My Love for the Billionaire

Bailey Rivera slammed the trunk of the dark blue sedan and exhaled through clenched teeth. The cold wind of late autumn brushed against her cheeks as she tucked stray curls behind her ears. She was exhausted—another long shift at the hotel, another late evening, another emergency message from the one man she swore she would never disappoint: Damien Cole—CEO of Cole International Estates—her boss.

Her phone buzzed again in her pocket. She already knew who it was without looking—him. Damien didn’t like to be kept waiting, and he never repeated himself. She unlocked her phone and read the latest message:

The parcel in the trunk. Now.

That was it. No greeting, no explanation, not even a signature. Pure authority.

Bailey bit back irritation as she pulled the small brown carton from the car’s booth. The tape on the package had already been sliced open. Her brows folded. Someone had been in here—recently. Tucked under the carton was a folded white note. In Damien Cole’s signature dark-ink penmanship, it read:

Deliver this package immediately.

HGH Hotel – Superior Room 3.

No questions. – D. Cole

Bailey let out a frustrated growl under her breath. “I’m a hotel attendant, not a freaking delivery driver.” She glanced at her watch—7:30 p.m.—and cursed softly at the sky like it was responsible for her life. She had been planning her evening down to the second—finish late shift, return the company car, and rush across town to meet Keleb, her fiancé. Her hands slowed, anger softening as his name entered her mind. Just thinking of him softened everything in her. The promise he made her kept her breathing through the chaos of work, debt, and exhaustion.

I’ll take care of us, Bailey, he had told her countless times. My company is promoting me. Nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars—they’re rewarding me for my hard work, baby. When the check lands, I’m giving you fifty thousand to start your dream business. Just hold on.

That memory alone made her smile. Hope flickered back into her chest. She closed the trunk again and got into the car. This delivery would be quick. Ten minutes max. She’d be holding Keleb tonight—warm in his arms, safe in the truth of their future.

She started the engine and pulled onto the main street, fumbling one-handed for her phone. She hit the call button beside Keleb’s name. It rang once—just once—before it ended abruptly.

She froze.

“What the hell? That’s… weird.” She tried again.

This time he answered—his voice low, rushed, and strangely distant.

“Bailey, hey. I can’t talk now. Please don’t be upset, okay?”

She blinked. “I’m not upset, I just—”

“My boss called me back to the office tonight,” he cut in. “We’re reviewing some contract details about my reward. I’ll come to your place after I’m done. Don’t wait up if it’s late.”

She began, “What? At this time of night? Keleb, that doesn’t even—”

Click. He hung up.

Bailey pulled the car over, her heart thumping with a sting she didn’t expect. He had never hung up on her before. The unease crawled through her like cold fingers around her spine. Why did he sound nervous? Why mention his boss again? And why lie? His company wasn’t the type to do business at night—he had told her that himself.

“Something’s off…” she murmured.

She took a breath and tried to calm herself. One problem at a time. Deliver the damn package. Go home. Shower. Wait for Keleb. Everything would work out.

She turned the key again—nothing. The engine refused to start. She tried once more. Nothing.

“Are you serious?” Her fists hit the steering wheel. The car had just been serviced last week. Damien’s drivers always kept the company cars in perfect condition. Why tonight of all nights?

She groaned and dropped her head back. “Fine,” she muttered. “I haven’t gone far. I’ll walk back, get another car, deliver this stupid thing, and be done.”

She grabbed the little brown carton and stepped into the night air. The streets were quiet, washed in golden streetlight. Her heels tapped sharply against the pavement as she walked along the sidewalk back toward Damien Cole’s mansion—a towering estate perched alone behind black steel gates half a mile away.

Along the way, curiosity tugged at her. She glanced down at the package.

“What the hell am I even carrying?” she muttered.

She peeled the top open slightly and peeked inside. Her face twisted. “Wait… condoms? Are you serious right now?”

Fury hit her in a wave. “I’m being dragged around town for this? Some rich asshole can’t go to a drugstore like a normal person?”

She almost threw the carton into the bushes but stopped. One thing she had learned in two years working under Damien Cole—he was not a man to defy. Even when he wasn’t present, his presence was terrifyingly real. He had a way of watching without being seen. Knowing things he shouldn’t. Controlling what seemed uncontrollable.

Bailey marched forward faster.

By the time she reached the mansion, she was flushed with anger. She hammered the doorbell, rage making her palm sting.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Damien Cole. Six foot three, broad shoulders, dark hair slightly tousled, jaw sculpted like a weapon, shirt collar open, sleeves rolled back to reveal powerful forearms. Always infuriatingly composed. But tonight—tonight there was something unguarded in his eyes. A heaviness. Something wild.

And he looked like he had been drinking.

His gaze swept over her slowly. Not with casual interest. No—like a man dissecting something he already owned.

His voice was low, smooth—too calm. "I see you found the parcel.”

Her annoyance ignited. “What is this, some kind of joke? You sent me across town for a box of—”

“Step inside,” he interrupted quietly.

His words weren’t loud. But they carried weight. The kind that pressed on air, bending it to his will.

Bailey hesitated. “I just need another car so I can finish this errand—”

“Inside,” he repeated.

She didn’t know why her feet obeyed. She should have walked away. She should have thrown the package at him and quit right there. But there was something magnetic in the way he stood—danger wrapped in expensive cologne and quiet menace. She stepped in.

He closed the door behind her. The sound echoed too loudly. Too final.

Bailey swallowed. The air in the room was warm, scented with smoky bourbon and faint sandalwood. The lights were dim. The atmosphere—wrong.

