Discarded Bride, Billionaire's Obsession

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nothing like the calculated move I expected.

Damien's lips were warm against mine, his hand cradling my face like I was something precious. For a second, I forgot where we were. Forgot why we were doing this.

Forgot it was all fake.

Then he pulled back, his eyes searching mine.

"That okay?" he murmured.

I couldn't speak. Just nodded.

His smile was small, private. "Good."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Adrian frozen near the entrance, Melissa tugging on his arm. His face was white. Then red. Then purple with rage.

"He's leaving," Damien said, still watching me. "Storming out, actually. Melissa's trying to calm him down."

"You're not even looking at him," I whispered.

"I don't need to. I can see it in your eyes—the satisfaction, the vindication. That's all the confirmation I need."

He was right. Part of me felt triumphant.

But another part—a bigger part—was still focused on the kiss.

"That was..." I started.

"Necessary," he finished. "For the performance."

"Right. The performance."

But the way he was still holding my hand didn't feel like performing.

We left the restaurant thirty minutes later, and the paparazzi were waiting. Cameras flashing, questions shouted from every direction.

"Mr. Cross! How long have you been together?"

"Emma! Is it true you left Adrian Castellan at the altar?"

"Are you two engaged?"

Damien pulled me close, shielding me from the crowd. "No comment," he said smoothly, guiding me toward the car.

But just before we got in, he turned back.

"Actually," he said, "I do have a comment."

Every camera turned to him.

"Emma Hartley is the most incredible woman I've ever met. I'm the luckiest man alive."

Then he kissed me again—quick, possessive—and we were in the car before anyone could respond.

I was breathing hard. "Why did you do that?"

"Because that quote will be in every paper tomorrow morning. And Adrian will read every single one."

"You're ruthless."

"I'm effective." He pulled out his phone. "And it's working. Look."

He showed me the screen. Adrian's Instagram story—a photo of him and Melissa at some club, clearly taken in a hurry. The caption: With the woman I actually love.

"Posted five minutes ago," Damien said. "He's spiraling."

"Good," I said. And I meant it.

---

Back at the penthouse, I kicked off my heels the moment we walked through the door.

"Thank God," I groaned. "Those shoes are torture devices."

"Beauty is pain," Damien said, shrugging off his jacket.

"Easy for you to say. Men's shoes don't have four-inch heels."

"True." He loosened his tie, and I tried very hard not to notice how good he looked doing it. "Want a drink?"

"Yes. Please."

He headed to the bar while I collapsed on the massive couch, my feet screaming in relief.

This whole day had been surreal. The articles. The restaurant. The kiss.

The kiss.

I touched my lips, remembering the way Damien had looked at me afterward. Like maybe—just for a second—it had meant something to him too.

"Here." He handed me a glass of whiskey. "You did well tonight."

"I didn't do anything. You orchestrated everything."

"You played your part perfectly." He sat down next to me—not too close, but close enough. "I know this isn't easy for you."

"Which part? The fake engagement? The constant lying? Or kissing a stranger in front of my ex?"

"All of it." His expression softened. "But you're stronger than you think, Emma."

"Am I?" I took a sip of whiskey, letting it burn. "Because most days, I feel like I'm barely holding it together. Like one wrong move and I'll completely fall apart."

"You won't," he said simply. "You've already survived the worst of it. Walking away from Adrian, standing up for yourself—that took real courage."

"Or stupidity."

"No. Courage." He set his glass down. "I've seen hundreds of people stay in bad situations because they were too afraid to leave. You weren't. You chose yourself. That's rare."

The way he was looking at me made my chest tight.

"Why do you care?" I asked. "About me, I mean. You could have hired anyone to play this role. Why does it matter if I'm strong or not?"

Damien was quiet for a long moment.

"Because I know what it's like to feel powerless," he finally said. "To have someone take everything from you and leave you with nothing. My sister—when Adrian destroyed her, she gave up. She let him win. And I'll never forgive myself for not protecting her."

"That wasn't your fault—"

"Yes, it was." His jaw clenched. "I was so focused on building my company, on making my first billion, that I didn't see what was happening. By the time I realized, it was too late. She was already broken."

"Is that why you're doing this?" I asked softly. "Not just for revenge, but for her?"

"Partly." He looked at me. "But also because I want to make sure what happened to her doesn't happen to anyone else. Especially not to you."

My heart did something complicated.

"I'm not going to break," I promised.

"I know." His hand found mine on the couch, his fingers threading through mine. "But if you ever feel like you might, I'm here. Okay?"

