Married Into His Millions

Chapter 4

Vee stood frozen as Charles’s car peeled out of the bar’s parking lot, carrying Eliana away with it. Tears stung her eyes, a volatile mix of anger and heartbreak bubbling up like lava in her chest. She stumbled to her own car, her fingers trembling as they gripped the steering wheel.

With a choked sob, she began pounding the leather, each strike a futile attempt to purge the pain. But it didn’t heal her—it only deepened the ache, her hands turning a furious red, the sting radiating up her arms. The night air felt suffocating, the city’s reddish glow mocking her misery.

Coming out as gay had been a war she’d fought alone. Her friends—most of them homophobic—had drifted away, their excuses a flimsy shield: they feared she’d see them differently, suspecting ulterior motives or hidden feelings. Relationships had been a minefield.

One-night stands were easy, a fleeting escape, but finding someone who loved her for her—truly, deeply—was like searching for a single pin in a haystack the size of Texas.

Everyone seemed to want her money or a casual fling, leaving her hollow. And then there was the charade with her parents—the perfect daughter facade she wore like a second skin. It was exhausting, a draining tightrope walk she couldn’t escape.

Then Eliana had appeared, a beacon on Tinder. Oh, she was perfect—her curves, her striking face, that cascade of hair, her effortless charisma. Their conversations had flowed like wine, a connection Vee hadn’t dared hope for.

For the first time, she’d believed someone loved her for her soul, not her bank account. She’d even fantasized about introducing Eliana to her parents, facing her fears head-on to confess her truth. But reality, as always, had other plans.

“He couldn’t take one rejection,” Vee murmured to herself, her voice cracking with raw pain.

She wiped her face with a makeup wipe, smearing mascara into a war paint of defiance.

“Just you wait. I’ll show you, Charles. You think you’re tough? I’ll show you tough. Watch your back—you won’t know what hit you.” The vow steadied her, a lifeline in the storm of her emotions.

Stepping out of the car, she squared her shoulders and marched back into the bar, needing to drown the chaos in her mind. She strode to the counter, her heels clicking with purpose, and barked at the bartender, “Fill up my glass.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, pouring with practiced efficiency.

From a shadowed corner, Damian watched her, his initial impulse to approach quickly dismissed.

“She wouldn’t be in the mood for conversation,” he concluded, settling back with a drink. Yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. There was something about Vee—an aura that blended audacious confidence with breathtaking beauty. It set her apart from every woman he’d known. Her every move held a magnetic pull, and he found himself lost in admiration, his usual guarded demeanor softening.

“I said more!” Vee’s voice cut through the din, her glass slamming against the counter with a sharp clink.

The bartender hesitated, his tone polite but firm. “Ma’am, you’re already drunk. I’m sorry, we can’t serve you more. I suggest you go home.”

“You like your job, huh? Do you like your job, mister?” she shot back, her voice rising to a near-scream. “If you do, pour me more drinks and cut the crap!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, it’s against our rules. You’ll have to leave,” the bartender replied, unflinching.

“Hey, hey, babe, calm down. I’ll handle this,” a stranger interjected, sliding up beside her. He grabbed her palm, squeezing it with a slimy familiarity.

“Look, man, she ordered more. Hand it over—she’s with me. No worries about her being wasted.”

Vee, her senses dulled by alcohol, squinted at him through drunken haze. His breath reeked of cheap whiskey, and she racked her foggy mind, finding no memory of this lout.

“Who are you?” she slurred, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

He smirked, sliding an arm around her waist from behind the chair, his voice dripping with crude seduction.

“Chill, I’m trying to get with you, y’know? Have a good, pleasurable time together.” He bit his lip, a gesture that made her skin crawl.

Vee’s stomach churned with disgust—the most irritating advance she’d ever endured. She shoved his hands off, snapping, “You lowlife, f**k off and f**k you!”

“What the f**k did you just say?” he growled, his anger flaring like a match struck in gasoline.

She turned, meeting his glare head-on. “I said f**k you!” she screamed, her voice slicing through the bar’s noise.

In an instant, his hand shot to her neck, his grip tightening with violent intent. For a fleeting second, he thought he had the upper hand—until a loud, bone-crunching punch sent him reeling. His chin snapped sideways, and he stumbled back, crashing against the counter. The bar’s chaos swallowed the scuffle, but the bartender signaled security, to swiftly haul the man out.

Blood trickled from the stranger’s nose as he wiped it with a finger, his eyes widening with fury as he glared at Damian, the source of the blow.

“Lay your hands on her again, and next time you’ll lose a tooth,” Damian said, his voice calm yet laced with commanding authority.

The security dragged the offender out, and Damian turned to Vee, his expression softening.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone pure and caring.

Vee, still reeling from the drama, was captivated by Damian’s chivalry—his willingness to throw a punch for her. It melted a corner of her frozen heart, a rare act of kindness in her lonely world.

“Miss, are you okay?” he repeated, pulling her from her daze.

“Yes, yes… I am,” she stuttered, her hand brushing the red mark on her neck where the man had grabbed her.

“Let me take you home,” Damian offered gently, noting her intoxicated state.

“No, no, I can’t go home like this,” she protested, her defiance flaring.

“My parents would throw a fit. I’m not ready for that. Let me come to yours instead.”

Damian’s eyes widened, her bold phrasing—“let me,” not “can I”—stirring something in him. There was a raw, unapologetic edge to her, and it intrigued him.

Vee caught his silence and quickly clarified, “Oh no, it’s not what you’re thinking. If you’ve got a wife or girlfriend, just tell her you’re helping a friend out.”

He nodded, the only response he could muster, and gathered her purse, leading her out. The cool night air hit her as they reached his place, the alcohol’s effects intensifying.

She staggered, and Damian caught her, his hands firm yet gentle on her warm, soft frame. God, she’s so tender, he thought, guiding her to the guest room. He settled her on the bed, carefully removing her shoes and jewelry, his touch clinical yet oddly intimate.

“My head,” Vee groaned, pressing her forehead, signaling the throbbing pain.

“Hold on, I’ll get anti-pain meds and water,” Damian said, hurrying out. He returned with a glass, pills, a bowl of water, and a soft towel. After she swallowed the meds, he wrung the towel and placed it on her forehead, his movements tender.

Vee watched, mesmerized. No stranger had ever cared for her like this. The alcohol, the night’s drama, and her aching need for love overwhelmed her. Her eyes roamed his rolled-up sleeves, tracing the muscles beneath, then lingered on his reddish-pink, full lips.

She closed her eyes, fighting the pull, but—was it the alcohol or him?—he was undeniably hot. Her emotions surged, and she grabbed his cheeks, pressing her lips to his. They were soft, cold, and addictive, igniting a hunger she couldn’t suppress.

Damian froze, then pulled back gently. “You’re drunk. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“No, why? I’m fully aware. It’s not r**e, please—I want you,” Vee pleaded, pulling him closer.

He tried to resist, but her grip tightened, and his own desire betrayed him. They crashed together, lips locking in a desperate, hungry dance.

Damian’s hands slid to her clothes, peeling them off with care, while her fingers fumbled with his trousers, seeking more. She was high, intoxicated, and yearning for the barest hint of love.

Was this a mistake? She wasn’t sure, but one thing was certain: tonight, she needed to feel loved—and that’s exactly what she was doing.