The Billionaire’s Reluctant Bride

"Told you… See you."

A voice laced with mischief echoed near the trash can.

Emma turned sharply, her first instinct was to claw the smug look off his face.

"You—" she seethed, fists clenching.

"Ooooh, I get it. You're asking my name, dear. Derek. My name is Derek, and yours?"

Emma's fury spiked. She was still half-submerged in the trash can, surrounded by black garbage bags, stray wrappers, and a few banana peels—one of which had likely sealed her fate.

"Psycho!" she spat and hurled a handful of wrappers at him.

"Wow, unique name. I like it," Derek replied, dodging effortlessly, as if this was some kind of game.

Emma's patience snapped. She pulled off her jogger and flung it at him. He sidestepped easily, grinning wider.

"Ms. Psycho, it was a pleasure meeting you, but I really must get to the office. See you around!" He smirked and walked off—holding her jogger hostage.

Emma glared at his retreating figure, her blood boiling. She scrambled out of the trash can, dusted herself off, and grabbed her bag and file from the ground, muttering every curse she could think of.

But then—

Thud.

Emma went down again.

This time, it wasn't Derek's doing. It was her own—the very banana peel she had thrown at him had betrayed her.

Lying on the ground, she groaned. This is officially the worst day of my life.

When she got up, a sharp pain shot through her right foot, forcing her to sit back down. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself against the wall and stood on one leg, limping her way to the office, determined not to let Derek—or fate—win.

---

Meanwhile, in a quiet room, Hoor slept peacefully.

Rukhsar Begum sat beside her, gently running her fingers through her daughter's hair, her heart heavy with unspoken worries.

Her thoughts drifted back to her own past.

She had been young when her father, Rafiq Butt, arranged her marriage to Salman—a strategic alliance meant to strengthen family ties. Rafiq and his wife, Raisa, had two children: Bilal and Rukhsar.

Bilal had married his cousin, Balqees. Their only son, Ahal, was adored by the entire family—spoiled, strong-willed, and used to getting his way.

After Hoor was born, Rafiq Sahib had arranged her engagement to Ahal. The family had celebrated the match. But Balqees had never been in favor.

Then came the disaster.

Ahal, while abroad, had married someone else.

The engagement shattered. So did Rukhsar's world. She had never stepped foot in her childhood home after that betrayal.

Now, as she tucked Hoor's blanket around her, she kissed her forehead gently and left the room with a heart burdened by difficult decisions.

---

Emma finally made it to the office, her foot throbbing with each step.

She had barely sunk into her chair when Mary's urgent whisper sliced through her exhaustion.

"Emma, the boss has been looking for you. Go quickly!"

Emma groaned internally. Just my luck.

Forcing herself up, she limped to John's office and knocked.

Inside, John was on the phone, his back to her. Without glancing up, he gestured for her to sit. She obeyed, waiting.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty. Then an hour.

She clenched her jaw. Is he punishing me on purpose?

"Sir… you called me?" she finally ventured.

John's glare cut through her. "Did I ask you to speak?"

Emma inhaled sharply, pressing her lips together. If not for her financial situation, she'd have told him exactly where he could shove his attitude.

An eternity later, he spoke.

"File."

She handed it over, her fingers tightening around the edges.

"Ms. Emma, what are the office hours?" he asked without looking up.

"Eight," she murmured.

"And what time is it now?"

"Ten."

He flipped a page. "Only two hours late. And your excuse?"

"I sprained my foot, sir," she replied, barely masking her irritation.

His hand shot up, silencing her. "I don't allow excuses."

Emma bit her tongue so hard it nearly bled.

"This is your last warning. Next time, don't bother coming back."

Emma's nails dug into her palm. She nodded stiffly.

"You're new, so I'm being lenient. Otherwise, you'd be out already," he added coolly.

She almost laughed. If this is leniency, I'd hate to see strictness.

"Anything to say?" John asked.

"Nothing," she said through gritted teeth.

"Good. Now get to work. Next week, I expect you to be useful."

Emma forced herself up, wincing as pain shot through her foot.

John frowned. "Why are you walking like that?"

She hesitated.

"Did I ask you to be quiet?" His voice had softened slightly.

"My foot feels like it's ready for breakdancing," she muttered sarcastically.

"Breakdancing?" John blinked, caught off guard.

"Yes," she deadpanned.

For a second, his expression flickered—annoyance, confusion, amusement? Then he waved her off.

Emma turned to leave, but at the last second, their eyes met—his sharp blue gaze locking onto her tired brown one.

For a fraction of a moment, time held still.

Then Emma blinked and turned away. Whatever that was, I don't have time for it.

---

The taxi ride home felt like a blur.

Emma longed for her bed, for a moment of peace. But as she stepped inside, she found Isabella sitting on the sofa, looking fragile, distant—like a shadow of her former self.

Emma took a breath and sat beside her.

"Hi, Mom."

Isabella blinked at her, as if trying to place her face. Then her eyes softened.

"Oh, Emma, you came early today!"

Emma swallowed the lump in her throat.

"There wasn't much work."

She laid her head in her mother's lap, allowing herself a moment of weakness.

"Are you hungry?" Isabella asked, gently running her fingers through Emma's hair.

"No… just tired."

As her eyes closed, a pair of piercing blue eyes flashed in her mind. She snapped them open.

"What is it?" Isabella asked.

"Nothing," Emma murmured, shaking off the strange feeling.

She closed her eyes again, but the image lingered.

---

Isabella gazed down at her daughter, her fingers trembling slightly.

She had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. Some days, she forgot little things—what time it was, what day it was. Some days, she even forgot names.

And Peter… her son. How long had it been since she last saw him?

A heavy sigh escaped her lips.

Time was slipping away.

---

To be continued…

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