The Billionaire’s Reluctant Bride (By Tessa Wren) novel Chapter 45

The Billionaire’s Reluctant Bride 4

The world I’ve entered feels like an entirely different realm–a futuristic terrain of gleaming glass and steel illuminated by artificial lights. Every detail of Alexander’s life radiates a level of perfection that feels beyond my understanding, let alone my ability to replicate.

It’s a world where people wear confidence like armor, where wealth is the only language spoken, and where the air feels thinner, sharper, as though it’s been conditioned for someone stronger than me.

Tonight is the first of many events Alexander has insisted I attend with him. A charity gala. A routine part of his life, but for me, it feels like a performance I wasn’t trained for.

My gown clings too tightly to my frame, the shoes pinch my feet, and every smile I offer feels like it’s held together with invisible threads that might snap at any moment.

“Relax,” Alexander says beside me as we step into the grand ballroom. His voice is low, smooth, but there’s no warmth in it. It’s a command not reassurance.

“I’m trying,” I respond, my voice almost lost amid the clinking of champagne glasses and the echoing of laughter that fills the room.

I gaze towards him, searching for any clue that he could detect how misplaced I feel. But his face remains impassive, his jaw tight, his eyes roaming the room like a hunter surveying its space.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, his tone abrupt and disengaged.

“Just smile and nod. Don’t engage in anything you’re not comfortable with.”

I bristle at his words. Smile and nod. As though I’m a doll, here to complement him, not to be seen or heard.

“I didn’t realize I was here to be a prop,” I say before I can stop myself.

He stops walking, turning to face me. For a moment, I see something flicker in his eyes–surprise, maybe? Amusement? It’s gone too quickly for me to be sure.

“You’re not a prop, Leila,” he says, his voice lower now, quieter. “But appearances matter in this world. More than you realize.”

“And what about what I want?” I ask, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “Does that matter at all?”

His jaw tightens, but he says nothing. Instead, he stretches out his arm to me–I take it reluctantly, and we both move into the room.

The room fills with discussions, bursts of laughter, and soft music playing in the background. Everywhere I turn, I see individuals impeccably dressed- wonderful outfits catching the light with every movement and different suits that are tailored to perfection.

Through the room, they glide with a poise I can only envy, with a certain voice that feels absolutely out of reach.

“Alexander,” a man’s voice calls out, pulling my attention. A tall, silver–haired man with a sharp suit approaches us with a glass of wine in his right hand and the bottle in the other. “It’s been too long.”

“Richard,” Alexander says, his tone smooth and clean, it is the kind of voice he reserves for people that he tolerates but doesn’t confide in. “It’s good to see you.”

The two men exchange pleasantries, their words notably sharp and practised just like a script they’ve rehearsed multiple times. I stand silently beside Alexander, I don’t know if I should speak or if my presence is even necessary.

“And this must be your wife,” Richard says, his gaze shifting to me. His smile widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Leila, is it?”

“Yes,” I say, forcing a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Charming,” Richard says, though there’s something sharp in his tone, something that makes my stomach twist. “You’ve done well for yourself, Alexander. She’s lovely,”

I glance at Alexander, waiting for him to respond, but he says nothing. His expression remains neutral, unreadable. The silence stretches just long enough to feel uncomfortable.

“Enjoy the evening,” Richard says finally, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he turns and disappears into the crowd.

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