Fake Married To My Billionaire CEO

The fourth time in one month should have been enough to shame her.

Samantha Ray knew that. She knew it the moment the nurse looked up from the clipboard, narrowed her eyes, and recognized her. The donation room smelled sharply of antiseptic and latex gloves, with the faint metallic trace of blood lingering beneath the bright hospital lights. Everything was too clean, too white, too cold. Even the chair beneath her felt like it was meant to remind her that people only came here when they were desperate, sick, or willing to give something away.

Samantha had become all three.

The nurse adjusted her glasses and looked at Samantha over the rim of them. “Wait a second,” she said slowly. “I recognize you.”

Samantha tried to smile, but it came out weak and uneven. Her lips felt dry. Her hands were cold. “Oh,” she said, her voice quiet. “You do?”

“It’s the fourth time you’ve been here this month.”

The words landed harder than they should have. Samantha lowered her gaze to the pale blue sleeve rolled up above her elbow. She could still see the faint bruises from the last time. She had covered them with long sleeves at work, then with more excuses when Tad asked why she looked tired, why she moved slower, why she had stopped buying herself meals during lunch breaks.

He had not asked with concern. He had asked with irritation, like her exhaustion was one more inconvenience.

Still, Samantha said the same thing she had said every time someone warned her she was doing too much.

“I need the money.”

The nurse’s expression softened, but only a little. She had probably heard a thousand versions of that answer. Rent. Medicine. Debt. A sick parent. A child. An emergency. A life that had become too expensive to survive with dignity.

Samantha forced herself to continue. “It’s for my fiancé. Tad. He’s in law school, and I don’t make enough at my other three jobs.”

The nurse stared at her as if she had just confessed to walking into traffic for a man who would not even look both ways for her. “Your other three jobs?”

Samantha gave a small nod. Her throat tightened. There was no pride left in saying it, only habit. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” the nurse said gently, though her tone carried the firmness of someone who had seen too many people lie from hospital chairs. “You’ve donated a lot of blood. Too much. Sit for a bit before you leave.”

Samantha nodded because arguing would take energy she did not have.

Across the room, a television mounted high on the wall flickered from a commercial into an entertainment news segment. Samantha barely listened at first. Her world had shrunk to the beat of her pulse, the pinch in her arm, the way her body felt light in the wrong places, as if pieces of her were floating away.

Then the anchor’s cheerful voice cut through the sterile air.

“When we come back, Kaladin Van de Lee, the richest man in the country, is reportedly looking for a wife.”

A few heads in the room turned toward the screen.

Samantha did not.

Rich men looking for wives belonged to another universe. A glossy one. A universe of champagne towers, diamond bracelets, designer gowns, and women who did not count coins at the register before deciding whether dinner would be bread or instant noodles. Samantha lived in a world where love meant sacrificing her body so her fiancé could finish law school and become someone important.

On the television, the anchor continued with a conspiratorial smile. “Very few people know the true identity of the mysterious Mr. Van de Lee, but rumor has it he’ll know his future wife when he sees her.”

Someone nearby laughed.

Samantha closed her eyes.

A wife, she thought bitterly, was something rich men searched for like an accessory. For women like her, marriage was supposed to be proof that sacrifice had been worth it. It was supposed to be the future she was buying one bag of blood at a time.

The nurse returned and pressed cotton to Samantha’s arm. “You’re all set. But you need to rest before going anywhere.”

“I will,” Samantha said automatically.

She did not have time to rest. She had to pick up a late shift. She had to check whether Tad needed money for another textbook. She had to stop by the house before her stepmother complained again about the laundry, the dishes, or the invisible sins Samantha seemed to commit simply by existing.

A deep male voice spoke from the chair across the room.

“I’ll find a wife,” he said, calm and low, almost amused. “I don’t know when. But when I see her, I’ll know.”

Samantha opened her eyes.

The man seated there did not look like someone from the television segment. He wore simple work clothes, the kind that belonged to men who built things with their hands. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his sleeves pushed up in an unassuming way, his posture relaxed. Yet there was something about him that did not belong in the room. Something still and commanding. Even sitting down, he seemed larger than his surroundings, as if the hospital had been built around him and not the other way around.

The nurse moved toward him with surprising respect. “You’re all set, Mr. Van de Lee.”

Samantha froze.

The man looked up.

Their eyes met.

For a second, everything in the hospital seemed to still. The noise from the television blurred. The squeak of shoes on tile faded. Samantha felt exposed in a way she could not explain, as if this stranger had caught sight of more than her face, more than her bruised arm and worn shoes. As if he had seen the exhaustion she kept hidden under obedience, under apology, under all the years she had spent being useful to people who never loved her back.

The nurse’s words echoed inside her head.

Mr. Van de Lee.

Kaladin Van de Lee.

The richest man in the country.

“What are you doing here?” Samantha whispered before she could stop herself.

He looked at her as though her question did not offend him at all. “I built this hospital,” he said. “The least I can do is donate blood to my patients.”

His patients.

His hospital.

