The Billionaire's Revenge Fiancée

Chapter 6

Olive

One week later.

Word spread quickly about Ethan’s deal and our breakup, and just as expected, the public backlash was immense.

The mockery online was relentless.

To make matters worse, Sophia leaked a series of cozy, "candid" photos of herself and Ethan at an upscale lounge, setting off a wave of romance rumors that the press devoured.

Overnight, the narrative solidified: I was the bitter, unhinged ex. A mean girl who had publicly assaulted Atlas Floyd over a contract my own boyfriend ended up rightfully claiming. People claimed Ethan had dodged a bullet.

No one cared to hear my side of the story.

Some urged me to publicly beg Atlas for forgiveness; others advised him to slap me with a defamation suit.

Either way, it was toxic for Bel Wines.

What unsettled me most, though, was Atlas’s total silence. The Atlas Floyd I had grown up with wouldn't have let an insult like that slide. His silence felt like the quiet before a violent storm, which was precisely why I had spent the last seven days keeping my head down and avoiding him at all costs.

There was no statement I could release that would undo the damage. Ethan and Sophia had played their hands flawlessly, turning my own temper into their greatest weapon.

But I wasn't going to break. When my family fell two years ago, every terrible insult under the sun had been hurled at us. I’d grown a thick skin a long time ago.

At nearly eleven at night, I was walking through the lobby of Bel Wines while the last of the office staff packed up. I had been here since seven that morning, putting out one fire after another.

My phone vibrated with Elowen’s call. I picked up and the words she said left me rooted to the spot.

“Say that again.”

“The St. Regis is double-booked,” she repeated in a rush. “The hotel made a mistake. They’ve got two hundred people showing up and only one hundred and fifty rooms.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a dull ache building up.

Mr. Yamato and his delegation were arriving tonight in thirty minutes, and the hotel I had spent weeks arranging for them was overbooked.

With our reputation hanging by a thread, this Japanese collaboration was our last remaining lifeline.

“How could this happen at the last minute?” I muttered. “Fix it. Call another hotel. Check every five-star if you have to. I don’t care what it costs.”

“You don’t understand. There’s a tech summit tonight. People are coming from all over the globe. There’s nothing available within twenty blocks except…”

Elowen hesitated, and I didn’t like the sound of that.

“Except what?”

“Two penthouse suites at Floyd Tower.”

My blood went cold, then hot, then cold again.

Floyd Tower belonged to Atlas, the same man I had spent the past three weeks avoiding.

I hadn’t been able to bring myself to apologize to him.

Why would I? Sure, he might not have stolen the Beaumont deal, but he had spent the past year making my life miserable. Or maybe that was just my guilt talking.

Either way, this wasn’t the situation I wanted to find myself in.

“Book it,” I resigned.

Elowen paused again.

“Well… the front desk said those penthouses are held under Mr. Floyd’s personal reserve. To release them on short notice, you have to ask him directly.”

I stopped walking.

“What? If I have to ask him personally, why are they listed as available?”

“I don’t know, but that’s all we have.”

“No. I’m not calling that bastard.”

“Olive, these are your biggest collaborators. The Japanese delegation alone represents half a billion dollars in potential revenue. If they have to stay in New York, Floyd Tower is our only option.”

I paused, considering my options carefully. In the end, I could only succumb to my desperation.

“Fine,” I snapped, the word tasting like ash. “You go pick up Mr. Yamato, and I’ll contact Atlas. Hopefully, I can get this sorted in time.”

I hung up.

Scrolling through my contact list, I stopped at the name ‘Damn Menace’, the name I had used to save his contact since we were teenagers.

My finger hovered over the call button for a while, dreading the conversation I was about to have.

Atlas had promised to make me pay for humiliating him, and this was the perfect opportunity for him to get his revenge. He could reject me and watch my last chance at saving Bel Wines disappear.

I straightened my back. Tonight, I was not going to take no for an answer. I was willing to grovel at his feet if I needed to. My father’s legacy was at stake, and my pride be damned.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Hello.”

His cool voice sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. My fingers tightened around the phone.

“Good evening, Mr. Floyd. It’s Olive Bellini.”

A slow, low chuckle came through the line. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need to book two of your penthouse suites for tonight. I have important guests arriving, and your tower is the only property available that meets their requirements.” I said, keeping my tone strictly professional.

