Married To The Undercover Billionaire Boss

Chapter 3

Word Count: 826 | Released on: 20/04/2026

partment. The heavy stench of cheap floral perfume and

ing room sofa, blowing on her freshly painted red nails. B

d a table at a fancy steakhouse. Go put on t

teady. She walked straight to the scratched coffee table. She unzipped her bag, pulled

ck echoed in

ed, picking up the paper. Her eyes scanned the

e hell is this? Is this a joke?" her v

inching. "I'm married. The d

mottled, ugly red. The finder's fee she was supposed

Her sharp nails dug vic

d, shaking Ayla's arm. "What does h

ack violently. She ru

"There is no money. There is no dowry

to gasoline. Brenda let out a

er at Ayla's face. "You threw away a rich man for a broke

ut of the bedroom, wearing wrinkled pajamas. He l

a, his eyes full of sorrow and fear. "Ayla...

ther. Her chest ached

ife, Leo," Ayla said, her voice c

your trash out of my house! If you're marr

'm packing right now. I wou

om in a fit of rage. She stormed back into her be

ick and suffocating. Leo looked at the floor, hi

box. He dug through a pile of receipts and pulled out a crumpled p

t was a check for o

Her throat closed up. "Leo, no. Yo

se over the paper. His voice was a thick, wet whisper. "Take

neck and hugged him tightly. A hot tear slipped down

ed the sheets off the narrow bed. She grabbed two old cardboard boxes and shoved her clothes

p breath to steady her racing heart. She pu

times befor

silent. A hollow, echoing quiet that sounded like a mass

busy? I need to move my boxes. If y

wo-second pau

nutes," Drake's deep voice

stared at the blank wall, her stomach twisting with a

Chapter End

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Married To The Undercover Billionaire Boss

Noah Modern

“To escape my sister-in-law selling me off to a local thug, I married a complete stranger I met at City Hall. My new husband, Drake, claimed to be a broke Uber driver who could barely make rent. He even made me sign a brutal ten-page prenup just to ensure I wouldn't take his rusted, beat-up Ford sedan if we ever divorced. I thought I was just sharing a decaying Brooklyn apartment with a struggling man at the bottom of the ladder. But things quickly stopped making sense. When that local thug cornered me at a restaurant, my "weak" husband didn't cower. Instead, he dismantled three massive mobsters in ten seconds with the terrifying, fluid speed of an apex predator. "I used to be a human punching bag in an underground boxing gym to pay off debts." I believed his excuse, until his supposedly homeless grandfather showed up at our door in a moth-eaten sweater, begging to sleep on our lumpy sofa. Before going to sleep, the old man casually pressed a heavy, intricately engraved pocket watch into my hand as a wedding gift. He claimed it was a cheap flea market find that didn't even keep time. But the sheer weight of the solid rose gold and the flawless mechanical gears inside screamed otherwise. Why did a destitute driver have the aura of a man who controlled empires? And what kind of homeless old man casually hands over a priceless, museum-grade antique? I had no idea the "broke driver" sleeping on my floor was actually a ruthless billionaire CEO, and I had just walked straight into his trap.”