THE BILLIONAIRE'S REVENGE: RUTHLESS REDEMPTION

ARI'S POINT OF VIEW

I woke up to the faint hum of an AC and the heavy rise and fall of a chest beside me. My chest tightened when I saw him. Adrian—still asleep, his face calm, lips slightly parted like last night hadn’t just happened.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My thighs ached, my head was pounding, and all I wanted to do was vanish. I scrambled quietly, gathering my dress from the floor, clutch, and heels, praying not to wake him. I wasn’t this kind of woman. I wasn’t.

By the time I slipped out of the room, I barely remembered how I even got there. My mind screamed you were drunk, Ari. And Wendy. God, I was going to strangle her for dragging me there.

When I finally got back to her place, Wendy opened the door with a smug little grin, arms crossed.

“Well?” she asked, tilting her head. “Did you enjoy your night?”

I froze, heat flooding my cheeks. “No,” I lied—too quickly, too stiffly. The biggest lie of my life.

Images of him flickered in my head. His hands, his mouth, the way he looked at me like I wasn’t invisible. I shook my head hard. No. I didn’t even know him. I wasn’t that kind of woman.

Wendy raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”

I dropped my bag on the couch and collapsed next to it. “Never again.”

Big lie.

I wanted to crawl under Wendy’s couch and disappear. My head was pounding, not just from the wine but from shame. I can’t believe I did that with a stranger. Not just any stranger—Adrian. His face kept flashing in my mind, those lips, those hands, the way he—ugh, stop, Ari. Stop.

“You’re blushing,” Wendy teased, sipping her coffee like she hadn’t just ruined my life.

“I am not,” I shot back, tugging my hair into a low bun. “And last night doesn’t count. I was drunk. I don’t even know him.”

Wendy arched a brow. “Oh, so you accidentally climbed into his lap, then his bed, while drunk? Got it.”

I groaned. “I hate you.”

She laughed, completely unbothered, then suddenly gasped. “Wait—aren’t you late?”

My eyes widened. “Oh my God, the conference!”

In a whirlwind, I snatched my purse, nearly toppling her vase in the process. This was no time for regret spirals. Vanessa Langford’s company was waiting. Vanessa—the queen of elegance, the kind of woman who could turn perfume into pure luxury. And me? I was supposed to go and pitch my idea to partner with her for the new line of body oils. Missing this would be social suicide.

“Ari!” Wendy called after me as I struggled with my heels by the door. “Don’t forget to smile. Perfume deals are all about mystery, allure…” She wiggled her brows. “And clearly, you’ve been practicing allure all night.”

I shot her the deadliest glare I could muster, but she just smirked.

“Ugh. I swear, when I come back, I’m strangling you,” I muttered, slamming the door behind me.

Still, as I rushed down the street, Adrian’s face slipped into my thoughts again. His touch. His heat. The way he made me forget everything for a few reckless hours.

I shook my head violently. No. Absolutely not. I am not that kind of woman.

This was a partnership, a career move, a chance to prove myself. That’s what mattered now. Not some man I’d never see again.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

By the time I got to the conference center, I’d practically run a marathon in heels. My chest was still heaving when the assistant ushered me inside. The air was cool, sterile, laced with expensive perfume that made me even more self-conscious.

And there she was—Vanessa Langford. The woman looked like she was carved out of marble and money. Silk blouse, perfect chignon, diamond studs that probably cost more than my apartment rent for a year.

Her eyes swept over me, unimpressed. “You’re late,” she said, her tone clipped. “Sit. You have five minutes. Give me what you’ve got.”

I swallowed hard, clutching my notes, but then something inside me snapped. I didn’t come this far to cower. So, I stood tall, steadied my voice, and poured everything out—my vision, my passion, the way her perfume line could evolve into something women didn’t just wear but felt. I painted it with words: intimacy, confidence, a brand that would touch not just the skin but the soul.

For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of interest in her eyes. My heart soared. Maybe—just maybe—this was my breakthrough.

But then, Vanessa leaned back in her chair, lips curled in disdain.

“That’s cute,” she said flatly. “But passion doesn’t sell, sweetheart. Strategy does. Do you even have the numbers to back that little speech? Because right now, all I’m hearing is a girl who thinks perfume is therapy. And I don’t run charities.”

Her words stung like a slap. I tried to keep my face neutral, but my chest tightened.

“I— I believe women want more than numbers. They want to feel—”

She cut me off with a sharp laugh. “Feelings don’t close deals. Come back when you’ve grown up.”

I stood there frozen, cheeks burning. Every ounce of confidence I’d brought into the room crumbled, leaving me raw and small.

But instead of crying, I forced a smile, nodded, and gathered my things. If Vanessa Langford wanted to see me break, she’d be disappointed.

As I turned to leave, my head was pounding again—not just from the hangover, but from the weight of last night, from the insult that hung heavy in the air, from the ache of wondering if maybe she was right.

But deep down, I knew she wasn’t. I just had to prove it.

I was almost at the door when Vanessa’s voice rang out behind me.

“Oh, and for the record—” she said smoothly, her heels clicking against the floor as she rose from her chair. “You didn’t get the contract.”

Her words sliced through the air, final and cruel.

I nodded once, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me crumble, then pushed the door open and walked out with my head high—even if inside, I was breaking.