Married To The Billionaire God

The restaurant was buzzing with noise, and movement. People thronged in and out in a rush, almost like bees swarming in and out of a busy hive.

Loud sounds of chatter, laughter, and clinking glasses serenaded the air of the large sized restaurant

Waiters moved here and there, balancing trays heavy with wine bottles, steaming food, and silver cutlery in their hands. Some guests waved their hands at them, impatiently calling for service, while others were pretty annoyed at how long their orders were taking.

So many people were inside that it felt quite suffocating. Outside, even more waited, standing in long lines with tired, hungry faces.

Jasmine moved quickly across the floor, a stack of plates pressed tightly against her arm. They were heavy, and the sharp edges cut into her wrists, leaving red marks. She bit her lip to keep from wincing. Her body was screaming for rest, but she forced her tired legs to keep moving.

Jasmine balanced the heavy plates carefully as she walked to the table near the center of the restaurant. The guests seated there looked like they had never known a day of struggle.

The woman beside the man wrinkled her nose the moment Jasmine approached. Her eyes narrowed with annoyance as if Jasmine’s very presence was offensive.

“Why do you have to be so slow? Can’t you walk any faster?” the woman snapped. Her voice was sharp and harsh, cutting through the noise of the restaurant like a knife.

Jasmine lowered her head, forcing herself to hide the frustration burning in her eyes. Her lips stretched into a small, practiced smile, the kind she had given a hundred times before.

“I am very sorry,” she said softly, her voice polite and low. She bent slightly and placed the plates carefully in front of the man. “Here is your order, sir.”

The man gave a short nod, not bothering to look at her. He was already lifting his fork, too hungry or too proud to notice the girl serving him.

Jasmine’s fake smile trembled, but she held it in place. “Please enjoy your meal,” she whispered, then quickly turned to leave.

Her voice had sounded calm, but her chest was tight with pain. She had been on her feet since morning, running from one table to another, carrying heavy trays, and bowing politely to people who treated her like she was invisible.

Her legs shook with every step. Her arms ached. Her back throbbed as if it might break at any moment.

But this was only one of her jobs. In the afternoons, she worked somewhere else. At night, she worked again. Three jobs in total. She had no choice.

Every single coin she earned went into her mother’s hospital bills. There was never anything left for herself. No new clothes. No treats. Not even rest. But Jasmine never complained. Not once. Not even to her mother, who already had too much to worry about.

Whenever her friends asked how she was doing, she just smiled and said, “I’m fine.” Even when she was exhausted. Even when her eyes burned from lack of sleep. Even when her body begged her to stop. She kept moving. She kept smiling. She kept her head high.

She was tired. She was hurting. But she refused to give up. Hope was the only thing she held on to. It was hope that kept her feet moving across the floor. It was hope that gave her strength to face each long day.

For her mother’s sake, she was ready to suffer as much as it took.

She turned toward the kitchen, ready to grab the next tray. But then her phone buzzed inside her apron pocket. The sudden vibration made her freeze. Her heart jumped wildly in her chest.

Her phone rarely rang during her shift. And whenever it did, it was almost always the hospital.

Jasmine felt her stomach twist in fear. Her hand trembled slightly as she pulled out the phone. She prayed silently, begging for it not to be bad news.

She stepped quickly into the quiet back hallway, away from the crowd and the noise, and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” she whispered, her voice shaky, her heart pounding fast.

“Miss Jasmine?” The voice on the phone was calm but carried a heavy worry. Jasmine knew it at once. It was the doctor she had spoken with many times before.

Her heart sank. Her chest tightened as her fingers gripped the phone harder. “Yes, doctor. Did something happen to my mother?” she asked quickly. Her voice trembled. Her lips moved in silent prayers as her free hand closed into a fist.

There was silence for a moment, and that silence felt like hours. Jasmine could hear the faint sound of her own heartbeat rushing in her ears.