It was the kindest thing anyone had said to me in months.

"Okay," I whispered.

We sat like that for a while, hands linked, not talking. Just existing in the same space.

Then my phone buzzed—actually vibrated across the coffee table with the force of it.

I grabbed it, expecting another reporter.

It was Adrian.

Adrian:I saw you tonight.

Adrian:With HIM.

Adrian:What the fuck are you doing, Emma?

Adrian:You think this is funny? You think you can just move on and I'll be okay with it?

Adrian:We need to talk. Now.

My hands were shaking.

"What did he say?" Damien asked.

I showed him the messages.

His expression darkened. "Block him."

"What?"

"Block his number. Right now."

"Damien, I can't just—"

"Yes, you can." He took the phone from me and did it himself. "You don't owe him explanations. You don't owe him anything."

"He's going to lose his mind," I said.

"Good." Damien handed the phone back. "Let him spiral. Let him obsess. The more desperate he gets, the sloppier he'll become. And when he makes a mistake—and he will—we'll be ready."

I stared at my phone, at Adrian's number now blocked.

It felt like power.

It felt like freedom.

"Thank you," I said.

"For what?"

"For this. All of it. For giving me a way to fight back."

Damien's smile was soft. "You're welcome."

---

Later that night, I lay in my massive bed, staring at the ceiling.

My lips still tingled from the kiss.

My hand still felt warm from where Damien had held it.

And my heart—my stupid, traitorous heart—was starting to wonder if this fake relationship might become something real.

I rolled over, punching my pillow.

"Don't be an idiot," I muttered to myself. "This is business. Six months. Five million dollars. Then you're gone."

But as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't stop replaying that moment in the restaurant.

The way Damien had looked at me.

The way he'd kissed me.

The way it had felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn't pretending either.

---

The next morning

I woke up to chaos.

My phone was exploding with notifications—even with the sound off, it was vibrating like crazy on my nightstand.

I grabbed it groggily.

47 missed calls.

128 text messages.

307 Instagram notifications.

What the hell?

I opened Instagram first, and my jaw dropped.

Overnight, I'd gained fifty thousand followers.

My last photo—a random shot of a sunset from two months ago—had three thousand comments.

"OMG you're with Damien Cross?!"

"How did you land him?"

"Adrian Castellan is SO MAD right now lol"

"You're living every girl's dream"

I scrolled to the explore page, and there we were. Photos from last night. The kiss. Us holding hands. Headlines like:

"DAMIEN CROSS CONFIRMS RELATIONSHIP WITH MYSTERY WOMAN"

"ADRIAN CASTELLAN'S EX SPOTTED WITH HIS ENEMY"

"THE REVENGE ROMANCE EVERYONE'S TALKING ABOUT"

"Oh my God," I breathed.

There was a knock on my door.

"Miss Emma?" Margaret's voice. "Mr. Cross would like to see you in his office."

I threw on a robe and practically ran downstairs.

Damien's home office was all dark wood and leather chairs. He was sitting behind his desk, laptop open, looking completely unbothered by the media storm.

"Good morning," he said without looking up.

"Good morning?!" I held up my phone. "Damien, we're everywhere!"

"I know. Excellent, isn't it?"

"Excellent? I've had death threats from Adrian's fans!"

That made him look up. "What?"

I showed him some of the messages.

"Stay away from Adrian, homewrecker"

"You're pathetic"

"Hope Damien dumps you like the trash you are"

Damien's expression went ice cold.

"Forward those to me," he said. "My legal team will handle it."

"Your legal team can't stop random people on the internet from hating me."

"No, but they can make examples of the ones making threats." He stood up, came around the desk. "Emma, I told you—I protect what's mine."

"I'm not yours," I pointed out. "This is fake, remember?"

Something flashed in his eyes. "Right. Fake."

The way he said it made my stomach flip.

"Anyway," he continued, "we have a problem A real one."

"What now?"

"Adrian's filed an injunction against our 'marriage.'" He used air quotes. "He's claiming the marriage certificate he filed is void because you never actually had a wedding ceremony. He wants it annulled immediately."

My heart sank. "Can he do that?"

"He's trying. My lawyers say it's complicated—the certificate was technically legal, even without the ceremony, because you both signed it beforehand. But Adrian's arguing fraud."

"So what does this mean?"

"It means we move up our timeline." Damien pulled out his phone. "I was planning to wait a few weeks before making the next move, but Adrian's forcing my hand."

"What's the next move?”

He looked at me, and his smile was absolutely wicked.

"We're getting married. For real this time.”