“Mr. Cole, I’m already late. If you don’t mind—”

“Damien,” he corrected, walking past her.

She paused. He had never asked her to use his first name before.

He stopped in front of her. “You opened the package.”

It wasn't a question. Her pulse skipped. “I—I was just—”

“Curious.” The faintest curve touched his lips. A smirk restrained. “Curiosity is a dangerous habit, Bailey.”

He stepped closer. Too close. Her breath caught—not in fear at first, but something she hated to acknowledge—awareness. Her body reacted before her thoughts did. She couldn’t understand it. This man was a cold machine at the office. Emotionless. Intimidating. Sharp enough to cut. But here—in this low light—he radiated a gravitational pull she couldn’t ignore.

He lifted the carton from her hand and set it on the table. “Do you know why I chose you?”

“For what?” she snapped.

His eyes held hers. Piercing. Dark amber under dimmed lights. “To work for me.”

She exhaled. “Because I’m not afraid of long hours and I don’t quit when things are hard.”

“No.” His voice dropped. “Because you obey. Even when you don’t want to.”

He brushed her chin lightly, tilting her face up to him. She froze as that smirk deepened, slowly, dangerously. This wasn’t attraction. It was domination. Seduction with a razor edge.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

His answer was a quiet storm: “The truth.”

She frowned. “About what?”

He stepped behind her. She heard rather than saw him move. The fine hairs on the back of her neck lifted. His voice came close to her ear.

“About why you stayed in a job that underpays you. Why you tolerate extra work. Why you pretend you’re unfazed.” He leaned closer. “And why you think your fiancé deserves you.”

She stiffened. “Leave Keleb out of this.”

He circled around to face her again slowly—like a predator enjoying the chase. “Did he answer your call tonight?”

Her heart stumbled. “How would you—”

His smile was lethal now. “I know more than you think.”

Rage burned through her embarrassment. “You had no right—”

“Careful,” he murmured, stepping closer. “You’re speaking to the man who signs your checks.”

Her jaw clenched. “I don’t care—”

“Liar,” he said softly.

Silence closed around them.

Then something in him shifted—as though patience snapped.

He took her hand—not violently, not gently either—and placed it flat against his chest. Beneath the fabric she felt his heart beating, slow and steady. He looked into her eyes—not asking, not begging—commanding.

“Do you feel that?”

She swallowed hard. “I—I don’t understand—”

“I don’t get nervous, Bailey,” he said quietly. “I don’t lose control. I don’t entertain weakness.” His thumb brushed the soft skin inside her wrist. Her pulse fluttered against his touch. “But since the day you walked into my office with those guarded eyes and hungry ambition, you’ve been a problem.”

Her breath hitched. She took a step back. “Mr. Cole—I don’t—”

“Damien,” he reminded.

“Damien,” she said, flustered. “This is crossing a line.”

“There is no line,” he replied, stepping after her. “Not anymore.”

Her back touched the wall. He didn’t press against her—but it felt like he had. The air crackled between them—electric and heavy. She hated him for making her react. For pulling her into something dark and confusing. For seeing through her like no one else had.

“I’m engaged,” she whispered, as if trying to remind herself.

His eyes flicked to her lips. “Are you?”

Her voice trembled. “Yes.”

“Why?” he asked.

She blinked. The question stunned her. “Because I love him.”

He studied her, silent. So still. So sharp. “No,” he said finally. “Because you’re afraid to want something more.”

Her chest tightened. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he said calmly. “He gives you simplicity. Safety. He doesn’t challenge you. He doesn’t test your boundaries or make you question who you are. He lets you settle.” His voice dipped lower. “I know you, Bailey Rivera. You’re not meant for simple things.”

Her heart was beating too fast. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” he whispered.

He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t need to. He just looked at her—holding her in that molten amber gaze that threatened to strip her of every defense she had. Her breathing barely moved. Something had changed. A slow burn began coiling in her abdomen, traitorous and real.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said weakly.

“But you are,” he countered.

He reached up, slowly brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Every move was precise. Controlled. Sensual in a way that crawled under her skin. His touch wasn’t frantic or desperate—it was deliberate. Devastating.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

She opened her mouth—but no words came out.

A single second stretched between them—fragile, electric, dangerous. Her mind screamed to move, to turn away, to resist—but her body leaned, drawn by gravity stronger than logic.

Her voice trembled in a whisper she barely recognized. “…Don’t.”

His eyes darkened with victory—but also something else. Hunger.

He lifted her chin and finally—slowly—lowered his mouth to hers.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was claiming.

Her hands trembled, then rose to his shoulders, gripping tightly. His hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. The kiss deepened—not rushed but consuming—as if he was tasting a truth he had been starving for.

Her mind fractured. This was wrong. Absolutely wrong. But she couldn’t deny the heat that surged through her veins, the ache building where reason dissolved. When he finally pulled back, she was breathing hard, staring at him like he had just undone the world.

“What are you doing to me…” she breathed.

He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “Proving you don’t belong to anyone.”

Her pulse thundered.

He stepped back slowly, giving her space—but not freedom. His power still filled the room.

Then, without warning, he turned away, picked up the brown parcel from the table, and tossed it into the fireplace beside them. Flames swallowed it whole.

Her eyes widened. “What are you—”

“There was never any delivery,” he said.

She went still.

He looked at her over his shoulder—dangerous. Controlled. Unreadable.

“I don’t share what's mine.”

Her breath caught. Her heart slammed inside her chest.

His gaze held her prisoner.

And somewhere, in a part of her she didn’t want to face—

something inside her answered him.