Marriage with the Dying Billionaire

Pierre’s lips curled into a cruel smirk as he turned away, casually adjusting his cufflinks like none of this mattered—like my world hadn’t just been obliterated by his words. He didn’t even look back as he walked toward the restaurant doors.

But I wasn’t done.

A furious heat surged through my body, and before I even realized what I was doing, I grabbed the nearest chair and hurled it with all the strength I had left. The crash was thunderous. The chair missed by inches, smashing into the wall behind him.

Pierre spun around, face darkening with rage. He stormed toward me like a bullet. I braced myself.

His hand collided with my cheek so hard my vision blurred.

“You pathetic, worthless bitch,” he hissed. “You were never anything more than a rich pawn—a golden ticket your father handed to me.”

I staggered back, heart hammering, but he wasn’t done.

“You think those miscarriages were just fate?” he whispered coldly. “Sharon and I planned them all. Stress, threats, trauma—every time you started to hope for a family, we took it away.”

I felt my knees give way. My lungs refused to draw breath. The pain of every loss I had endured came crashing into me all at once.

Then—the click of metal.

He pulled a gun from beneath his jacket, pointing it directly at my chest.

“Let’s make sure you don’t cause more trouble,” he growled.

The barrel gleamed under the restaurant lights, steady in his cruel hands. I thought this was it. That everything would end here, in the hands of the man who destroyed me.

But then, the door creaked open.

A tall man in a dark overcoat and wide-brimmed hat stepped inside, his presence as chilling as the air that followed him. Pierre immediately lowered the gun.

“Dad,” he said.

My heart dropped. The man’s sharp eyes met mine, and I knew his name as printed on his elegant walking stick.

Don Victorio. Francis’s father.

In silence, more men entered the restaurant. Suited, grim-faced, ruthless. One of them grabbed my arm. Another struck me across the back of the neck. I kicked and screamed, but it was no use. Then came a sharp sting—electric shock ripping through my body. My world went black.

I awoke tied to a metal post in the center of a grand stage.

Dim lighting flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows. A velvet curtain framed the room. In front of me, a crowd filled the seats, silent and watching. They wore masks—elaborate, jeweled, porcelain.

I couldn’t see their faces. But I felt their eyes.

"Welcome to tonight’s exclusive auction," a voice boomed from the stage speakers.

I tried to scream, but my mouth was taped. My heart pounded against my ribs as the bidding began.

“We start at $1 million.”

My body trembled with disbelief.

“Two million.”

“Five.”

“Seven.”

The numbers climbed, each call colder than the last. I was no longer a person. I was property.

I felt tears trace down my cheeks. Not from fear. From the unbearable shame. The humiliation. And the betrayal.

An hour passed. Finally, a voice from the back called out, calm and powerful:

“Ten million.”

Gasps echoed through the room.

The auctioneer stilled, then banged the gavel. “Sold.”

Everything moved fast after that. Hands untied me, shoved me through a door behind the stage. Down a hallway. Into a private room with velvet walls and candlelit corners.

Waiting inside was a woman dressed in a sleek navy gown, her hair silver but elegant, swept into a bun. Her mask had been removed. I knew that face.

My jaw dropped.

“You,” I gasped. “You’re the woman from the prison—you asked me about my story.”

She nodded. “And you told it well.”

I fell to my knees. “Please. My son. My fiancé. Save them.”

Her expression softened. “Get up, child.”

I stood, shakily.

“I am Loretta Jill. I purchased you tonight because I owed you something—a chance.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You gave me hope once. In that prison. When I had none.”

I tried to make sense of her words.

“Listen to me carefully,” Loretta said. “You’re not free yet. The family that ran this auction—they don’t just release people. They test them. And test me.”

“Test?”

“I need to prove my loyalty. That I didn’t buy you to help you. That I bought you for power. Until they believe that, you stay in their custody.”

My stomach sank.

Weeks passed in captivity. I was fed, guarded, locked inside a marble cell that mocked the idea of freedom. Loretta visited often, never touching, always watched. But she spoke to me in codes, assuring me she was doing everything she could.

And then, one morning, the door opened.

Loretta stood there, surrounded by guards. She gave a slight nod.

“Let’s go.”

We boarded a helicopter on a hidden helipad. As it lifted into the skies, I stared at Loretta. She looked flawless, composed, not at all like a woman who had once been an inmate.

I had to ask.

“How did you escape the jail fire?”

She smiled faintly. “I didn’t. I stayed behind while everyone ran. I stayed quiet. And eventually, someone came.”

“Who?”

“Sergio Osmeña. One of the wealthiest men in the city. He found me. I seduced him. Became his mistress. And in return, he gave me this.”

She gestured out the window.

Below us lay a hidden estate nestled between mountains. A palace built underground. Luxury unlike anything I’d ever seen.

“All of this is mine now,” she said. “And you’re under my protection.”

Tears welled in my eyes. For the first time in what felt like forever, I exhaled.

But the questions lingered.

As we stepped into her mansion, I turned to her.

“Why?” I whispered. “Why does the Troillan family want me in an auction? Why test you with me?"

Loretta paused, then turned to me slowly.

“Because your ex-husband arranged it,” she said.

My heart skipped.

“Pierre?”

She nodded.

“He staged the auction to prove to the mafia that he no longer loved you. That you were just a pawn. It was a test.”

My chest tightened.

“But here’s what they didn’t expect,” she continued, voice grim.

“Pierre’s been watching you and he doesn't want you to marry the poor Francis. It's too dangerous to marry a ruthless man. And from the moment he realized who Wayna Scott really was. He wants you back. And not for love. For power. For vengeance. He’s playing a game only he understands. Suddenly, he wants his child back from you when he found out that Sharon has HIV." She laughs.

WHAT? HOW?

I took a shaky breath, every bone in my body going cold.

What Pierre wanted, he always got.

But this time, I wouldn’t go down without a war.