The Billionairess 100-Day Groom

The music was pounding so hard I could feel it right through my heels, like a heartbeat, or maybe a warning. To be honest, I kinda enjoyed it. The bass, at least, could be heard above all the background whispers. I banged my shot glass on the bar and grabbed another, throwing a smile out there that was all show, no warmth, just teeth. And of course, people were watching. Phones up, eyes sliding my way. But hey, when your last name’s worth billions, your sins don’t stay private. They end up in bold print. I sipped the drink, enjoying the slow heat it left on my tongue. Outside, camera lenses glinted in the darkness, like wolves waiting for me to make a mistake. To provide them with one excellent shot of the devastated heiress. Well, they’d get it tonight. They always did. This was our f****d-up little game: I gave them a headline, and they gave me something, anything, to feel besides this. Call it a draw. “Miss Lawson.” The voice was uncomfortably close to my ear. I turned to see him, some guy in a suit that probably cost more than my conscience, leaning into my space as if we were old friends, with his breath thick with whiskey. Then I felt it: his hand, heavy on my thigh. Uninvited. Unwanted. “How about you ditch the stage act, and let me take you home?” I didn’t bother to turn my head. I just swirled what remained in my glass, watching the whiskey glow under the flashes like liquid arrogance. My voice came across as smooth, almost sweet, if you didn’t know better. “Oh honey…” “You couldn’t afford me, even if you sold that pretty watch…and your soul.” His friends broke out laughing, loud, obnoxious, the kind of noise that draws attention. But Mr. Hands here didn’t find it funny. Not even one bit. His face went tight, and his eyes flashed something ugly. Then he leaned in again, too close, his whiskey-breath hot on my neck. His grip on my thigh tightened. Hard. And just like that…my patience, already paper-thin, snapped. I shoved his hands off me like it was something rotten. My smile did not fade; in fact it got sharper. Deadlier. "Try that again," I said, my voice low enough for only him to hear,“ and I’ll ruin you before your morning coffee even gets cold.” The threat hung in the air, heavy, sharp, and real. He froze, his eyes fixed on mine, unsure whether I was bluffing or not. But before his pride could overcome his survival instinct, a shadow came over us. Someone stepped in. Quiet but unmistakable. A man, tall and built, the kind of broad-shouldered that makes you notice even when you’re pissed. He wore a plain black shirt with sleeves pushed up to his elbows, as if he meant business. Veins traveled down his forearms as he pushed the drunk man further away from me, not aggressive, not hasty. Just…effortless. And his face had sharp lines and shadows. A jaw that could cut glass and eyes so dark you could get lost. He wasn’t smiling. “She said no.” His voice sounded low. Flat. Final. The drunk man blinked and sneered, puffing out his chest like an eagle in a suit. “And who the hell are you?” The stranger didn’t even blink. His voice remained low and steady. “I am the guy who will break your wrist if you do not move away. Right. Now.” For a second, no one moved. No one breathed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my security team shift forward, the same ones I'd told to stay out of my sight tonight. Their presence alone spoke volumes. The drunk man seemed to finally notice them too. His confidence crumbled. He backed up with a sigh and an outburst of insults, his pals hastily dragging him away as if they’d also realized they were playing with fire. The stranger turned around to face me after seeing them leave. I did not thank him. Instead, I leaned back against the bar, swirling my drink as if the whole thing was just…somewhat interesting. “Just to be clear,” I said, tilting my glass towards him. “I didn’t need a hero.” My lips formed a sarcastic, faint smile. “But congrats…you can add ‘saving damsels’ to your résumé. Right after ‘bartender’.” He didn’t blink. “And you can add ‘ungrateful brat’ to yours.” My smile froze over. Nobody talks to me like that. No one. “Do you have any idea who I am?” I asked, my tone dangerously soft. “Unfortunately,” he said, turning back to the bar as if I were nothing more than another drunk customer. “The whole world does. That’s the problem.” His words cut deeper than any whiskey could. For one raw second, I hated him. Hated the fact that he could see right through the performance, the money, the name, and the carefully built walls. I hated that he wasn’t impressed. Wasn’t intimidated. It wasn’t really anything. So i did what i do best: Smirked as if his words meant nothing. Tossed my hair as if I had not heard anything. I slid my empty glass towards the other bartender and ordered another, my voice calm and crisp, while asking my security to leave. By the time I stumbled out of the club, the city was nothing but slippery pavement and shattered skies full of artificial stars. And, of course, the vultures were waiting. The cameras flashed like lightning strikes. “Miss Lawson! Look over here!” “Is it true you got into a fight tonight?” “Who was that guy? Another one-night stand?” I strained against the glare and raised a hand as if I could actually shut them out. Then I leaned into it…the character everyone expected. I tossed my hair, gave an arrogant smile that didn’t reach my eyes, and said, “Make sure you get my good side, boys.” My security team pushed through the crowd, clearing a path to my car. I slid across cool leather seats, the door banging shut behind me like a period at the end of a very messy sentence. And then I laughed, a dry, hollow sound that rang throughout the car. By morning, this would be everywhere. The board would sigh. My father’s old friends would shake their heads. Another scandal. Another headline. Another reason to whisper: “That Lawson girl…” But I didn't care. I had money. I had the name. I had power. They needed me more than I needed them. At least… that’s what I kept telling myself. Meanwhile, halfway across the city, in a penthouse suite where the lights never dimmed, my uncle watched the entire event on a massive television screen. Swirling a glass of brandy slowly in his hand. And there I was… grainy, glamorous, gloriously messy. Stumbling out of the club. The headline below screamed: Lawson, heiress in Another Late-Night Scandal? He let out a quiet laugh. “Right on time.” Behind him, his assistant lingered near the doorway, voice careful. Almost nervous. “Sir… if I may, this kind of exposure puts the entire company at risk. Again. The board… they won’t tolerate much more.” My uncle remained still. He simply reclined back in his leather chair, a slick, cold smile spread across his face. “That,” he said, “is exactly what I'm counting on.” The following morning, sunlight pierced through the cracks of the blinds like it had a special revenge against my sanity. My head pounded in pace with my heartbeat, each pulse a hash reminder of last night’s decisions. I dragged myself out of bed, every movement slow and heavy. My phone vibrated endlessly on the nightstand, with hundreds of missed calls and texts lighting up the screen like warning rockets. I didn’t need to read them to know. The world had already written the story. And once again, I was the villain. I forced myself into the shower, hoping the hot water would burn away the regret. No such luck. My head kept pounding like a nightclub bass line that refused to quit. I threw on dark sunglasses and a silk blouse, armor for the war I knew was coming, but even that couldn’t silence my phone. My assistant, Lena, an angel with the patience of a marble statue, was already in the living room. She did not smile. Simply held out a tiny manila folder, as if it were a loaded gun. “They’ve summoned you,” she said, No greetings , no sugar-coating. “The board. Ten a.m sharp.” I raised my brow, slipping into the comfortable shell of arrogance. “Summoned? What am I, a schoolgirl called to the principal’s office?” Her lips pressed into a tight line. “They said if you don’t show… don’t bother showing up again.” The world froze for one heartbeat. Not only did the ground move, it fell far from me. Then I burst out laughing. Light. Dismissive. As though it were all a joke. “All right,” I murmured, taking the folder out of her hand. “Let them try to put me in a cage.” But as I turned towards the door, a cold thread of fear slipped down my spine, quiet, unwelcome, and all too real.