Samantha suddenly became very aware of her own reason for being there. Money. Always money. Money for Tad. Money for bills. Money to keep being tolerated by people who treated her like a burden.

The man’s gaze dropped briefly to the bandage on her arm, then lifted back to her face. Something sharpened in his expression. Not judgment. Concern.

“You’re anemic,” he said.

Samantha stiffened.

The nurse had said it once before, warning her that she needed to eat better, rest more, donate less. Samantha had nodded then too, as if rest and food were things she could simply choose.

The man stood, and the air shifted with him. “You can’t be selling your blood for money,” he said. “Are you crazy?”

The words should have sounded cruel, but they did not. They sounded startled, almost angry on her behalf.

Samantha’s face burned. “I need the money to pay for my fiancé’s law school.”

His jaw tightened. “Has he ever done anything for you?”

Before Samantha could answer, the door to the donation room opened.

“Tad?” she breathed.

Her fiancé walked in, but he was not alone.

For one fragile second, Samantha’s heart lifted out of habit. Tad was here. Maybe he had come to check on her. Maybe he had finally realized how hard she had been working, how much she had been giving, how desperately she needed him to tell her that all of this meant something.

Then she saw the woman on his arm.

Vanessa.

Her stepsister.

Perfectly dressed, perfectly made up, smiling like she had walked into the room to watch a show staged just for her. Her manicured hand clung to Tad’s arm possessively, and Tad did not pull away. He did not even look ashamed.

Samantha’s pulse crashed.

“You’re hooking up with my cousin?” she asked, though the words barely came out.

Tad looked uncomfortable for half a second. Vanessa did not.

Samantha tried again, louder this time, the room spinning around her. “You’re hooking up with my cousin?”

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. I should have known Dracula’s concubine would be here selling her blood again.”

The insult sliced through the room. A few people turned. Samantha felt every stare like a needle.

“Tad,” she said, forcing herself to look only at him. “You’re sleeping with my cousin after I’ve been slaving away to put you through law school?”

Tad’s face twisted, not with guilt, but annoyance. “I dropped out of school ages ago.”

Samantha stared at him.

The words did not make sense at first. They struck her, bounced off, then returned with brutal clarity.

Dropped out.

Ages ago.

Her hands went numb. “Where is all the money I’ve been giving you?”

Vanessa lifted her left hand and wiggled her fingers.

A ring glittered there.

“On my finger,” she said sweetly.

Samantha felt something inside her tear.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a quiet ripping, like the final thread of a dress giving way after being pulled too many times.

“Don’t worry,” Vanessa continued. “You won’t be invited to the wedding. I wouldn’t want some ugly loser ruining the photos.”

Samantha turned back to Tad, searching his face for the man she had loved, the man she had starved for, worked for, bled for. “We were supposed to get married.”

Tad gave a short laugh. “You really thought we were going to get married?”

The humiliation was so complete that Samantha forgot how to breathe.

Vanessa leaned closer to him, one hand drifting to her stomach. “Besides, we wouldn’t want the twins to be born out of wedlock.”

“Twins?” Samantha whispered.

Tad looked away.

That was the answer.

Vanessa’s smile sharpened. “Now get out of here, creep. Take your literal blood money with you.”

She shoved an envelope toward Samantha. It fell against her chest, then dropped to the floor.

Something in Samantha’s chest collapsed.

All those nights working until her feet blistered. All those meals skipped. All those times she told herself Tad was stressed, Tad was busy, Tad loved her in his own way. All the blood she had sold while convincing herself that sacrifice was the shape of devotion.

It had bought Vanessa a ring.

It had bought Samantha nothing.

“She tried to kill me,” Vanessa suddenly cried, stumbling backward with theatrical panic though Samantha had not moved. “Face it, Sam. No one wants to marry you. No one ever will.”

The words echoed.

No one wants you.

No one ever will.

Samantha bent to pick up the envelope with shaking fingers. Not because she wanted it, but because her body no longer knew what else to do.

Then the calm male voice from behind her spoke.

“I’ll marry her.”

The room went silent.

Samantha froze with one hand near the floor.

Slowly, she looked up.

The stranger stood there, tall and unreadable, his eyes fixed not on Vanessa or Tad, but on Samantha.

“What?” Vanessa snapped, then laughed. “Oh, isn’t that perfect? A match made in loser heaven. Look, he sold his blood too. Maybe you two can spend your honeymoon letting them harvest your organs.”

Samantha’s cheeks burned, but the man did not flinch.

Vanessa stepped closer and kicked the envelope across the floor. “Pick that up,” she sneered. “If this broke skank needs money so badly, let me do her a favor.”

She opened her purse, pulled out bills, and tossed them at Samantha’s feet.

“Keep the change, bitch.”

Something moved faster than Samantha could follow.

The man stepped between them.

His voice dropped into a dangerous calm. “Don’t.”

Vanessa blinked, surprised for the first time.

A doctor hurried in, drawn by the commotion. “Sir, are these people bothering you?”

The man did not look away from Tad and Vanessa. “Yes, doctor. They’re terrorizing my pregnant fiancée. If they don’t stop, she could miscarry.”

