Twice Claimed: Bound by the Billionaire

Sienna I’m in the private elevator, gazing out at the city as it ascends. And what a sight: the LA skyline glitters like a promise before me - one that only ever delivers when you pay in blood, beauty or secrets. I should know. I, Sienna Vale, have paid in all three. The doors open all too soon to the rooftop terrace of The Phoenix, one of those private hotels that pretend to be secret but exist solely for people who need to be seen while pretending not to care. The air smells of night-blooming jasmine, citrus, and smoke. The night was just cool enough to raise goosebumps along my bare arms. I ignored them, fingers clutching my champagne flute as though it will give me armor. It’s been four months since the scandal broke. Four months since my name was dragged through the mud, my reputation left in tatters. I’ve been featured on the worst gossip sites, my face turned into a meme, and my boss told me that I needed to “take some time away” to get my “life in order”, then unceremoniously blocked my calls and ghosted me without a backward glance. Four long months since my world burned to the ground. And tonight, here I am. Willing to do anything to rebuild it. My heels click against the tiles, every eye following me, every whisper threading behind me like a poisonous web. I can almost hear them: That’s her. The one from the video. My very expensive PR consultant told me to stay calm keep my head high. And so I am. I spot him near the glass railing, a figure in shadow outlined by city lights. Damian Hunter. Even at a distance, he’s darkly beautiful. And he exudes control - expensive suit, silver cufflinks catching the light, the kind of quiet authority that makes people straighten their posture just when they stand near him. Billionaire investor, media mogul, CEO of Hunter Global Entertainment. The man who can destroy a career with one call… Or resurrect it, if it suited him. And apparently, this man is my only chance at survival. “Ms. Vale.” His voice carries easily as I approach, low and with a velvet edge. “You’re late.” I give him the smile I use in donor meetings - bright, composed, convincing. “Traffic.” He doesn’t return it. “You live four blocks away.” Of course he knows that. He probably knows my apartment number, too. Damian Hunter doesn’t leave anything to chance. I desperately want to resent that. Instead, I’m just… curious. “Then maybe I was stalling.” One corner of his mouth ticks upward, just a hint. Not a smile exactly, but a flicker of something sharper. “Honesty. That’s refreshing. Let’s see if it actually lasts.” He turns slightly, gesturing toward a quiet alcove away from the crowd. I follow him, trying not to let my pulse betray me. When we come to a stop, he reaches into his jacket and hands me a neatly folded document. My name in bold print stares back at me from the first page. My breath catches. “My God. You’re serious.” “Always.” I laugh, but the sound is brittle. “You actually want me to marry you?” He doesn’t blink. “You need to restore your reputation. I need stability for the merger announcement next quarter. It’s a convenient arrangement. Mutually beneficial.” I stare at him. “A contract marriage to fix a scandal? That’s insane.” “Is it? No. That’s Los Angeles,” he says quietly. “You and I both know that perception is the only currency that really matters here.” The wind has shifted, catching a strand of my hair. He reaches out without thinking, brushing it back behind my ear. The contact is light, but the jolt I feel isn’t. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The city glows beneath us, pulsing with life and danger. I break the silence. “What do you get out of this deal?” His answer is a whisper between us. “You.”