Then the doctor spoke, his voice low. “Not at all, Jasmine… but I must inform you about this right away.” He paused as if choosing his words, then sighed and went on.

“Your mother’s condition has grown worse. She needs surgery immediately. If the money is not paid within twenty-four hours, I fear we may not be able to save her.”

The words fell like stones on Jasmine’s chest. Her breath caught in her throat. She leaned against the wall, her hand pressing hard against it to keep herself steady. Tears blurred her vision until the hallway spun before her eyes.

“No!” Her voice broke. “Please, don’t let this happen. I have been saving. I just don’t have enough yet. Please, can’t you—”

“I am sorry, Jasmine,” the doctor cut in, his tone softer but still firm. “The hospital has strict rules. Without the money, we cannot proceed with the surgery.”

Jasmine’s knees weakened. Her voice cracked as she pleaded, “Sir, please help me. Anything. I swear I will repay every debt. Just please, do not let her die.”

There was only silence at first. Then the doctor sighed again, heavy and tired. “I truly hope you can gather the money soon, Jasmine. That is all I can say.” His voice faded, and then the line went dead.

Jasmine stood frozen in the narrow hallway, the phone shaking in her hand. Her chest was so heavy it felt like she could not breathe. A sob threatened to escape her throat, but she swallowed it down. She wanted to fall to the floor and cry out. She wanted to let everything out.

But she could not. Not here. Not at her workplace where people were laughing and eating just a few steps away.

She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, brushing away the hot tears as quickly as she could. Her hands trembled as she forced herself to fix her apron. She whispered under her breath, almost like a vow, “Mother needs me. I have to be strong. I have no choice.”

“Jasmine!”

The sharp call made her jump. She turned quickly. Her supervisor was standing at the far end of the hall, his arms crossed. His eyes were cold and sharp.

“Why are you standing here?” His tone was hard. “The guests are waiting.”

Jasmine quickly slipped her phone back into her pocket and bowed her head. “I am sorry, sir. I will be there at once.”

He looked at her closely, and his gaze lingered on the redness around her eyes. For a second, it seemed like he might say something. But then he only turned on his heel and walked away without another word.

Jasmine let out a shaky breath as soon as he was gone. She pressed her hand against her chest, trying to calm the storm inside her. Then she straightened her back, pulled her shoulders up, and forced her feet to move.

Jasmine’s shift had finally ended that morning. The sound of cars rushing past filled the air as she stepped onto the busy street. Engines roared, horns blared, and voices echoed as the city moved on with its restless speed.

Her legs felt like they could give out at any moment. She had been on her feet all night, serving one impatient guest after another, but her heart kept beating fast with one thought only—her mother. She needed to get to the hospital.

Her body burned with exhaustion. Her arms ached, her back screamed, and her head felt heavy as though it carried a stone inside. But she did not slow down. She had only a few hours before her next job began, and she could not afford to miss it. Every coin mattered. Every single one, especially now that the doctor had warned her about the surgery.

She hurried through the hotel district, weaving past men in suits and women in expensive dresses. Her mind was so full of worry that she hardly noticed where she was going. When she turned the corner too quickly, she collided hard into someone.

The shock pushed her back a step. Her heart jumped. Quickly, she clutched her worn bag tightly to her chest as if her whole life was inside it.

“Oh! I am so sorry,” she said at once. Her voice was shaky, her eyes wide.

She looked up—and froze.

The man standing in front of her did not look like anyone she had ever known. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his posture calm but commanding.

His black tuxedo fit him perfectly, the kind of fabric she could only ever see in magazines. His shoes shone as if they had never touched dirt.

His face was striking—sharp jaw, strong nose, perfectly smooth dark hair. But what held her were his eyes. They were deep, steady, and cold, yet they burned with something strong. It felt as if he could see through her, right into the part of herself she tried to hide from the world.

Her lips parted. She knew him at once. Everyone knew him.

Martin Roberts.

