The Billionaire’s Virgin Bride

“You can do this, Martha. Just one more push and it’ll all be over,” the doctor said in a warm, reassuring voice.

Martha shook her head, her feet digging into the mattress. “I… I can’t. I don’t think I have any more strength,” she stammered between ragged breaths, tears streaming down her face and mixing with the sweat on her skin.

A young nurse held Martha’s legs open and leaned closer. “The baby’s head is already out, Martha. Just one more push and this will all be over.”

Martha let out a shaky breath, swallowing hard before exhaling loudly through her mouth.

“Arrrrrrrrghhhhh!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, forcing herself to push. 

Her eyes widened so much it looked like they might pop out of their sockets.

And then, with one final effort, the baby’s body slid out of her and into the waiting hands of the nurses.

“Finally,” Martha murmured to herself, exhaling deeply as she shut her eyes.

“Finally,” she whispered again, hearing the newborn’s first cries echoing through the delivery room.

Martha’s chest rose and fell in heavy waves as the attending doctor approached her bedside.

“Congratulations, Martha, you’ve just given birth to a beautiful baby girl,” the doctor said warmly, her lips curved into a proud smile. “Would you like to hold her?”

Martha nodded slowly and opened her eyes, prompting the doctor to signal the nurse holding the newborn.

The nurse gently transferred the baby into the doctor’s arms, who then placed the infant carefully into Martha’s outstretched arms.

“She’s so beautiful,” Martha whispered with a soft smile but before anyone could respond, Martha smile faded. 

Her eyes suddenly rolled back, turning completely white as her body began to convulse violently.

“Something’s wrong!” the doctor shouted, swiftly lifting the baby from Martha’s arms and handing her to a nurse.

“Get the crash cart, now!” she ordered as another nurse placed an oxygen mask over Martha’s face.

Martha’s heart monitor began to spike erratically, her pulse rate shooting into the 180s.

“She’s going into cardiac arrest!” the doctor barked, grabbing a penlight and checking Martha pupils, which were dilated and unresponsive.

A nurse placed the shock pads on Martha’s chest while the doctor got the machine ready.

“Charging to 200 joules… Clear!”

The shock jolted Martha’s body off the bed. A moment of silence followed, then the heart monitor beeped frantically again.

“Still no pulse,” the doctor muttered. “Another round. Charging to 300. Clear!”

The team repeated chest compressions and after several rounds of advanced cardiac life support…

The flatline tone pierced the room.

Despite every effort, Martha… was gone.

Nineteen years later

“Where… where the hell are you, Claudia?” a male voice barked in anger as he stormed into Claudia’s room. 

His eyes darted around, his vision blurry. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of his surroundings, but to his surprise, the room was empty.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he growled, spinning around and marching out of the room, heading straight to the kitchen.

There, Claudia stood with her back to him, quietly doing the dishes, headphones over her ears.

Fuming, Mr. Addison rushed to her side and yanked the headphones off her head.

“Are you deaf? Didn’t you… didn’t you hear me calling your name?” he snapped, seething with rage.

Startled, Claudia turned around quickly to meet her father’s bloodshot gaze.

He reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were so red it was clear he was struggling to stay awake.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mr. Addison asked, his legs trembling slightly, though he forced himself to stay upright.

Claudia swallowed hard and steadied herself. She had grown so used to her father’s drunken outbursts that it barely fazed her anymore.

She'd heard that drunk voice a thousand times.

“Besides, he says the reason he can’t stop drinking is because I’m the one who caused Mom’s death,” Claudia thought to herself.

“Hey!” Her father snapped. “I asked you a question. What are you doing?”

“I’m doing the dishes, Dad,” Claudia said softly. “Can you please give me back my headphones?”

Ever since her father’s drinking had worsened, he would beat Claudia whenever he came home. 

The only thing that brought Claudia a sense of peace and safety was the music she always listened to.

“Whoa!” Mr. Addison slurred, staggering from one side of the kitchen to the other, a crooked smirk on his lips. “So… so you’re getting bolder each day, huh?” 

He tossed the headphones toward Claudia, but she missed, and they fell to the floor.

“Oh gosh,” Claudia mumbled, crouching down to pick them up.

Before she could stand, her father lurched forward, grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer, and bent down, pressing the tip of the blade against Claudia’s neck.

Mr. Addison blinked a few times, swaying slightly.

“You, Claudia… You have to go to your room, pack your things, and get out of my house!”

Claudia swallowed hard, her throat bobbing visibly. She knew she had to be careful. One wrong word, and he wouldn’t hesitate to cut her.

“Where do you expect me to go?” Claudia asked in a low voice.

She had thought about running away more times than she could count, but each time, the same question stopped her: where would she go? 

The only thing her father had ever provided her in nineteen years was the roof over her head.

Other than that, he barely provided meals, clothing, or the basic necessities, forcing Claudia to start working from a very young age.

“Umm…” Mr. Addison muttered, pressing his lips together and blinking rapidly. “Well, I owe a huge debt at the club I go to, and… and I made a deal with the club owner.”

Mr. Addison hesitated for a moment, withdrawing the knife from her throat, only to press it back moments later.

“I signed a marriage contract between you and the club owner. He’s rich and he needs you to be his wife for some time until I can pay off the debt I owe.”

Claudia froze.

“You… you signed a marriage contract without even telling me?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Why would you…”

Claudia’s words cut off as the pressure of Mr. Addison’s knife against her throat increased, drawing a thin line of blood that trailed slowly down to her chest.

“You killed your… you killed your mother, Claudia,” Mr. Addison slurred. “It’s best I send you away before you end up killing me too.”

Tears streamed down Claudia’s cheeks but she didn’t flinch. 

She didn't argue.

She just nodded.

"Alright," Claudia said quietly, her voice hollow. "I'll get married."