Samantha’s breath caught.

Pregnant fiancée?

Vanessa’s mouth fell open. Tad looked startled, then offended, as if someone else’s lie had been rude enough to interrupt his own.

The doctor’s face hardened instantly. “Security.”

“What?” Vanessa cried. “No, she’s not pregnant.”

The man tilted his head slightly. “Are you willing to risk that?”

Within seconds, hospital security entered. The atmosphere changed. The same people who had watched Samantha be humiliated now moved with sudden authority. Tad protested. Vanessa shrieked. Neither of them looked powerful anymore.

“What are you doing?” Vanessa demanded as a security guard guided her toward the door. “I am a patient.”

“Not at this hospital, you’re not,” the doctor said coldly.

Tad turned back once, his face twisted with fury. “You’ll regret this, Sam.”

Samantha did not answer.

She could not.

The door closed behind them, and the room exhaled.

For a moment, Samantha stood in the wreckage of her life, surrounded by blood donation chairs, fluorescent lights, scattered bills, and the stranger who had just called her his fiancée.

Her knees weakened.

The man turned to her at once. “Sit down.”

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

“You’re not.”

This time, she did not argue. She sank into the nearest chair, her body trembling so hard she had to clasp her hands in her lap.

The nurse brought water. Samantha accepted it with both hands. She tried to drink, but her throat worked painfully around the first swallow.

The stranger crouched slightly in front of her, not too close, not touching her, but near enough that she could see his eyes clearly. They were not cruel. Not pitying either. That might have been worse. They held something steadier than pity.

Respect.

And somehow, that almost broke her more than the betrayal had.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Samantha whispered.

His brows drew together. “You’re not the one who should be embarrassed.”

A laugh escaped her, small and bitter. “You just watched my whole life fall apart.”

“I watched people reveal who they really were.”

She looked down at the bandage on her arm. “I don’t even know what I’m going to do now.”

The answer came without hesitation.

“Now,” he said, “we get married.”

Samantha looked at him.

For a second, she thought she had misheard. Maybe the blood loss was worse than she thought. Maybe humiliation could turn into hallucination if it became too heavy to carry.

“I’m sorry,” she said slowly. “What?”

“We get married.”

She stared at him. “No. This is crazy.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“I don’t know anything about you.”

His expression did not change. “What do you want to know?”

Samantha almost laughed again, but there was no humor left in her. “I don’t know. Your favorite color?”

“Blue,” he said. Then, after a pause, “Light blue, actually. Like those eyes.”

Her breath caught.

It was ridiculous. It was impossible. It was the kind of line a woman like Vanessa would have turned into a flirtation, but Samantha had forgotten how to receive tenderness without suspicion. Compliments usually came with a hook. Kindness usually came before a demand.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

“You know I’m broke. You know I was betrayed. You know I’m stupid enough to work three jobs and sell my blood for a man who was cheating on me.”

His gaze sharpened. “I know you are loyal. I know you endure more than most people could. I know you gave everything to someone who didn’t deserve a single piece of you.”

Samantha looked away before he could see the tears gathering in her eyes.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said.

“Cal,” he answered.

She frowned faintly. “Just Cal?”

“For now.”

There was a secret in the answer, but Samantha was too exhausted to chase it. “Cal,” she repeated.

He offered his hand. “Marry me, Samantha Ray.”

Her name sounded different in his mouth. Not like a burden. Not like an insult. Not like something called from another room when there was a mess to clean.

It sounded like a promise.

“This can’t be real,” she whispered.

“It can be.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing you don’t choose to give.”

Her fingers curled around the cup of water. “And what do I get?”

His answer was quiet, but absolute. “You will never have to sell another drop of blood for the rest of your life.”

The tears fell then. Samantha hated them. She hated crying in front of strangers, hated the way weakness invited cruelty in her world. But Cal did not mock her. He only waited.

Somewhere deep inside her, beneath the exhaustion, beneath the betrayal, beneath years of being told she was unwanted, something lifted its head.

Maybe it was pride.

Maybe it was survival.

Maybe it was the part of her that had not died no matter how many people tried to starve it.

Samantha wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and stood.

“Okay,” she said, though her voice shook. “Okay.”

Cal’s gaze held hers. “Okay?”

She swallowed. Tad’s laughter still rang in her ears. Vanessa’s ring still flashed in her memory. Her stepmother’s voice, her stepsister’s cruelty, every unpaid bill and every sleepless night pressed against her from all sides.

But in front of her stood a man who had stepped in when no one else had.

A man who had called her worth protecting.

A man who was offering her a door.

Samantha did not know where it led. She did not know if she was being foolish all over again. She did not know if tomorrow she would wake and regret this moment with every fractured piece of her heart.

But she knew one thing with sudden, aching clarity.

Her old life had already ended.

She lifted her chin.

“I’ll marry you,” she said.

For the first time that day, Cal smiled. Not widely. Not triumphantly. Just enough to warm the cold hospital air around them.

“Then let’s begin.”