The Billionaire's Fated Love

Chapter 2

Inside a cramped, sun-bleached office in Dale, Hans froze mid-task. He stared at the woman standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with confusion.

Vernice didn't wait for an invitation. She swept into the room, a wide, triumphant grin lighting up her face. "Pack your things. We’re leaving."

Hans rubbed his forehead, his brows knitting together. "Leaving? To go where?"

"To Lys. You can finally start that financial firm you’re always talking about. I have the capital, Hans. It’s handled."

The tension left Hans’s shoulders as his face broke into a broad, stunned smile.

Minutes later, they were in the car, the engine idling as Hans glanced at Vernice in the passenger seat. She was already looking ahead, her eyes bright with reckless excitement. "Are you actually serious about this?" Hans asked, his hand hovering over the gear shift.

Vernice reached over, lacing her fingers through his and leaning her head onto his shoulder. "I’m only interested in spending my life with you, Hans. Let’s just start. Right now."

Hans squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips, lingering there. He felt a wave of relief, though it wasn't exactly love—at least, not the kind he used to feel. He glanced at her, noting the blissful ignorance in her expression. She had no idea his heart had moved on; she only knew she was willing to burn her world down for him, and for now, that was enough.

At the Port of Dale, the air smelled of diesel and salt.

"Bye, Dad!" Belle was off to the life she’d been dreaming of since graduation.

She had the credentials—top of her class in Computer Engineering and a legendary reputation among the White Jacks, an elite circle of white-hat hackers. But the last five years had been a cycle of stagnation. She had burned through two local firms in Dale, her interest fizzling out within months.

Most days had been spent rotting in a security office, staring at grainy CCTV feeds until her eyes glazed over. She’d lost count of the times her supervisor had barked her name to wake her up at her desk.

Her father, Raymond, had seen the light fading from her eyes. He knew his daughter was a thoroughbred meant for a faster track. It had taken months of quiet persistence to wear down her mother, Lydia. But the fisherman and the market-stall owner had eventually kissed their only daughter goodbye, choosing her future over their own comfort.

"Beeeeeeelle!"

Belle spun around just as Nathalie came sprinting across the pavement, a blur of high fashion and energy.

She caught her in a bone-deep hug. Nathalie pulled back, eyeing Belle’s outfit with a critical but appreciative squint. "Look at you! You’re still a total knockout!"

"I learned from the best, didn't I?"

Nathalie grabbed the handle of the suitcase, signaling for a cab. "So, what’s the move? Where are you crashing?"

"I’ve got a hotel booked for now," Belle said as they tossed the luggage into the trunk of a yellow taxi. "I’ll stay there while I hunt for a job. Once I’m signed, you’re helping me find an apartment nearby. That’s the deal."

Nathalie pouted, leaning back. "I wish you could just bunk with me."

Belle snorted, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, right. Like your aunt would ever allow that? She can't stand competition. Put two pretty girls under her roof, and she’d lose her mind."

Once they reached the hotel, Nathalie helped Belle unpack, the conversation never dropping below a frantic pace.

"Okay, spill," Nathalie said, dropping onto a stool. "Where are we applying first?"

Belle straightened her shoulders, a smug confidence settling over her features. "De Clarion Empire." Nathalie raised an eyebrow. "It's the top choice," Belle continued. "The owner is a legend. Besides, my research also showed they have the most sophisticated IT infrastructure in Bree. If I don't land there, I'll look at the smaller fish, but I’m aiming for the crown."

Nathalie’s phone buzzed. She checked the screen and sighed. "Duty calls. The club needs a reliever, and I’m the only one on the roster. Call me when you’re free, okay? Lunch is on me!"

Belle flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. She pulled up the De Clarion corporate profile on her phone one last time. ‘I have to nail this!’

At the Zeus Hotel, somewhere else in Bree…

Tristan De Clarion glanced at the woman on the bed with a cold, clinical detachment.

