The Millionaire’s Arranged Marriage (The Alexanders #1)

CHAPTER 1

Dilvan

Dilvan stepped out of the shower in his ensuite bathroom, standing on the heated marble floors, drying off his smooth, muscular body while conceitedly admiring himself in the mirror.

He loved what he saw – washboard abs, blemish-free, caramel skin, toned thighs and arms. He smiled.

The time he spent maintaining his build was well worth the effort.

He raked excess water from his short, black, curly hair, and after sliding into a thick robe, he sauntered down the hallway to his wife’s bedroom.

He pushed the door open and slowly crept across the floor to her bed.

An evil smile touched his exfoliated lips.

She was lying there, sleeping soundly, her kinky hair gathered into a high ponytail, her signature hairstyle.

Her smooth, dark chocolate skin was a direct contrast to the beige sheets that covered the queen-size bed.

She was skinny – too small for his liking.

He liked his women with a bit more cake, he’d said – natural or BBL – he didn’t care.

Shoot, truth be told, any woman was better than the one lying up in his guest bedroom.

Dilvan turned up his nose. He couldn’t stand her – that was a given – so why was he here again, looming over her bed like a dark storm cloud, waiting to empty?

Every Tuesday and Thursday night, he found himself right there – watching her rest with his nostrils flared, yet thinking of how much pleasure he’d experience when he slid between her legs.

That’s what brought him here and kept him coming back.

He needed her. Needed a connection, and well, since she was his wife and he was bound by a stupid contractual agreement that his mother cooked up, he would make the best of it.

He didn’t necessarily need to like a woman to sleep with her.

He’d been doing that for years with countless others.

What was one more? He didn’t need to be attracted to her. He just needed a release.

When he pulled back the covers, Gabrielle’s eyes shot open.

She instantly frowned, though she quickly fixed her face.

She wanted to do nothing to displease Dilvan.

If she was a good wife, cooked, cleaned, and made herself and her body available for him any time he wanted, he’d come around.

Learn to love her. That’s what she was hoping for.

But every time he settled between her thighs, there was no love.

No affection. No nothing. She felt pain, saw anger on his face and in his eyes.

Even when she tried to touch him, he slapped her hands away.

“Dilvan,” she said desperately, trying to find the human in him.

The heart.

A bit of compassion.

A man whom she knew was capable of treating her with respect and love, but there was nothing there. The coldness, the emptiness in his eyes told her there was nothing.

“Dilvan,” she said again, urgently this time. “Please. I just want to love you.”

“Shut up.”

“I—”

“I said shut up.”

“Am I not good to you?”

He didn’t say a word. He only moved his body, doing the deed without any kind of attachment. It was just cold. Heartless. One-sided. Emotionless.

Gabrielle closed her eyes, squeezing out a tear in the process. She tried. She really did, but how can you get through to someone whose heart is surrounded by ice and hate? It was nearly impossible.

THIRTY minutes later, Dilvan headed back down the hallway to his bedroom, walking tall with an open robe, a true tyrannical king of his castle.

His six-bedroom beach abode was his throne.

He ruled his empire, and this dreadful woman that his mother had matched him with would not be his queen.

Six more months of seeing her disgusting face and he would be able to freely choose his own bride – preferably the bikini model he’d been admiring for some time.

Her name was Isabella Torres. She was beautiful, Brazilian, with the same medium complexion as him.

She had a head full of long, silky black hair, adorable eyes, and a tight, fit body.

The last time he saw her was on a beach in Emerald Isle, where he’d been modeling a new line of men’s swimwear.

Isabella had been slathered in suntan lotion, glistening under the sunlight, wearing a two-piece, American flag bikini that was so skimpy, she may as well had on nothing.

Her pretty toes were covered in grains of sand as her voluminous hair swayed in the ocean breeze.

That’s the woman he wanted. Gabrielle needed to disappear.

Why hadn’t she dipped yet?

He made it clear that he didn’t want her.

That he was only using her. He hadn’t allowed Gabrielle to sleep in his bed, nor set foot into his bedroom.

No woman had been good enough for that privilege, especially a wife he didn’t want.

A woman he was not attracted to and had zero feelings for. A woman he was forced to marry.

His mother, Padma Alexander, had chosen Gabrielle to be his wife.

In Sri Lankan culture, arranged marriages were the norm, and though they had relocated to the states – Southern Shores, North Carolina to be exact – Padma still wanted her youngest son, Dilvan, to marry a woman of her choosing – not his.

According to her, Dilvan was too foolish and shallow to choose a decent woman on his own.

One who could keep a house, cook, and raise children.

His brother, Prasad, was allowed to choose his own bride, but Dilvan.

No way. Padma wasn’t having it. She knew her boys, especially Dilvan, and this was the safest avenue for him.

And it came with rules. During the duration of his marriage, he couldn’t be with any other woman.

He had to remain married for at least a year or he’d be cut off from the family fortune.

Dilvan was defiant against the marriage, but the thought of missing out on his share of money ultimately pushed him to go along with his mother’s plan.

Due to his frivolous spending, his bank account was shrinking daily.

He had acquired a yellow Ferrari, a beach house in Belize, and watches that cost more than what some people made in a year.

He’d already owned two other luxury vehicles – a silver Maserati and red Lamborghini, and he lived in a six-bedroom beach house in Southern Shores.

So, he agreed to the marriage only because he needed a cut of the family money to maintain his lavish lifestyle.

Modeling sure wasn’t going to cut it. Most people in the business couldn’t stand working with him, so that family money – he had to get his hands on it.

Besides, he had a plan of his own when it came to this unwanted marriage to Gabrielle.

He’d make her suffer. He couldn’t leave, but there was nothing to stop her from leaving.

If he treated her badly enough, maybe she would, and he gave it a valiant effort.

However, six months into their arrangement, she was still around to his dismay.

But he stayed encouraged. He knew she was almost at her breaking point.