I braced myself for a cold rejection, but instead, the line went quiet for a beat.

Then he said:

“Meet me at Floyd Tower in ten minutes and maybe I’ll consider it.”

Before I could respond, he ended the call.

“What scheme are you cooking up now?” I muttered in frustration before heading to my car.

The private penthouse at the top of Floyd Tower had been Atlas’s primary residence for as long as I could remember, so I knew exactly where he would be waiting.

Ten minutes later, I stood outside the heavy double doors on the top floor, taking a steadying breath to quiet my hammering pulse before pressing the entry code he’d texted me.

The moment I stepped into the penthouse, I forgot how to breathe.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the entire living room, offering an uninterrupted view of the glittering city below. The polished marble floors reflected the warm golden lights hanging from the ceiling, while sleek designer furniture filled the spacious room without making it feel crowded.

Everything looked expensive.

It was a brutal reminder of what my life used to look like before our fortune fell. I was fighting tooth and nail to hold the business together.

Atlas was sitting on the enormous couch, a bottle of chilled white wine open on the low marble table beside him. His legs were crossed. He was casually flipping through a leather-bound folder, looking completely unbothered.

As the door clicked shut, he raised his dark eyes to meet mine.

I tried not to let my nervousness show because I couldn’t give him a weakness to exploit.

He was wearing a silk robe loosely tied over his bare chest and matching silk pants. In the soft lighting, the sharp, untouchable billionaire persona slipped away, replaced by an intimate, dangerous ease that made my stomach flutter.

And annoyingly, he looked good.

I quickly looked away.

“It took you eight minutes. The Olive Bellini I remember would have set this building on fire before asking me for anything. You must really be desperate.” His eyes swept over me.

“I’m not here to exchange words with you. I have foreign delegations arriving tonight. I need accommodation for them, and your penthouses are the only property available that meets their requirements—”

Before I could finish, Atlas stood up and crossed the room. His hand closed around my throat, and my back met the door with a soft thud.

I froze.

His palm was warm against my skin, his thumb resting gently just beneath my ear. He wasn't applying force, but the deliberate, possessive closeness made it impossible to breathe.

His face was inches from mine. I swallowed.

“What are you doing, Mr. Floyd?” I demanded softly, refusing to break eye contact.

A faint, sharp smirk touched his lips. “Just trying to see how shameless you really are.” His gaze sharpened. “The same delegation you need because the Beaumont deal fell through?”

My jaw tightened. Here came the taunts.

“Yes.”

“And here I thought you came to apologize after ruining my image in front of three hundred people.”

A scoff escaped my lips before I could stop myself. I placed my palm against his chest, feeling the solid heat beneath his silk robe, and shoved him back an inch.

“Why would I apologize to you? I may have been mistaken about Beaumont, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve spent the past year sabotaging me.”

“And what proof do you have of that?” he asked, stepping right back into my space, completely unfazed by my shove. “Your little boyfriend’s word?”

He tilted his head, his eyes dark with mischief. “Speaking of Ethan… how is he?”

A sharp sting travelled through my chest, and my eyes fell to the floor.

Atlas’s fingers slid under my chin, forcing my gaze back up to meet his.

“Last I heard, he was holding your best friend in front of his company building after successfully signing the Beaumont deal.”

My fingers curled into fists. I blinked rapidly, fighting the tears threatening to fall. The reminder of Ethan and Sophia’s betrayal hit harder than I wanted to admit.

I slapped Atlas’s hand away from my chin.

“Will you let me book the penthouses or not?” I bit out through clenched teeth.

He slowly stepped back and shrugged.

“I will, but it comes with a price.”

“I’m ready to pay in full.”

“Come on, Olive.” His gaze traveled over me. “We both know you can’t afford one of my penthouses in your current financial condition, let alone two.”

My blood boiled. I might have been struggling, but I wasn’t completely broke. I had been saving up for this collaboration.

“I’ll transfer the money now.”

“I don’t need your money.” He said flatly.

He turned his back to me and returned to the couch. He took a slow sip of his wine before turning around to face me.

“I’ll give you both penthouses for free if you do something for me.”

I narrowed my eyes, warning bells going off in my head.

“What?”

Atlas set his glass down, his expression shifting into something deep, intense, and utterly unyielding.

“You stay here with me tonight.”