OWNED BY MR. MANRIQUIZ [THAT RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE]

CHAPTER 3

Troy’s house was warm and quiet, a sharp contrast to the chaos and laughter at the boutique earlier. The faint sound of jazz played from his expensive speakers, and the scent of brewed coffee lingered in the air.

I sat on his leather couch, still buzzing with excitement from the day’s events, my sketchbook resting on my lap like a prized trophy.

“You should’ve seen her face, Troy,” I said, my voice almost breathless as I flipped the sketchbook open, turning it toward him. “Lexi Bellington smiled at my designs. Lexi Bellington. This is huge for me, for the boutique—if this goes well, people will finally take Magic Fashion seriously on an international scale!”

Troy sat across from me, leaning back on his chair, scrolling through his phone. His usual charming smile was nowhere in sight. Instead, he just hummed, barely glancing up.

“Mm-hmm. That’s… great, babe,” he muttered, his thumb still flicking lazily on the screen.

I blinked. “Great? Troy, this is more than great. This is—this is everything I’ve worked for!”

Finally, he looked up, but only for a second before dropping his gaze back to his phone. “Yeah, I get it. It’s important to you. But… it’s just a gown, Callie. You’re acting like you won the presidential election or something.”

His words hit me harder than I expected. I frowned, closing the sketchbook slowly. “It’s not just a gown. This is Lexi Bellington’s wedding dress. If she wears it, it’ll put my name out there—not just in Linus City, but everywhere.”

Troy sighed and placed his phone on the table, rubbing his temples. “I’m not saying it’s nothing, okay? I’m just saying… don’t stress yourself too much over it. You’re already good at what you do. One gown won’t change that.”

I stared at him, trying to find a trace of the supportive boyfriend who used to encourage me, who used to say I’d be the best designer in the country someday. “It’s not about being good. It’s about proving that I belong in this league.”

Troy leaned back in his chair, looking almost bored. “Callie, you already own a boutique. Isn’t that enough?”

I felt my chest tighten. “It’s never just about enough when you have a dream.”

There was an awkward silence. Troy’s eyes shifted away from mine, landing back on his phone.

I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes slightly. “Who are you texting, anyway? You’ve been glued to your phone since I got here.”

His head snapped up, his tone suddenly defensive. “No one important. Just… work stuff.”

“Work stuff?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Since when do you answer work messages this late at night? You’re not even in office hours.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, grabbing his phone and sliding it into his pocket. “Callie, don’t start, okay? I’m just tired. Can we not argue about this?”

I crossed my arms, studying him. Something felt off. His dismissiveness, the way he avoided my eyes… this wasn’t the Troy I knew.

“Fine,” I said after a long pause, forcing my voice to stay calm. “I just wanted to share something important with you. But if you’re too tired, maybe I should just go.”

Troy looked at me for a moment, his expression unreadable, then gave a small shrug. “If that’s what you want.”

That shrug—casual, careless—stung more than anything he’d said tonight.

I grabbed my sketchbook and stood, plastering on a smile that felt more like armor. “Goodnight, Troy.”

He didn’t try to stop me.

As I was about to walk out of his house, my excitement from earlier felt like it had been ripped apart, leaving only doubt and a strange heaviness in my chest.

Something was wrong. And I had a feeling this was only the beginning.

I tightened my grip on my sketchbook, ready to leave, when something buzzed on the coffee table.

Troy’s phone.

He had set it face down earlier, but the vibration made it shift just enough for the screen to light up. And there it was—one short message flashing for a second before dimming again.

“Can’t stop thinking about last night. When can we see each other again?”

My heart sank to my stomach.

Troy didn’t notice. He was too busy leaning back, massaging his temple like he had the worst headache in the world.

I froze, trying to keep my face neutral, but I felt my fingers tighten around the sketchbook. My chest burned, and a thousand questions raced through my head.

Who was she? What “last night”?

I forced a smile, though it probably looked more like a grimace. “You know what, Troy? You’re right. You’re tired. I should go.”

He looked up, almost relieved. “Yeah… maybe that’s best. Goodnight, Callie.”

No “I’ll call you later.” No “Drive safe.” Just goodnight.

I gave a stiff nod and turned for the door, my mind replaying that message over and over.

The moment I stepped outside, the cool night air hit me, but it didn’t calm me down. If anything, it made my chest tighter.

I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but deep down, I already knew.

Something was wrong. And I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear the truth.

The drive back to my apartment felt heavier than usual. The city lights blurred past me, but I barely saw them—I was too busy replaying that single message over and over again.

"Can’t stop thinking about last night. When can we see each other again?"

Every time the words echoed in my head, my grip on the steering wheel tightened.

I wanted to tell myself it was nothing. Maybe it was just a work colleague joking around. Maybe I misread it. Maybe it wasn’t even what it looked like. But no amount of “maybe” could erase the twisting feeling in my stomach.

By the time I parked outside my apartment, my excitement from earlier—the laughter with the staff, Lexi’s approving smile—felt like it belonged to another lifetime.

I tossed my bag onto the couch and sat down, staring blankly at the sketchbook still in my hands.

"This is my dream. This is what matters," I whispered to myself. I had to focus. I couldn’t let Troy’s… whatever that was… ruin this for me.

Still, my hands itched to grab my phone. Not to call Troy. No—I didn’t trust myself not to scream at him if I did. Instead, I found myself opening my chat with Gwen.

Callie: How’s everything at the boutique?

Gwen: Quiet. But I can still feel Lexi’s

rich-lady perfume all over the place.

I laughed softly at that, finally setting my phone down. Gwen was right—Lexi Bellington is no ordinary. I needed to focus.

I stared at my sketches, tracing the lines of Lexi’s gown with my finger.

"This is what matters," I told myself again.

But as I lay down on my bed that night, staring at the ceiling, my mind refused to stay quiet.

The sketchbook sat on my nightstand, a promise of the future I wanted.

But behind my closed eyes, all I could see was that message flashing on Troy’s phone.