My Billionaire Guest Asked Me To Be His Fake Fiancée For One Night — But His Secret Rule Changed Everything

Part 1

The December wind howled violently against the massive, frost-covered windows of my family’s sprawling estate.

Inside the grand drawing room, the crackling fireplace did little to chase away the chill.

I sat in my usual corner, a heavy leather-bound novel resting on my lap.

I was doing my absolute best to shrink into the upholstery and become completely invisible.

Poor Megan, my cousin Brenda’s voice drifted across the room, carrying over the classical music playing softly in the background.

She spoke deliberately, pitching her tone just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Twenty-six years old and still absolutely no prospects whatsoever.

Aunt Nancy says it’s quite tragic, really.

My fingers tightened around the delicate pages of my book.

I kept my eyes glued to the ink, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

Responding to their cruelty only ever encouraged them to twist the knife deeper.

Perhaps she just prefers the company of fictional men to real ones.

My other cousin, Heather, added a tinkling, high-pitched laugh that set my teeth on edge.

Though one cannot help but wonder if the choice to remain alone was ever truly hers to make.

My mother looked up from her tablet with a deep, dramatic frown.

Girls, that is quite enough for one afternoon.

Her reprimand lacked any real conviction, her eyes already drifting back to her screen.

The damage was already done, settling over my shoulders like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

I rose from my chair, lifting my chin and smoothing down the front of my worn sweater.

If you’ll excuse me, I believe I need to get some air before dinner is served.

I swept from the room before anyone could throw another barbed insult my way.

The moment the heavy oak doors closed behind me, I let out a long, shuddering breath.

How many more years of these agonizing family gatherings could I possibly endure?

How much longer would I be forced to serve as the object of their pity and poorly concealed mockery?

Careful.

A deep, resonant voice rumbled from the shadows near the grand staircase.

You nearly walked right into me.

I looked up sharply, my breath catching in my throat.

My eyes met the darkest, most intense gaze I had ever seen in my life.

He was tall, easily over six feet, with broad shoulders encased in an impeccably tailored black suit.

His dark hair was swept back perfectly, and his features were sharp, aristocratic, and devastatingly handsome.

I stepped back quickly, my heart doing a strange, erratic flutter against my ribs.

I am so sorry, I didn’t see you standing there in the dim light.

His gaze swept over me in a slow assessment that was neither unkind nor particularly warm.

You are Megan, I presume.

I swallowed hard, suddenly intensely aware of my plain clothing and messy hair.

I am.

He offered a slight, formal nod.

I am Tyler.

Tyler.

The tech billionaire my father had invited for the annual Christmas retreat, hoping to secure an investment.

Wealthy beyond measure, notoriously single, and entirely opposed to the very concept of marriage.

The society blogs painted him as cold, calculating, and completely impossible to impress.

Welcome to the estate.

I offered a polite, practiced smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

I hope your journey through the storm was tolerable.

He studied me, his dark eyes entirely unreadable.

You were fleeing something just now.

It wasn’t a question, but a quiet statement of fact.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, burning under his scrutiny.

I was simply seeking some fresh air.

In the middle of a raging winter storm.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in the ghost of a smile.

Or perhaps you were escaping the tender mercies of your cousins in the drawing room.

Mortification washed over me in a freezing, paralyzing wave.

I confess I overheard a portion of their rather loud conversation as I passed by.

I looked down at the polished floorboards, wishing they would swallow me whole.

You have no need to apologize for them or be embarrassed.

It was their cruelty on display, not yours, he said smoothly.

Though I confess I am deeply curious why you tolerate such blatant disrespect.

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it.

What choice do I really have?

I am twenty-six and unmarried in a family that values wealth and status above all else.

They have pronounced their final verdict on me years ago.

I am to be pitied, sidelined, and conveniently forgotten by the rest of the world.

Something flickered in the depths of his dark eyes.

How remarkably pragmatic of you to accept your fate.

It is called survival, I fired back, surprising myself with my own boldness.

He was silent for a long moment, simply watching me.

Tell me, Megan, do you ride horses?

The abrupt change of subject threw me completely off guard.

I do, though it has been quite some time since I last rode.

Tomorrow morning at seven, meet me at the stables.

He turned on his heel to walk away, his expensive shoes silent on the rug.

And Megan, bring your courage.

He glanced back over his broad shoulder.

I suspect you might need it.

Before I could find my voice to ask what he meant, he disappeared down the hall.

Dinner that evening was a completely torturous affair, as always.

I sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, wedged next to my spiteful cousin Ashley.

Tyler sat in the seat of honor next to my father, dominating the conversation with sharp intellect.

He needs an heiress, not a desperate charity case like you.

Ashley leaned in, whispering the venomous words directly into my ear under the cover of clinking silverware.

Do not develop any foolish notions about him, Megan.

The words struck like physical blows, reopening old wounds.

I kept my expression perfectly serene, refusing to let her see me bleed.

Ashley.

Tyler’s voice sliced through the dining room chatter like a freshly sharpened blade.

The entire table fell completely, terrifyingly silent.

I could not help but overhear your little comment just now.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his eyes as cold as winter frost.

What precisely constitutes a charity case in your estimation?

Ashley’s face drained of all color, her mouth opening and closing silently like a fish.

I merely meant—

In my experience, Tyler interrupted smoothly, not raising his voice.

Those who constantly concern themselves with categorizing others are desperately trying to secure their own precarious positions.

He took a slow, deliberate sip of his red wine.

Would you agree?

The silence in the room was absolute and suffocating.

Ashley looked as though she might burst into tears right there over her plate.

My father quickly cleared his throat, desperately trying to change the subject back to business.

As the chatter slowly resumed, Tyler looked down the length of the table directly at me.

He raised his glass in the smallest, most deliberate salute.

The next morning, I stood shivering in the freezing stables.

My breath plumed in the icy air as Tyler led out two magnificent, restless horses.

I honestly thought you wouldn’t come out here in the cold.

He handed me the thick leather reins of a beautiful gray mare.

I keep my promises, I replied, pulling myself up into the saddle.

We rode out into the frost-covered fields as the sun began to paint the sky in shades of pink and gold.

For the first time in years, the biting wind against my face made me feel entirely free.

When we finally slowed our pace near the edge of the woods, Tyler turned to me with a dead-serious expression.

I find myself in a rather frustrating predicament, Megan.

I waited, my pulse quickening as I watched his jaw clench.

My board of directors and my family are relentlessly pressuring me to settle down and marry.

The fortune hunters and social climbers have become absolutely unbearable everywhere I go.

I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders.

I fail to see how your social problems concern me in the slightest.

I observed how your family treats you, how they dismiss you.

He held my gaze, his eyes intense and unyielding.

We are both victims of their relentless expectations.

He stepped his horse closer to mine, his commanding presence overwhelming.

I propose a mutually beneficial arrangement.

He outlined his wild, unbelievable plan right there in the snow.

At the grand Christmas gala next week, we would pretend to be deeply in love and engaged.

He would gain instant respectability and finally silence his critics and the media.

I would gain the ultimate satisfaction of proving my cruel, judgmental family completely wrong.

It was utter madness, a plot straight out of one of my romance novels.

But the thought of the look on Brenda’s face made my heart race.

I set three strict, non-negotiable conditions for this charade.

We had to be totally convincing, we would separate amicably after the holidays, and there could be absolutely no real feelings involved.

He agreed instantly, without a second of hesitation.

I shook his hand, thinking it was just a simple business deal, completely unaware of the devastating secret he was hiding.