I didn’t expect to marry a billionaire.
And I definitely didn’t expect him to be dead.
Well… undead.
It started with a job application. I was broke, working two gigs, and barely keeping the lights on in my apartment in downtown Toronto.
The ad on LinkedIn was vague but promising:
“Personal assistant needed for a high-profile client. Discretion, digital fluency, and comfort with unusual hours required. Salary: $150K/year. Location: Remote or Estate-based.”
I applied as a joke.
Then, I got the interview.
The Zoom call was strange. I never saw the employer’s face—just a man named Elias, dressed in a tailored black suit, who said I’d be managing “calendar logistics, estate affairs, and occasional companionship for Lord Blackthorne.”
Companionship?
“I’m not an escort,” I said.
He smiled. “No. But he requires someone to keep him connected to the world. He has… unique needs.”
I should have bailed. But $150K? For calendar management?
I signed the contract.
Chapter 1: My First Night at Blackthorne Manor
Blackthorne Manor looked like a French castle had crashed into a Restoration Hardware showroom. Gated, sprawling, stone everywhere—but inside was sleek, minimal, obsessively clean.
Elias greeted me again. “He’ll see you tonight. Midnight sharp. He sleeps during the day.”
That was the first red flag.
The second was when I found a fridge stocked only with blood bags. Type O.
At 12:01 AM, I met him.
Adrian Blackthorne.
He walked into the drawing room like a man who hadn’t been in public since Queen Victoria wore eyeliner. Tall, pale, and absurdly attractive. Like GQ met a haunted painting.
“Miss Olivia Yu,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. “You’re… very punctual.”
“You’re very dramatic,” I replied.
He smiled. “I’ve had centuries to practice.”
Chapter 2: Terms and Conditions
“So,” I said, flipping open my iPad. “Let’s talk deliverables.”
He stared. “You’re very… modern.”
“You hired me for that.”
He studied me like a puzzle. “I need someone to manage my holdings, attend public meetings in my stead, and assist in one final matter.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And that is?”
He hesitated.
“I require a legal marriage. For business reasons. Temporary, of course. Six months. In return, you’ll receive full access to my portfolio. You’d be quite wealthy.”
“You want me to fake marry you?”
He nodded once.
I laughed. “You’re serious?”
“I’m undead, Miss Yu. I’m always serious.”
Chapter 3: Married on a Monday
We signed the papers at a private courthouse in Yorkville. He wore black, of course. I wore the same H&M blazer I’d worn to every interview since 2020.
No ceremony. Just a signature.
“Congratulations,” the clerk said.
I think she thought I was being trafficked.
Adrian bought me an apartment the next day.
He also had my student loans paid off by Tuesday.
Our arrangement was simple:
- We lived in separate wings of the manor.
- We attended two public events per month, as a “couple.”
- I didn’t ask what he did at night. He didn’t ask what I ordered from DoorDash.
- And absolutely no falling in love.
That last clause was his.
Chapter 4: Emo Billionaire Vibes
“Why don’t you use Instagram?” I asked over espresso one night (mine), while he sipped from what I hoped was tomato juice.
He looked offended. “I have a MySpace.”
“You’re joking.”
“I was in the top eight.”
“You really need a rebrand.”
“Can’t I just… vanish again? I did it for a hundred years.”
“You own 47% of Canada’s clean energy infrastructure,” I said. “You don’t get to vanish.”
He looked tired.
“I didn’t ask to be eternal. I just wanted to help people. I created solar fields, clean water tech… but all anyone cares about is why I never age.”
I paused.
“That’s the first real thing you’ve told me.”
Chapter 5: Typing and Deleting on WhatsApp at 2AM
I woke up to a ping.
Adrian (2:04 AM):
I need to ask you something.
Adrian (2:05 AM):
Never mind.
Adrian (2:06 AM):
Forget it.
Adrian (2:07 AM):
Are you awake?
I typed:
Olivia:
I am now.
A pause.
Then:
Adrian:
What if I didn’t want it to be fake anymore?
The next night, he showed up at my apartment door.
No suit. No cloak. Just a black hoodie and jeans. Like a very emo Gap model.
“I’ve lived through wars, revolutions, plagues,” he said quietly. “But nothing has undone me like you.”
I tried not to panic.
He stepped closer. “You make me feel—alive.”
“That’s probably just the WiFi,” I whispered.
He laughed.
Then kissed me.
It was soft. Cold. Electric.
Chapter 6: Death, Taxes, and Feelings
We tried pretending nothing had changed.
Didn’t work.
He started showing up at my office hours.
I caught myself staring at his hands during board meetings.
He ordered garlic-free pasta for me on date nights.
And once, while fixing my WiFi router, he whispered, “This cursed box will be the end of me.”
“You’re already dead,” I said.
“I’d die again for you,” he replied.
And the bastard meant it.
Chapter 7: The Last Clause
One night, I found a printed document in my apartment: “Addendum to Marital Contract: Permanent Extension Clause.”
I read it twice.
When I looked up, Adrian was in the doorway.
“I want to make it real,” he said.
“But I thought—”
“I was afraid. Of loving someone. Of losing you to time. But then I realized… I’d rather have one lifetime with you than ten eternities without.”
I blinked back tears. “That was low-key Tolkien.”
He smirked. “I’m older than Tolkien.”
Epilogue: Married, for Real
We renewed our vows at city hall. No bodyguards. No lawyers.
He wore the same black suit. I wore a red dress.
“Do you, Adrian Blackthorne, take Olivia Yu—”
“I already do.”
When I said “I do,” he exhaled like it was the first breath he’d taken in centuries.
Later, as we danced in our kitchen, barefoot and slightly buzzed from wine (his: vintage blood, mine: cabernet sauvignon), I whispered, “You know you’re still dramatic, right?”
“I am undead,” he said. “It comes with the territory.”
I kissed him anyway.
Because dramatic or not, undead or not—
He was mine. And I was his.
