9- Evania
I stared at him.
Not for drama—I just froze. My brain stalled between disbelief and reckless hope, and my body hadn’t moved on. Callahan sat beside me, impatience etched on his face, as if he hadn’t just dropped news that could upend everything I understood.
A billionaire.
His words echoed again, refusing to settle.
And the more he spoke, the more excited I became.
That realization made me clamp down hard on my reactions. Excitement was dangerous. Excitement led to mistakes, to telling on yourself, to letting dreams get too loud too fast. I’d learned that lesson early. Wanting too much only ever ended in disappointment.
So I swallowed it down.
I forced my face into a neutral expression, keeping my reactions minimal. If this was real and he was telling the truth, I wasn't going to ruin it by acting like a girl who'd spent too many nights with romance novels and cheap wine, imagining impossible lives.
Because that was felt. Impossible.
And yet, it was happening to me.
My chest buzzed with anticipation and suspicion; excitement gave way to confusion. Nothing about Callahan matched my expectations. He was handsome, but there were no bodyguards at the door, no sleek black cars outside, no paparazzi waiting with cameras raised.
It was just him.
If he were a billionaire, where was the proof of it in the world around him?
Romance novels had taught me that wealth announced itself. That men like him couldn’t walk into places unnoticed, couldn’t exist quietly. They were followed, photographed, and whispered about. Their lives were public property.
Unless the books were lying.
Or he was.
I studied him again, slower this time, cataloging details as if I were building a case.
His clothes were simple. Well-made, sure—but not flashy.
No obvious designer logos. No jewelry that screamed that he was rich.
His phone looked like everyone else’s phone.
Aside from his otherworldly good looks, he looked ordinary.
He shifted in his seat, the longer I stared at him. "Say something," he blurted.
I took that chance to look away from him, realizing I was staring in silence for far too long.
"Please," he added, I hated the edge of desperation creeping into his voice. "Anything. You can yell. Hit me. Tell me I'm insane. Just do something."
I looked back at him, spoon poised in midair. I sighed softly and set the bowl down on the table. Then I asked, completely straight-faced—
"Are you really a billionaire?"
He nodded. I studied his face, searching for cracks. A twitch. A sign of discomfort. Anything that screamed that he was lying. There was nothing. But that didn’t stop my nerves from buzzing.
“Alright,” I said finally. “Prove it.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Prove what?”
“That you’re actually a billionaire.”
My words hung between us, bold and ridiculous. Embarrassment flared for a split second. Who asked to see proof of someone’s wealth? Me. I did. If I didn’t, my imagination would spiral until I couldn’t tell fantasy from reality.
“I’m not trying to be rude,” I added quickly. “It’s just… people lie. And I read a lot of books.”
“I’ve gathered that.”
“And those books have taught me to be suspicious of people claiming to be rich.”
His gaze softened instead of hardening, which only unsettled me further. He didn’t argue or try to convince me with words. He simply reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, like this was something he’d already accepted might happen.
When he turned the screen toward me, I leaned in out of instinct, curiosity sharpening into something closer to disbelief.
And then I saw it.
The number didn’t make sense at first. My brain skimmed over it the way it skimmed over overly long sentences or dense paragraphs—registering the shape without understanding the meaning. Commas where they didn’t belong. Too many zeros. A balance that looked more like a concept than an amount.
Then my mind caught up.
And my breath stopped.
Five hundred million dollars.
He had $500 million sitting in his account. I looked at him, then back at the screen, then back at him again, searching for some sign that this was a joke I wasn’t in on. But his face was open. Honest. Almost… hopeful.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, the words barely audible even to me. “Is that…” My voice came out thin, disbelieving. I swallowed and tried again. “Is that five hundred million dollars?”
His eyes flicked to the screen and back to me, panic flashing across his face as if he’d just realized how absurd the truth looked laid bare like this.
“Yes, but—Evania, listen—it’s not all just sitting there like that.
Most of my money is in stock. Investments.
Real estate. Assets. This is only a portion—”
He kept talking. I could see his lips moving. Hear the cadence of his voice. But the words didn’t register with me. All I could think about was the fact that he had five hundred million dollars in his account, but he was anxious because it wasn't a billion as he had told me.
He really was a billionaire.
I was on a date with a billionaire.
Everything he said came to a head, swirling in my mind.
He really was a billionaire, being pushed by his parents into a marriage of convenience.
This was a dream come true for me. As a fan of billionaire marriage-of-convenience romances, I wanted nothing more than to convince him I should be his wife.
We already liked each other—we were on this date—and I was ready to help him.
I didn’t hear the beginning of what he said because I was too busy being married to him in my head.
In the version of reality currently playing behind my eyes, I was stepping into a penthouse elevator with mirrored walls. There was a contract involved. A credit card with no limit. A closet that could swallow my entire apartment. A last name that opened doors.
So when Callahan’s voice finally pierced through the fantasy, it felt like someone had shaken me awake mid-dream.
“…and I’m sorry,” he said.
“Sorry?” I repeated, because my brain was still lagging behind.
“For leading you on,” he continued gently. “I should’ve been honest sooner. I just… I didn’t know how to say it.”
I stared at him, waiting for the rest. Surely this was the preamble. The part where he confessed everything and then slid the offer across the table like a winning hand. When nothing came, I frowned.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “And?”
His brows knit together. “And… I have to get married soon.”
My pulse kicked up, excitement fizzing in my chest. This was it. This was the moment where the universe finally decided to stop playing with me. I leaned forward. “Right. So when were you planning to ask?”
He blinked.
Once. Twice.
“Ask… what?”
I studied his face, searching for the teasing glint that wasn’t there. “Me,” I clarified. “To enter into a marriage of convenience with you.”
He stared at me as if I’d just told him the sky was green. “You thought…?” He stopped, shook his head. “Evania, no. I wasn’t— I didn’t think you’d want something like that.”
I sat back in my chair, genuinely confused now. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well,” he said carefully, “for starters, I didn’t even tell you about… all of this until now. And I figured you might feel deceived. Or offended.”
“I’m not,” I said immediately. That earned me another stunned look.
“You’re not?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
His mouth opened, then closed. “You’re… not upset that I hid the fact that I’m—” He paused, lowering his voice. “That I’m wealthy?”
I tilted my head. “Are you asking me if I’m upset that you didn’t tell me you’re a billionaire?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
Something shifted in his expression then—uncertainty giving way to something closer to disbelief. “Most people would be.”
“Well, most people don’t think like me,” I said, shrugging. “And for the record, I’m definitely interested in becoming a billionaire’s wife.”
The words landed between us, solid and unapologetic. Why would I back down when this was exactly what I'd wanted for years now? I was finally about to live my dream. But the way he stared at me in disbelief had me questioning everything.
“I didn’t even consider you a possibility,” he admitted.
I waited to feel offended by his words, but I didn't. Maybe I should’ve felt insulted. Maybe I should’ve crossed my arms, demanded an explanation, thrown his words back at him. But all I could think about was how billionaire echoed in my head, how my wife followed it like a promise.
“That’s okay,” I said breezily. “You can now.”
His eyes searched mine, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
He leaned back, exhaling slowly. “I need time to think.”
“Of course you do,” I said. “Big decisions and all that.”
Another pause. Then he nodded. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
We walked side by side in comfortable silence, our steps matching without effort. I wondered if he noticed. When we reached my car, I turned to thank him—and found myself frozen when he leaned in.
His lips brushed my forehead, warm and gentle, lingering just long enough to set my skin on fire.
“Good night, Evania,” he said quietly.
“Good night, Callahan.”
He stepped back, gave me one last unreadable look, then turned and walked away.