The youngest billionaire in the city. Owner of an empire of luxury hotels. His face was always on the news, always printed on the glossy covers of magazines. He was the man people whispered about in awe. Untouchable. Powerful.

And now he was standing right in front of her, staring at her as though time itself had paused.

For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes did not leave her face.

Jasmine’s throat tightened. Heat rushed into her cheeks, and shame crawled over her skin. She lowered her head quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I did not mean to bump into you.”

Her grip on her bag tightened. She took a shaky step back, her heart pounding like a drum. Without waiting for him to reply, she turned and rushed away, her simple uniform swaying behind her.

Martins stood still, his phone loose in his hand, forgotten. People never ran into him without bowing, apologizing again and again, begging for forgiveness.

But this girl… she had simply whispered, lowered her head, and then left him standing there without waiting for his words.

Something about her lingered with him. Her tired eyes. Her face. The way she carried herself, even in that plain uniform. She was not like anyone he knew, yet he could not shake her image from his mind.

“Mr. Roberts?” a quiet voice came from beside him. His assistant, always at his side, was waiting for instructions.

Martin’s eyes stayed fixed on the path where she had gone. His jaw tightened as his thoughts grew firm.

“Find out who she is,” he said at last. His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the command in it.

“Yes, sir,” the assistant answered immediately.

*****

At the hospital, Jasmine sat by her mother’s bed, her back bent forward, her hands clasping her mother’s fragile fingers. The room was quiet except for the steady beeping of machines and the faint smell of medicine that clung to the air.

Her mother’s hand felt so light, so weak, that Jasmine feared she might break it by holding too tight. Her eyes filled with tears, burning hot, but she forced them back. She did not want her mother to see her cry.

Her mother’s eyelids fluttered, and slowly, her tired eyes opened. “Jasmine… you look so tired. So weary. You have been working too much again, haven’t you?”

Jasmine quickly straightened and pulled a smile onto her lips, though her throat was tight and heavy with unspoken sobs. She shook her head softly.

“Do not worry about me, Mama,” she said in the gentlest voice she could manage. “Please just rest. Get well. That is all that matters to me.”

Her mother gave a faint smile. “I will. I definitely will.” Her eyelids sank again, and soon she drifted back to sleep.

Jasmine held the smile on her face, keeping it steady until she was sure her mother would not open her eyes again. Only then did the smile shatter. She bent forward, covering her face with both hands.

The tears she had been holding back broke free, streaming down her cheeks in hot torrents. Her shoulders shook as she cried silently, afraid to make a sound that might disturb her mother’s fragile rest.

Her thoughts tore at her heart. Two million. The amount the doctor had mentioned. How could she ever raise such money in a single day?

Even if she worked endlessly for a whole year, it would still not be enough. The thought was crushing, hopeless. It made her chest ache with fear and sadness.

Later that night, after finishing her third job, Jasmine dragged herself along the narrow road to her small apartment. Her feet throbbed with pain, and her legs felt like they no longer belonged to her. Every step was heavy. Her vision blurred from exhaustion, and her head swayed slightly.

Her uniform clung to her skin, carrying the faint smell of food, sweat, and long hours of toil. But she paid no attention to it. Her mind was too heavy, too clouded by worry. Thoughts ran wild, one chasing another so quickly that she could not hold onto a single one.

When she reached her apartment, she pushed the door open weakly and went straight to the old wooden chair by her desk. She dropped into it with a loud creak. The chair groaned under her tired body. She closed her eyes for just a moment, wishing for silence, wishing for peace.

But then, a sudden knock sounded at the door.

Her eyes flew open. She froze.

Her brows knit together in confusion. Who could it be? She was not expecting anyone. She had only a few friends, and none of them would visit without telling her first.

The knock came again, louder this time, shaking her chest with each thud.

Her heart jumped painfully. With shaky legs, she pushed herself up from the chair and moved slowly toward the door.

Her hand hovered near the handle, her breath uneven. She swallowed hard.

“Who’s there?” she called, her voice trembling.