My Husband Bet Me Away, But the Winner Was a Hidden Billionaire

The white wedding dress makes me feel like a doll.

I stand at this altar that's so fancy it makes my eyes hurt, in the most expensive winery in Napa Valley, surrounded by Silicon Valley's elite. Everyone's wearing perfect suits and designer dresses, holding champagne, looking at me with those eyes I've gotten used to.

'Those eyes again.'

"God, is she really retarded?" A woman's voice drifts up from the crowd below. She thinks she's whispering, but I hear every word.

"Poor Tyler, married to such a burden." Another man chimes in. "But Sullivan money still spends well."

My hands start shaking. The lace sleeves of my wedding dress cover my arms, but they can't hide the trembling in my heart. I try to keep smiling, just like Dad taught me—'Emma, you need to be good, be obedient, so people will like you.'

Tyler stands beside me, looking like he stepped off a magazine cover. His suit is custom Armani, his watch is Patek Philippe, his hair is perfectly styled. But the way he looks at me... like I'm some problem he has to deal with.

"Don't talk, just stand there and don't embarrass yourself," he says under his breath, wearing that fake smile he uses for the media.

More whispers float up from the crowd:

"The Morrison family really went all out for Sullivan's retail channels..."

"I heard she's not bad at drawing, but her brain..."

"Shh, don't say that, she can hear you."

I want to cry, but I can't. Today is my wedding day. I should be happy. I try to make my smile brighter: "Tyler, I'll try really hard to be a good wife. I'll learn to cook, I'll take care of you, I promise."

He glances at me, irritation flashing in his eyes: "Yeah, whatever."

The minister starts reading those traditional vows. When he asks Tyler if he takes me as his wife, Tyler's answer is as brief as signing a business contract: "I do."

When it's my turn, my voice shakes a little: "I do. I really, really do."

Someone in the crowd laughs.

When Tyler is supposed to kiss me, he just barely brushes my cheek, like checking off a task. Camera flashes go crazy, and I know what tomorrow's gossip headlines will say—"Tech Prince's Charity Marriage," "The Morrison Family's Good Deed."

As I gazed upon Tyler's icy countenance, a fleeting memory flickered through my mind.

Blood. So much blood.

I'm lying on white hospital sheets, my head wrapped in thick bandages. Dad sits beside the bed, his eyes all red.

"Emma, baby, you're awake." He holds my small hand. "Your brain got hurt, made you a little slower, so you need to be extra good and obedient from now on, or no one will want you."

Eight-year-old me doesn't understand what "slower" means, so I just nod: "I'll be really good, Daddy."

"Good girl. Daddy will protect you, find you a good home."

I blink and snap back to reality. Tyler is toasting with his friends, not even glancing my way.

The reception goes smoothly—at least for everyone else. I sit at the head table, watching Tyler and his Stanford buddies talk about blockchain, metaverse, AI, whatever. I don't understand any of it, can't join the conversation.

"Emma, come on, let's toast." Tyler raises his champagne glass, but he holds it far from mine, like he's afraid touching my glass might be contagious.

I lift my glass, trying to reach over and clink it with his, but he's already moved his away.

"Cheers to the happy couple!" someone shouts.

Everyone laughs, everyone claps.

Finally, the endless reception ends. Tyler leads me to a private lounge in the winery. It's just the two of us, and he finally drops that fake smile.

"Tyler, we're going to be happy together, right?" I ask carefully, my voice as quiet as a whisper.

He turns to look at me, then laughs. But that laugh scares me.

"Happy?" His voice drips with mockery. "Emma, you're dreaming. This is just business."

I blink in confusion: "What's business?"

Tyler loosens his tie and sits on the couch, crossing his legs. He looks relaxed, but his eyes are dangerous: "You don't need to understand complicated things. You just need to obey."

"I always obey." I sit across from him, carefully smoothing my wedding dress.

"Yes, you do obey." He nods, then suddenly smiles—the kind of smile that reminds me of the big bad wolf in fairy tales. "That's exactly why you're useful to me."

Useful? I'm even more confused: "What can I help you with? I'll try really hard to learn."

Tyler stands and walks to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the Napa Valley night. His hands are in his pockets, looking like a successful businessman.

"There's a party tonight. You have to come with me." He doesn't turn around, his voice calm but not sounding like a request.

"Okay, I like parties." I say happily. "Will there be lots of people?"

"There will be some... special friends." He turns around, something I can't read flashing in his eyes. "Emma, some debts need to be paid."

Debts? What debts?

I want to ask, but seeing Tyler's expression, I don't dare. All my life, adults have said things I don't understand, then told me "you don't need to know these things."

"Do I need to change clothes?" I ask.

"No, wear the wedding dress." Tyler's smile deepens. "You'll be very... eye-catching tonight."

Why do I feel like his "eye-catching" doesn't mean anything good?

My hand unconsciously touches my smart bracelet—Dad gave it to me, said if I'm ever in danger I can press the emergency button. But what counts as danger? Tyler is my husband, Dad said he'll take care of me.

"Tyler," I gather courage to ask, "what do you mean by debts?"

He walks over and crouches in front of me, reaching out to touch my face. His hand is cold.

"Silly Emma," he says softly, his voice sounding gentle but his eyes ice-cold, "some things you don't need to understand. You just need to remember that starting tonight, you're not Sullivan's daughter anymore. You're Morrison property."

Property?

I don't really understand that word, but it doesn't sound like anything good.

Tyler stands up and starts texting on his phone: "Ready? We should go. Tonight's going to be very interesting."

I look at him, feeling an uneasiness I can't explain. But I still nod, like I always do.

"Okay, Tyler. I'm ready."

He smiles, that kind of smile that reminds me of the whispering wedding guests.

'Emma, you need to be good, be obedient.' Dad's words echo in my ears.

But why do I feel like this time, being obedient might not be a good thing?

Tyler is already walking toward the door: "Let's go, Mrs. Morrison. It's time."

Mrs. Morrison. That's my new name.

I stand up, the white wedding dress trailing on the floor, following my new husband into the unknown night.