All you will get is my body: The billionaire redemption

The morning sun sliced through the half-drawn curtains, its brilliance unforgiving as it crept across the luxury suite. Lawson Smith groaned and turned his face away from the light, his head pounding with the familiar aftermath of excess. The dull ache behind his eyes was a reminder of a night filled with champagne, laughter, and indulgence—one too many, yet never enough to make him forget who he was. He stretched lazily, muscles shifting beneath smooth skin honed by discipline and wealth. The bed dipped beside him, and that was when awareness snapped fully into place. He wasn’t alone. Lawson opened his eyes and took in the room—the marble floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan’s endless skyline, the expensive suit jacket tossed carelessly over a chair, and an empty champagne bottle lying on its side like a fallen soldier. This was his penthouse suite at the Waldorf Astoria. He remembered now. Beside him lay a woman, beautiful by society’s standards. Long blonde hair spilled over the pillow, her makeup faintly smudged, her breathing slow and deep. She had been interesting for a moment—two days, to be precise. Long enough to pretend she wasn’t like the rest. But morning always stripped illusions bare. Lawson sat up, the sheet sliding down his waist as he swung his legs over the bed. He didn’t bother covering himself. Confidence clung to him as naturally as the tailored suits he wore to dominate boardrooms. His body told its own story—power, control, survival. A billionaire now, but the streets had carved him long before money ever did. He crossed the room and pulled the curtains open. Sunlight flooded the suite, bouncing off glass and crystal. Behind him, the woman stirred. “Good morning,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. “Last night was amazing.” Lawson turned slowly, his expression already closed, calculated. “It’s time for you to leave.” She blinked, confusion knitting her brows. “What?” “You heard me.” His voice was calm, detached. “Get dressed.” A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “You’re serious? After everything—” “Yes.” He checked his watch. “You have five minutes.” Her face drained of color. “Lawson, you can’t just throw people away like this.” His lips curved into a cold smile. “I’m not throwing anything away. This was exactly what it was meant to be. Temporary.” Anger flared in her eyes as she hurried to gather her clothes, muttering under her breath. “You’re heartless.” He didn’t respond. He never did. Words like that had lost their meaning years ago. Moments later, the door slammed shut behind her. Silence filled the room once more. Perfect. Lawson exhaled and reached for his phone, already shifting his focus to business. He dialed his personal assistant, Mrs. Eddie, expecting her efficient voice to ground the morning into order. The call connected. “What is it, Mr. Smith?” she asked coolly. “Why wasn’t I woken up?” Lawson snapped. “I have a board meeting in less than two hours.” There was a pause on the line—too long. “I won’t be managing your schedule anymore,” she said calmly. “I’m resigning. Effective immediately.” Lawson stopped pacing. “You’re quitting?” “Yes.” “That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed. “You can’t just—” “I can,” she interrupted. “And I am. I’ve tolerated enough disrespect for one lifetime. You need an assistant, Mr. Smith—but more than that, you need discipline.” Before he could respond, the call ended. Lawson stared at the screen, irritation bubbling beneath his composed exterior. Another assistant gone. They always left—burned out, offended, or involved in situations that blurred professional lines. He clenched his jaw and headed into the bathroom, turning the shower on full blast. As hot water cascaded down his back, he leaned forward, gripping the marble wall. Another empty morning. Another victory that felt like nothing. Lawson Smith had everything—power, money, influence. Yet beneath it all was a hollow space he refused to acknowledge.