The Billionaire's Punishment For Loving Me

The diamond on my finger caught the afternoon light as I flipped through another bridal magazine, and I couldn’t help but smile. It had been exactly one month since Dean asked me to marry him, and the excitement still bubbled through my veins like champagne. I’d finally selected the ring I wanted, a stunning emerald-cut solitaire that would take my breath away every time I looked at it. Now came the enjoyable part: finding the perfect wedding gown. Something sleek but sexy, elegant but unforgettable. The kind of dress that would make Dean’s jaw drop when I walked down the aisle toward him. I turned another glossy page, my eyes scanning overflowing trains and delicate lace details. This one was too traditional. That one is too avant-garde. I wanted something that screamed sophistication with just a hint of sultry, something that captured exactly who we were as a couple. Modern. Passionate. Perfect. But wait, I sat up straighter on my couch, nearly knocking over my glass of wine. The engagement party. How could I have gotten so caught up in wedding planning that I’d almost forgotten? I definitely needed a show-stopping dress for that occasion. Something that would make our announcement unforgettable when we finally shared our joy with family and friends. I grabbed my phone and opened my notes app, fingers flying as I looked at the list of arrangements to make for our engagement party. Venue options. Caterer recommendations. Guest list. My mind raced with possibilities. Maybe something intimate at that rooftop garden downtown? Or perhaps something more lavish at the country club? Dean had such impeccable taste—I knew whatever we decided on together would be absolutely perfect. I glanced at the clock on my wall and felt my heart skip—Friday afternoon. Dean would be home from his two-week business trip soon, and I could barely sit still. Two weeks might not sound like much, but when you’re newly engaged and desperately in love, it feels like an eternity. Ever since we’d privately gotten engaged, he’d been so swamped, back-to-back meetings, conference calls that ran late into the night, business trips that seemed to stretch on forever. Tonight, though. Tonight, Dean was all mine. I’d planned everything perfectly, down to the smallest detail. Earlier in the week, I’d called his secretary, Margaret, to check his schedule and see which evenings he had free. Then I’d made a reservation at Marcello’s, our favorite Italian restaurant. The same place where he’d first told me he loved me over candlelit pasta and wine that tasted like velvet. The same place where he’d reached across the table, taken my hand, and promised me that I was his future. Tonight, it will be special. Intimate. Just the two of us, reconnecting after too many days apart. By early evening, it was time to leave work for the weekend. I left my office and walked down the corridor to Dean’s office. This morning, when I left my house for work, I’d taken extra care to get ready for this evening, wearing a sapphire blue dress that hugged my curves in all the right places, the one Dean said made my eyes look like they held secrets. My hair fell in soft, wavy curls over my shoulders. I’d even worn the perfume he’d once confessed drove him absolutely crazy. I wanted him to remember what he’d been missing. I wanted him to look at me and forget every spreadsheet, every contract, every business deal. Tonight, I wanted to be his only focus. I turned the corner that led to the executive offices. Most people had already left for the weekend, but I could see light spilling from under Dean’s door at the end of the hall. My pulse quickened. He was there. After two endless weeks, he was finally within reach. Margaret was still at her desk outside his office, tidying papers and preparing to leave for the day. She looked up when she heard my footsteps and smiled warmly. “Janiya! How lovely to see you, dear.” “Hi, Margaret,” I said, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. “Is he in?” “Just got off a conference call about ten minutes ago. Go right in, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you.” I started toward his office door, already imagining the surprise and delight on his face when I walked in—already feeling his arms around me, his lips on mine. It had been the longest business trip ever, and I was desperate to wrap him in my arms and kiss him until we were both breathless. When you’re in love, every minute apart seems like an eternity, and I’d count every single one. My hand reached for the door handle, but I paused. Voices. Dean’s deep, familiar baritone, and someone else’s voice coming through his speakerphone. He was still on a call. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the handle. Should I wait? Should I knock? I didn’t want to interrupt something important, but Margaret had said he’d just finished his conference call. Maybe this was just a quick follow-up. Then I heard it—my own name, spoken in Dean’s voice. “Janiya.” My heart leaped. Was Dean talking about me? About our plans? Maybe he was telling a colleague about our engagement. The thought made me smile. I should have knocked then. I should have announced myself. But something in his tone made me freeze, something I couldn’t quite identify. Something that made the smile fade from my lips. “Janiya doesn’t know about Brooklyn,” Dean said, his voice clear through the heavy oak door. “And she’s not going to. Not until after the wedding.” Brooklyn? The name meant nothing to me. Who was Brooklyn? “Look, Franklin, I know it seems complicated, but it’s actually quite simple.” Dean’s laugh came next, but it wasn’t the warm, affectionate laugh I knew. This one was cold. Calculating. A stranger’s laugh. “Brooklyn Henson’s family has the connections I need. Her father’s company merging with mine? That’s a billion-dollar deal. That’s the kind of opportunity that changes everything.” My hand slipped from the door handle. My legs suddenly felt unsteady, like the floor beneath me had turned to water. “The wedding is set for June,” Dean continued. “Big society affair, the Hensons are insisting on it. St. Patrick’s Cathedral, reception at the Plaza. Her mother has already hired a celebrity wedding planner.” Wedding. June. The words echoed in my head, but they didn’t make sense. Our wedding isn’t until next spring. We hadn’t even set a date yet. We hadn’t even announced our engagement. “And Janiya?” The voice on the other end of the phone asked his friend and business partner, Franklin. “Janiya is perfect for exactly what I need her for.” Dean’s voice was matter-of-fact, businesslike. He probably used the same tone when discussing quarterly reports. “Beautiful, devoted, uncomplicated. She’s so in love with me, Franklin. Completely devoted. She’ll make an excellent mistress after Brooklyn, and I are married. She’ll accept whatever arrangement I offer her; she’s too invested to walk away now.” The bridal magazine I’d been clutching, when had I picked it back up? Slipped from my fingers and hit the marble floor with a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet hallway. Mistress. Afterwards, Brooklyn and I are married. The words crashed over me like ice water, shocking and brutal. Margaret looked up sharply, concerned about flooding her features. “Janiya? Honey, are you alright? You’ve gone completely pale.” But I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Brooklyn Henson. A name I’d never heard before tonight. A woman who was apparently planning a wedding to my fiancé. A June wedding at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, while I sat at home browsing bridal magazines like a fool. The diamond I’d been imagining on my finger suddenly felt like a prop in a play I hadn’t known I was performing. The wedding gown I’d been dreaming about transformed into a costume for a role I’d never auditioned for. And the man I thought I knew, the man I thought loved me, the man I’d been planning to spend the rest of my life with. He was a complete stranger. And I was nothing but a convenient mistress-in-waiting. Too invested to walk away, he’d said. We’ll see about that.