Forced into Marriage with A Secret Billionaire

My tears fell freely now, but they meant nothing to the men before me.

Richard—I couldn't bring myself to call him 'father'—simply checked his watch with impatience while Oliver's mouth twisted into a smirk.

"Are you quite finished with the dramatics?" Richard asked, his voice as cold as the marble floors beneath us. "The wedding is scheduled for this weekend. The Walker family has already made arrangements."

"This weekend?" I gasped, wiping furiously at my cheeks. "Huh! No way! I won't do it."

"You will," Richard stated flatly. "Unless you'd prefer to be responsible for hundreds of employees losing their jobs when Evans Industries collapses."

I stood on shaking legs, clutching my purse like a shield. “They’re not my employees. I’m leaving."

But as I turned toward the door, the housekeeper appeared, blocking my exit with an apologetic but firm expression.

“Get out of my way!” I glared at her. She didn’t move.

"Miss Evans will be staying in the east wing until the wedding," Richard instructed her, like I didn’t exist. "Ensure she has everything she needs to prepare for the ceremony."

The housekeeper took a bow before she flatly instructed me. “Please follow me, Miss Evans.”

That very second, the realization hit me like a physical blow—I wasn't a daughter returning home. I was a prisoner.

"You can't keep me here like this," I whispered, though the conviction in my voice was already fading.

Oliver approached, his expensive cologne suffocating as he leaned close to my ear. "We can and we will. Don't embarrass yourself by making a scene."

-

The week passed in a blur of fittings, instructions, and sleepless nights.

Throughout the week I had been trying to escape, but they locked the windows, blocked the gates, and had a maid following me all the time.

I became a doll being dressed and positioned for its purpose.

On the morning of the wedding, I stood before the mirror in the bridal suite, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. My mother's silver locket—the only piece of her I had left—hung at my throat, hidden beneath layers of lace and pearls.

"It's time," the wedding coordinator announced, her professional smile never reaching her eyes.

Richard waited at the entrance to the church, not to walk me down the aisle as a loving father, but to ensure I didn't flee. Oliver stood nearby, checking his phone with bored indifference.

Neither spoke as the wedding march began and the massive oak doors swung open.

I clutched my bouquet of white roses, my knuckles bloodless beneath my gloves. The church was filled with strangers—business associates and society figures who had come to witness the alliance of two powerful families.

Not a single person was there for me.

As I took my first step down the aisle, the doors at the back of the church opened again. A collective murmur rippled through the congregation.

Luca Walker, my husband-to-be, entered, pushed in a sleek black wheelchair by a tall, stone-faced man I assumed was his bodyguard.

The whispers grew louder, and I caught fragments of their cruel commentary:

"Poor girl..."

"...can't even stand at his own wedding..."

"...the Walker cripple..."

I turned my head slightly, catching my first glimpse of the man I was about to marry.

Luca sat straight in his wheelchair, his expression impassive, almost bored. He was younger than I'd expected, perhaps early thirties, with sharp features and dark hair. Despite the circumstances that had brought him here, there was something dignified in his stillness.

I quickly faced forward again, my cheeks burning. I would not gawk at him like everyone else. Whatever his condition, he deserved basic respect.

When Luca's wheelchair finally reached the altar, Oliver stepped forward before the minister could speak.

"Fashionably late, Walker?" he sneered, loud enough for the front rows to hear. "Or is this the best speed you can manage these days?"

A hush fell over the church. The minister cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Perhaps," Oliver continued, his voice dripping with contempt, "the Walkers should have sent someone more... capable to marry my sister. Though I suppose beggars can't be choosers."

Something snapped inside me.

I'd been silent, compliant, a pawn-like daughter, a perfect victim—but this cruelty was too much.

"Oliver," I said, my voice stronger than it had been all week, "you're embarrassing yourself and our family. Show some respect."

Oliver's eyes widened in shock before narrowing dangerously.

"Look at you, defending your cripple already. How touching." His voice dropped to a vicious whisper. "Remember your place, sister. Trash like you should be grateful we found any use for you at all."

I stared at him, heart sinking, could barely believe that the man calling me trash in front of my husband-to-be was my brother by blood.

How sad mom would be, if she learned that her son had become an asshole?