Agnes, a woman whose career was built on the calculated conquest of powerful men, stretched languidly across the silk sheets. "Can’t I just head out in the morning?" she asked, her voice a soft, practiced trail.

Tristan looked at her, his lip curling in a faint display of distaste. He knew her reputation—the "bed-climber" of Bree. He’d done his homework; she was clean, safe, and available. He’d been wound tight for two weeks following the disaster of his wedding, and Agnes had been a convenient pressure valve.

But the utility of the night had expired. He wanted his bed back. He couldn't move to another suite because Joyce was staying nearby, and Joyce—his childhood savior, the woman who had plucked him from a garden pond years ago—was the only one who mattered.

"If you aren't gone in ten minutes, don't expect another invite," Tristan said, his tone flat and final.

Agnes stiffened, her jaw tightening. She climbed out of bed, moving with a slight wince, and headed for the shower.

When she emerged, dressed and ready to go, Tristan was staring out the window. He gestured toward the mahogany side table without turning around. "Take the card. Buy some new underwear." He glanced over his shoulder, a petty smirk playing on his lips. "The ones you’re wearing are a bit desperate. Find something classier."

He stepped into the bathroom, closing the door before she could even find her breath.

The next morning, the city of Bree was a hum of ambition.

"We’re interviewing for the new Executive Secretary today," Jacob said, his eyes fixed on the road as he steered the car through morning traffic. "And we’ve got a few slots to fill in IT."

Tristan leaned back in the leather seat, scrolling through his phone. "Mhm."

"Your grandfather is adamant, Tristan. He thinks if I keep doing your secretarial work, I’ll end up a lonely, bitter old man." Jacob glanced at the rearview mirror. "Do you have a preference? Male or female?"

Tristan looked up, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Let’s go with a woman. Maybe she’ll finally take pity on you and give you a date."

Jacob's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I don’t need a girlfriend."

Tristan barked out a laugh, reaching forward to clap Jacob on the shoulder. "Tell your dad that. You only say that because you haven't met anyone who can handle you yet."

Jacob rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. He knew Tristan’s teasing came from a place of brotherhood—a bond forged over decades of his father serving the De Clarion line.

"Breakfast first," Tristan commanded as they exited the car in front of the Empire’s headquarters.

They walked toward the ground-floor café, but Tristan stopped dead. He looked down at a crumpled, used tissue sitting on the polished marble floor. His face twisted into a mask of pure disgust. He picked it up with two fingers, holding it as if it were radioactive waste.

"Fire the cleaning company," Tristan demanded. "Find a new one by noon."

Jacob didn't blink. He pulled out his phone and made the call immediately.

As they entered the cafe, Tristan’s gaze shifted toward the entrance on the other side. Jacob followed his line of sight, and his stomach dropped.

Walking through the glass doors, a woman who moved with a grace that felt like a slap in the face.

"Is that...?" Jacob started, his jaw hanging slightly slack.

Tristan’s hands curled into tight fists at his sides. He didn't say a word. He simply turned and walked towards the table, choosing a spot that offered a direct, unobstructed view of the lobby.

"That’s the queue for the IT applicants," Jacob noted, checking his phone. "I’ll be heading up to handle the secretaries soon."

Tristan ignored him, his eyes scanning the crowd like a predator. Then, he found her. She was standing right outside the HR Department’s door.

"You said those are the applicants?" Tristan asked, a strange, dark chuckle vibrating in his chest. "So, Vernice is standing right there? My runaway bride is applying for a job at my company?"

Jacob frowned. "She’s either lost her mind, or she’s the bravest person in Bree. Why would she even show her face here?"

Tristan drinks from his mug, his movements slow and deliberate. A predatory, playful smile spread across his face. "Forget the IT department. Why don't we hire her as my Executive Secretary?"

The air in the café seemed to turn frigid. Looking at Tristan, Jacob knew his friend wasn't joking. He was planning.

Jacob pulled out his phone again and called someone. “Send the resume of Vernice Williams directly to my desk.”

He looked back at the lobby, watching the woman at the back of the line. 'She has no idea what she just walked into.'