Resisting My Billionaire's Return

The scent of lilies hung thick in the air, their funeral sweetness turning my stomach as I knelt in the dim light of the cathedral. My black dress felt too tight across my shoulders, constricting my already labored breathing as I tried to focus on my prayer.

Six days. Just six more days until I would have to stand at this same altar for a very different ceremony.

The cathedral's vastness amplified even the softest sounds, which was why I could hear my mother's hushed voice from several pews behind me, despite her attempt at discretion.

"Robert, please. There must be another way." My mother's whisper carried the weight of desperation. "Sarah shouldn't have to sacrifice herself like this. Her dad just passed away, and her brother is still in critical condition."

"Margaret," my uncle's tone was measured, calculated, "this was Sarah's choice. The contract is signed."

I rose from my prayer position, the rustle of my dress echoing through the sacred space. Turning to face them, I watched their expressions shift from surprise to guilt at being overheard.

"Mom." My voice remained steady, though my heart ached at her obvious distress. "Uncle Robert is right. This was my decision."

My mother's face crumpled. "But sweetheart, marrying a man in a vegetative state? This isn't what your father would have wanted."

"What Father would have wanted," I met my uncle's gaze directly, "was for Le Mitchell to survive. For his legacy to continue." I stepped closer, my heels clicking against the stone floor. "And I will do whatever it takes to protect what he built."

A slight twitch in his jaw betrayed his irritation, but his smile remained perfectly pleasant. "My dear niece, I'm only trying to help preserve our family's legacy."

"By interfering in every decision I make?" I raised an eyebrow. "Le Mitchell is my responsibility now."

I smoothed my dress, a gesture my grandmother had taught me to maintain composure. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a wedding to prepare for."

The week passed in a blur of final arrangements and sleepless nights. Before I knew it, I stood before the same altar, this time dressed in white. The cathedral was filled with Manhattan's elite – bankers, politicians, old money families – all here to witness the unusual union of Sarah Mitchell to James Thornton, the young financial prodigy who hadn't opened his eyes in six months.

I could feel their whispers, see their poorly concealed curiosity. The story had been all over the society pages: James Thornton's yacht explosion, his miraculous survival but unfortunate condition, and now this wedding, orchestrated by his grandmother Elizabeth after consulting some renowned psychic who claimed the celebration's positive energy might aid his recovery.

What they didn't know was the price tag attached to this arrangement – eight million dollars, transferred to an account that would help save Le Mitchell from financial ruin after my father's death.

The ceremony itself was surreal. James remained in his private medical suite at Moon Lake Estate, while I exchanged vows with his official proxy. Every "I do" echoed through the cathedral like a business contract being sealed, which, in essence, it was.

Moon Lake Estate loomed before me as my car pulled through the iron gates that evening.

Mrs. Wilson, the head housekeeper, waited at the entrance. Her posture was impeccable, her gray hair pulled into a severe bun that matched her equally severe expression.

"Welcome, Mrs. Thornton," she said, the new title falling from her lips with practiced neutrality. "I trust the ceremony went well?"

"Yes, thank you." I matched her professional tone. "Where is James Thornton?"

"Mr. Thornton is upstairs with Miss Anderson. His lover."

Before I could respond, a young maid – Jenny, according to her nametag – stepped forward to take my coat.

"Would you like me to show you to your room, Mrs. Thornton?" Jenny's smile seemed genuine, unlike Mrs. Wilson's careful mask.

As we climbed the grand staircase, Jenny lowered her voice. "Mrs. Thornton, I hope you don't mind me saying, but... be careful of Madeleine Anderson. She's been here almost every day since the accident, and she's made sure most of the staff are... loyal to her."

I paused on the landing. "Thank you, Jenny. I appreciate your honesty."

The master suite occupied the entire west wing of the second floor. Jenny's knock was answered by a woman. I assumed she was Madeleine Anderson.

She was blonde, beautiful, and wearing an expression of practiced concern that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Sarah," she stepped forward as if to embrace me, then thought better of it. "I was just keeping James company. He always loved having me read to him."

I entered the room, taking in the medical equipment that had transformed the bedroom into a private hospital suite. James lay still on the bed, his strong features peaceful in repose. A strange flutter went through my chest – this was the first time I'd seen my husband in person.

"How thoughtful of you," I replied, setting my purse down. "Though your services won't be necessary anymore."

Her practiced smile faltered. "James and I share a special bond. Surely you understand that a marriage certificate doesn't change years of history?"

"No, but it does change legal rights and responsibilities." I met her gaze steadily. "Mrs. Wilson?"

The housekeeper appeared in the doorway. "Yes, Mrs. Thornton?"

"Please escort Miss Anderson out. From now on, she is not permitted to enter the estate without my explicit permission."

Madeleine's face flushed with anger. "You can't do this. You don't know him. You don't know what music he likes, what makes him laugh, how he takes his coffee—"

"I know that he's a brilliant financier who built an empire from nothing. I know he values loyalty above all else. And I know that despite your years of 'history,' he never proposed to you." The words were sharp, precise. "Now, please leave before I have security remove you."

"You think this is about money? About status?" Her voice rose, echoing off the wood-paneled walls. "I love him. We love each other. And when he wakes up—"

"If and when my husband wakes up, we will deal with that situation as it comes. Mrs. Wilson, please—"

"Don't you dare!" Madeleine's composure shattered completely. Her eyes blazed as she backed away from Mrs. Wilson's approach. "Nobody can throw me out. I'm carrying James's child – who would dare touch me?"

The words hung in the air like smoke. I kept my expression neutral, even as my mind raced through the implications. "That's a serious claim, Madeleine."

"It's not a claim, it's the truth." Her hand moved protectively to her stomach. "James and I were together the night before the accident. I'm carrying his child, and there's nothing you or your marriage certificate can do about that."