Betrayed, Yet Bound To The Billionaire novel Chapter 3

After her death, Odalys's soul drifted aimlessly, trapped in a limbo that felt endless. She couldn't move on, couldn't reincarnate—until an unknown, powerful force yanked her back into the living world, slamming her into a reality she wasn't sure she wanted.

The memory made her fists clench tightly, her nails biting into her palms as her jaw set with cold determination.

The sleek black car rolled to a stop in front of a sprawling courtyard mansion, its grandeur weighed down by an eerie stillness. The house seemed more like a relic than a home, its walls steeped in secrets and shadows.

"Madam, Mr. Stewart is waiting for you upstairs," the butler, Dorian Huxley, said as he stepped aside, gesturing politely for her to follow. His tone was calm and measured, but it carried a quiet urgency.

Odalys didn't respond. She stepped out of the car and into the courtyard, the oppressive silence pressing down on her like a physical weight.

As she crossed the threshold, her gaze swept over the carefully arranged antiques in the living room—each piece meticulous, imposing, and completely lifeless.

Her heels clicked against the polished wood floor as she climbed the stairs, each step reverberating in the stillness.

At the top, she paused. A tall figure stood inside the room, his back to her, framed by sunlight filtering through the window. The light scattered across his broad shoulders, softening the harsh lines of his frame.

She couldn't see his face, but his presence was unmistakable—commanding, unyielding, and suffocating.

"You're Percival Stewart?" she asked, her voice steady, but low and cautious.

The man turned slowly, deliberately. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Those eyes were cold, bottomless, and completely detached, like looking into a frozen void.

He held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary before shifting his eyes away, the indifference in his expression sharp enough to cut.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and tense, before he finally spoke.

"This marriage? It's just my grandfather's dying wish," he said, his voice deep and rough, every word laced with disdain. "Don't waste your time thinking it means anything. There won't be a ceremony, no legal documents, nothing. Once I'm gone, you're free to leave."

The bluntness of his words caught her off guard, but she didn't flinch. She just stared at him, taking in the man who had been a shadow in the past.

In truth, she knew next to nothing about Percival Stewart. Before her time travel, she had died before the marriage ever happened. All she'd heard was that he was twenty-eight, the head of the Stewart family, and dying from some incurable illness.

Beyond that, he was a mystery—a figure hidden behind the impenetrable walls of the Stewart dynasty.

He was like an invisible king, ruling from the shadows, unchallenged but utterly alone.

Before she could respond, a harsh, violent cough broke the silence. Percival's tall frame trembled slightly, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood filled the air, cutting through the faint scent of scented candle burning in the corner.

"Mrs. Stewart, perhaps it's best if you retire to your room," Dorian said, stepping forward quickly. His voice was polite, but the urgency in his movements was impossible to miss.

Odalys didn't move. Her sharp gaze stayed locked on Percival, ignoring the butler entirely. She took a step forward, her eyes narrowing as the scent of blood grew stronger. It wasn't just a hint—it was thick, suffocating, and impossible to ignore.

Percival felt her approach and shot her a warning glare, his expression hardening. "Go back to your room," he said, his voice rough and authoritative.

He turned abruptly, his steps hurried and uneven as if trying to escape her scrutiny. But just as he moved past her, Odalys reached out and grabbed his arm.

He froze instantly, his body tensing under her touch. He made a move to pull away, but she was faster. Twisting her grip, she held him in place, then reached up and grabbed his collar without hesitation.

The sound of fabric tearing cut through the room like a slap. Percival's shirt split open, revealing a chest sculpted like stone, his bronze skin catching the fractured sunlight pouring in from the window.

The room fell silent. Even the air seemed to hold its breath. Dorian stood frozen, his jaw slack with shock, his gaze darting between his mentor and the woman who had just ripped his shirt like it was nothing.

No one saw it coming. Odalys, without hesitation, tore open Percival's shirt with a single, fluid motion. No one had ever dared to get this close to him before—let alone touch him. The speed and boldness of her actions left everyone in the room frozen, mouths agape.

Slowly, cautiously, he glanced down at his body, expecting to see the usual horrors: split skin, torn veins, blood pouring from open wounds.

But his skin was intact. No ruptures. No shredded flesh. No rivers of blood pooling at his feet. Aside from the dark blood he'd coughed up, he was fine. Whole.

The pain, the chaos, the destruction that had always followed these episodes—it was gone.

Percival's eyes snapped back to Odalys, shock flickering across his normally stoic face.

She stepped back, her hand falling away as she regarded him with a calm, almost clinical detachment. Her gaze swept over him like she was piecing together a puzzle. "So the rumors are true," she said, her tone flat and disinterested. "You really are knocking on death's door."

As she spoke, she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and began wiping her fingers clean. "But since you already made it clear this marriage is just your grandfather's idea to 'ward off bad luck,' and you don't actually want to marry me, that works out perfectly. I wasn't planning on getting married anyway."

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes sharp and calculating as they locked onto his. "Let me guess. Your doctors told you you've got less than a month to live, didn't they?"

His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't deny it. Odalys smirked faintly, the corner of her mouth curving upward in a way that was both confident and infuriating. "So, here's the deal. I'll keep you alive for the next month. In return, you let me walk away when it's over. No strings attached."

Percival's eyes narrowed, suspicion mingling with disbelief. "You're saying you can keep me alive for a month?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," she replied, her tone as steady as her gaze.

She stepped closer, reaching out again. This time, her fingers brushed against the corner of his mouth, wiping away the blood that still lingered there.

She brought her fingers to her nose, sniffing lightly before speaking again. "You're not dying as fast as they think. You're poisoned—badly—but it's not terminal yet. I can stabilize you. Give you some time."

With that, she wiped her fingers clean on the handkerchief and tossed it into a nearby trash can, her movements smooth and deliberate. She met his gaze again, her expression unreadable but unshakable. "Clock's ticking, Stewart. Your move."