The Billionaire's Stolen Identity

Meera's POV

The diamond on my finger caught the light like fire, dazzling anyone who looked. To me, it felt like a shackle.

I couldn't stop twisting it, as though turning it over might make the decision feel less insane.

Sofia's hiss snapped me out of it. "Two weeks, Meera. Two. Weeks. And now you are engaged to Damien Cross?"

Every head in the café turned. I wanted to sink under the table. "Keep your voice down..."

"No. I will not keep my voice down." Her curls bounced as she leaned across the table, stabbing her finger toward my hand. "That rock on your finger isn't proof of love, it's proof of madness. Who proposes after two weeks? Billionaires don't. They collect women like handbags, and then they move on."

Heat crawled up my neck. "He's different with me."

Sofia snorted. "That's what every woman says before she ends up in pieces. Do you even know his middle name? His family? His favorite food?"

I hesitated. And that hesitation was enough.

Her eyes softened, but only for a second. "Meera... You're smart. Smarter than anyone I know. Don't let a man with a jawline and a jet ruin you."

I wanted to argue, but my gaze slid past her to the window.

And froze.

Across the street, a man stood under a dripping awning. His coat collar was pulled high, his hat shadowed his face. But his body was too still, his head angled directly at me.

Watching.

My stomach dropped.

"Meera?" Sofia frowned, twisting in her chair. By the time she looked, a bus roared past. When it cleared, the man was gone.

I swallowed. "Nothing. Just... thought I saw someone."

Sofia sighed like she was carrying the weight of the world. "You're not listening to me. You're blinded."

Maybe she was right. Maybe I was already too far gone.

The penthouse smelled of him the moment I stepped in: smoke, cedar, something dark that curled around my senses.

He was waiting with two glasses of champagne, tie undone, shirt collar open. The picture of casual power.

"You're quiet," he said, eyes tracking every step I made.

"It's... a lot."

He handed me the glass. His gaze dipped to my hand, to the ring. "Most women would be planning their dresses already."

"I'm not most women."

That earned me a smile that wasn't polished or practiced, just sharp and a little dangerous. "No. You're not."

The warmth in his voice pulled me closer even as Sofia's warning echoed in my head. He consumes.

"Why me?" I whispered before I could stop myself. "Why so fast?"

His smile vanished. He set his glass down with a soft click, closed the distance, and caught my chin in his fingers. His eyes burned into mine. "Because I don't wait for things I want. And I want you."

My pulse hammered. "That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you will get." His mouth brushed mine, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me flush against the hard lines of his body.

I should have pushed him away. I should have slowed this down. But his kiss was fire, scorching through every doubt, every fear.

"Damien..." I gasped when he finally let me breathe.

"Say it again." His voice was rough, command wrapped in velvet.

"Damien."

The sound unraveled him. I know the way I say his name drives him crazy. He swept me into his arms, carried me to the wide leather couch like I weighed nothing.

His mouth found mine again, insistent, desperate. Each kiss stole reason until I was clinging to him, nails dragging across his shoulders, pulling him closer.

His jacket hit the floor. His shirt buttons popped one by one under my trembling fingers. The hard planes of his chest pressed against me, hot and solid, as though nothing outside these walls existed.

"Tell me you want this," he growled against my throat.

"Yes." My voice cracked, but it was the truth.

His lips traced fire down my neck, across my collarbone. He tugged at the straps of my dress until it slipped low, baring me to the cool air and his heated gaze.

"Beautiful," he rasped, before his mouth closed over me. I arched into him, a cry escaping before I could stop it. His hand splayed across my back, holding me in place as though he could fuse me to him.

Every touch was possession. Every kiss, a claim.

But there was tenderness too, in the way his thumb brushed circles on my skin, the way he paused when I shivered, whispering against my ear, "I'll never let you go."

We tumbled into madness together, clothes scattering, skin against skin. The city glittered beyond the glass walls, but all I could see, all I could feel, was him.

He moved inside me with a force that left me gasping, nails raking down his back as pleasure ripped through me in waves. His name tore from my lips again and again, each time answered by his low growl of need.

It was raw, consuming, too much and not enough.

When it ended, I collapsed against him, chest heaving, heart pounding like I had run for miles. He held me close, forehead pressed to mine, as though letting go would kill him.

For a moment, I believed it. That this was love. That this was forever.

Later, wrapped in his shirt, I stood at the glass wall, staring down at the city. My reflection looked different, flushed, dazed, ring sparkling on my hand.

Behind me, Damien stirred. His voice was rough with satisfaction. "You're mine now. No one will take you from me."

His words should have comforted me. Instead, they chilled me.

Because when I glanced back at the street below, I saw him again.

The man in the coat. Standing under the lamplight. Staring up at me.

This time, he didn't look away.

And then he vanished into the dark.

I couldn't help but wonder, am I imagining it? Why do I keep seeing him everywhere I go and most importantly, who is he?