Torn by Billionaire Brothers

Not again

Celine’s POV

The morning sun didn’t greet me—it hit me. Like a fist to the face. By the time I slipped through the front door, my body felt like it had been dragged across the asphalt.

I felt the hammers pounding in my head, my eyes burning from the cocktail of whiskey, tears, and sins still clinging to the back of my throat like something I couldn’t spit out.

The penthouse looked the same as always—spotless, expensive, and perfect.

As I weighed the glass staircase, shimmering like it was daring me to climb, I couldn't help but stare at the distorted image in the mirror—smudged lipstick, swollen eyes, and last night’s dress.

I could barely recognize myself.

“Breakfast, ma’am?” the maid chirped.

I blinked, ripping away from the ghost staring back at me.

“Don’t bother,” I forced a tight smile and shook my head. “I’m late for a meeting.”

I didn’t have the strength to sit at that glossy table and pretend eggs and toast could make the night just disappear.

I took my time on the stairs, praying I could make it to my room and wash last night off before Shawn noticed I was home. But the bathroom door was already open.

With a toothbrush dangling from his hand, he leaned against the counter like he had all the time in the world. You couldn't tell that this jerk banged another woman with a ring on his finger less than twelve hours ago.

“You’re up early,” I muttered, heading for the sink.

“Late night?” He asked instead, pushing off the counter.

Concern? A performance?— To be honest, I couldn’t tell anymore.

“Yeah, I had a couple of drinks with the girls. I’m sorry I should’ve called or something.”

He caught my reflection in the mirror, the corner of his lip curling in amusement.

“You look… tired,” he murmured, stepping close, bracketing me from behind.

Before I could step back, his body pressed just close enough to remind me of the intimacy we were supposed to share. Once upon a time, his touch felt like home. Now, it felt like a door closing and locking.

He kissed my temple, soft and practiced. He didn't notice. Or maybe he did. I was a prop in his familiar act, and the performance filled me with rage.

I smiled when he pulled back. “Just a lot on my mind. Work stuff.”

“Mm.” He studied me with his hazel eyes. Then his gaze slid downward.

“Where’s your ring?”

Think, Celine. Think.

I forced a laugh, fumbling. “At the jeweler’s babe. One of the prongs felt loose. Didn’t wanna lose the stone.”

He studied me for a long, weighted beat before dropping a nod.

I had the bathroom door in my hand when his voice pinned me in place.

“And babe? The charity gala is tonight. It’s important. I want you there.”

Not a request, just a statement delivered like a gospel.

The Mercers lived for appearances. The gala wasn’t just an event—it was a spectacle. Cameras flashing, billionaires shaking hands, a parade of fancy gowns and practiced laughter. With them, images mattered more than truth.

So I agreed, because what choice did I have? To the world, I’d still be his perfect fiancée in designer heels, smiling on his arm. Inside? I already felt like a fraud waiting to be exposed.

“Alright babe.”

- - -

Work was no better. My team buzzed around the studio with sketches, fabrics, and clattering scissors. Every sketch they laid on my desk blurred into his midnight eyes.

I couldn't lock in. I was back in that room, in one night of sin that felt more real than months of being Shawn’s fiancée.

“Hey, Celine?” My assistant, held up two swatches of silk. “The client prefers emerald, but we’re low on stock. Should I swap to teal?

I blinked, forcing myself back. “Emerald. You know what? On second thought… Just rush the order.”

“Alright….You okay? You sound different today.” she asked.

I plastered on the same smile I’d used on Shawn hours ago.

“Yeah, just tired. Don't worry, I'm fine.”

She didn’t push, but her hanging nod told me she wasn't buying it.

The rest of the day blurred into half-hearted nods and clipped instructions. By nightfall, I was all storm and silence—one breath away from breaking.

From the top floor window, a flash of movement tugged on my eyes. I didn't need to turn my head to catch Shawn’s black Maserati parked at the curb, polished to mirror shine.

He scrolled through his phone, tapping away his secrets. Heaven knows who was getting him so busy with his fingers; Not like it mattered to me anymore.

I slid into the passenger seat, my mask locked in place. He glanced at me, grinning as he reached for my hand.

“Hey sugar, Ready?”

With my skin stiff under his touch, I gave a nod worthy of his question.

- - -

I watched as the lights bled across the glass in gold and neon streaks. Not him; his pretense was as ugly as the dark suit and fake smile he had on.

By the time we reached the estate, the sky was a deep indigo, stars swallowed by the Mercer family’s empire. It loomed like a fortress; grand, sprawling, designed to remind anyone who entered just how much power the family wielded.

Inside, the atmosphere buzzed with quiet wealth. I slipped into my role beside Shawn—the perfect fiancée. Smiling at the right people. Nodding at the right names. His hand rested small on my back, guiding me.

And then there he was, the Mercer's patriarch. Not a stranger. Never one.

I used to think grief would soften him. Since his wife’s shocking demise in a plane crash four years ago, he turned loss into power, and control into oxygen.

And every time his eyes snagged at me, my heart jittered with a chilling reminder that in Victor Mercer’s world, nothing slipped through his fingers.

Not money. Not people. Not even me.

I leaned in, brushing his cheek with an air kiss.

“Good evening, Dad.”

His eyes swept over me like a chess piece he wasn’t sure belonged on his board.

“Ah, Celine, I hope you’re not the reason my boy hardly finds time for business these days?”

“Well, he doesn't make it any easier Dad, does he?”

He chuckled, swirling his goblet of wine, turning to Shawn.

“I trust you're taking care of my daughter-in-law?”

He just had to press the small of my back like nothing else existed but me.

“Not to worry Dad—he dropped a brief glance at me. “She sure takes care of me better than I take care of myself."

“Jackass!” Each syllable tested me, but breaking wasn't an option.

“Elvis…. My oh my….”

The room’s chatter hushed like dominoes as his name echoed across the room. Every head turned, mine included.