

Finally, I set my fork down and lifted my gaze to him. “If I’m going to be your wife, even if it’s sudden and unconventional, shouldn’t I at least know you a little?”

One dark brow lifted slightly. “Know me how?”

I tilted my head, shrugging lightly. “Your favorite color. The food you like. Something as simple as that. Right now, you’re still a mystery. And I hate not knowing.”

His lips twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Most people prefer the mystery.”

“Well, I’m not most people,” I shot back before I could stop myself. The words came out bolder than I felt.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows lightly on the table, studying me as if I’d just said something worth dissecting. “Then how do you propose to know me?”

I hesitated, then a spark of mischief bubbled up, surprising even me. Maybe it was the surrealness of the day, maybe it was the food finally calming my nerves, but the words spilled out before I could second-guess them.

“A game,” I said.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “A game?”

“Yes.” I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms with mock seriousness. “We take turns asking questions. Simple ones. Nothing too invasive. And we both have to answer honestly.”

The silence stretched for a beat. His gaze was unreadable, the air between us charged.

Then, to my absolute shock, his lips curved. Not the faint twitch I had seen before, but an actual smile—small, controlled, but real. “You want to play a game with me?”

I nodded, my heart hammering. “Unless you’re scared.”

His eyes glinted, sharp and amused. “I don’t get scared.”

“Then prove it,” I said, a tiny grin tugging at my lips.

He sat back again, his presence filling the vast room as if the walls bent to his will. “Fine. After dinner.”

A flutter of anticipation rushed through me. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but for the first time that day, the heaviness in my chest eased. For the first time, I felt something other than confusion or dread.

For the first time… I felt curious.

We finished the dinner and Alaric led me to another room. It was filled with shelves filled with books, and antiques. We took our seats in a soft single sofa facing each other. The maids came in and placed plates of dessert on the table between us.

“Let’s begin,” Alaric said, his deep voice threading through the quiet library. I'm calling it a mini library since it has so many books.

I tucked my legs beneath me, leaning forward with an eager smile. “Okay, but I go first since it was my idea.”

One dark brow arched. “Fair enough.”

“Favorite color,” I shot out. “You can’t roll your eyes either, I’m starting simple.”

His lips twitched. “Gray.”

“Gray?” I scrunched my nose. “That’s not even a real color. That’s what happens when black and white get bored.”

For the first time, he actually chuckled—low, brief, but unmistakably amused. “It’s still a color.”

“Fine.” I tapped my chin dramatically. “Okay, your turn.”

He leaned back, eyes gleaming. “Why pasta?”

I blinked. “What?”

“At dinner. Out of everything you could’ve chosen. You picked pasta first.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Because it’s safe. Pasta never lets you down. You can dress it up fancy or just eat it plain, and it still works. It doesn’t… disappoint.”

The moment the word slipped out, I regretted it. His eyes sharpened slightly, but he didn’t press. Instead, he nodded once. “Fair answer.”

“My turn!” I said quickly, desperate to break the heaviness creeping in. “Dogs or cats?”

“Neither.”

My mouth dropped open. “You monster!”

His lips curved slightly. “I don’t dislike them. I simply don’t keep pets. They require trust. And time.”

Something about the way he said it made me pause, but I forced a laugh. “Remind me never to let you babysit.”

His eyes glinted. “Noted.”

The questions bounced back and forth. Silly ones at first: favorite season, whether he preferred coffee or tea, if he could cook anything beyond toast. I learned he hated sweet drinks, liked autumn because it was “quiet,” and could actually make a mean omelet. He learned I loved mangoes, always burned toast, and couldn’t swim.

It felt… normal. Dangerous, almost. Like I could forget everything else if I wasn’t careful.

Then he asked the question that stopped me cold.

“What do you fear the most?”

I swallowed hard, fidgeting with the hem of my robe. My smile faltered. “You’re supposed to start with easy questions.”

“I thought we’d moved past easy.” His gaze was steady, calm, but intent.

I hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “I guess… being unwanted. Giving everything I have to someone, only to find out I was never enough.”

His eyes didn’t waver. He didn’t mock, didn’t pity. He just… listened. And somehow, that was worse because it made my chest ache.

“Your turn,” I said quickly, my voice quieter now. “Same question. What do you fear the most?”

For the first time since we’d started, he looked away. His jaw tightened, his hands folding together loosely. The silence stretched until I almost thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then his voice came, low and rougher than before. “Losing control.”

I blinked. “Control of what?”

His eyes cut back to mine, dark and unreadable. “Everything.”

A shiver slid down my spine at the weight in his tone. This wasn’t just a man who liked to be in charge—this was a man who needed it, like it was stitched into his very skin.

The air grew heavier between us, the dessert plates untouched, the game no longer playful but something else entirely. Something that felt like the edge of a cliff.

I cleared my throat softly, trying to ease the tension. “Guess we’re not exactly playing twenty questions anymore.”

“No,” he agreed, his voice quiet but certain. “We’re not.”

Our eyes locked across the space, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the room was holding its breath.

"And that brings us to the end of it all." I said. "Hmm." he nodded. I looked at the time and saw that it was already quite late, we spent almost two hours in this room.

"Goodnight." I said standing. "Good night, Kimani." he replied.