Engaged to my Billionaire Rival

Five Years Ago… The ballroom glittered with obscene wealth. Crystal chandeliers spilled gold across polished marble floors, over women in couture gowns and men in tuxedos worth more than most people’s monthly rent. Waiters drifted through the crowd, carrying champagne flutes balanced on silver trays. The most powerful people in the city traded smiles sharpened into weapons beneath the hum of classical music. Alexandra Adkins stood in the center of it all in a black, silk gown and blood-red lipstick. She had one hand wrapped around the stem of her champagne flute, looking every inch the woman she had clawed herself into becoming. Three years ago, she had been fighting investors in conference rooms who smiled at her like she was a child playing businesswoman. Tonight, her company had just been named the fastest-rising luxury branding firm in the Northeast. And for the first time in her life, Alex felt untouchable. “Miss Adkins.” The deep voice behind her sent a ripple of irritation down her spine before she even turned. She knew that voice. She knew the arrogance in it. Knew the man attached to it. Callan Ashford. Alex pivoted slowly, schooling her expression into polite indifference. Callan stood before her like sin dressed in a tailored, black tuxedo. His shoulders were broad, his hair was dark, and his expensive watch glinted beneath the ballroom lights. Even his face was cut from sharp lines and old-money arrogance. The kind of man who looked born to own rooms like this, and he knew it. Unfortunately. “Mr. Ashford,” she said coolly, slightly raising her champagne flute. “To what do I owe the displeasure?” His mouth curved. God, she hated that smile. “You’ve been avoiding my calls,” he pointed out. “You’ve been trying to buy my company.” “Correction.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I’ve been trying to save your company from what will inevitably happen when a startup overestimates its staying power.” The look in her eyes sharpened, and so did her smile. “And here I thought you were just another billionaire with a control complex.” A flicker of amusement crossed Callan’s face. “Alexandra,” he said, as if speaking to someone adorable and misguided, “you built something impressive. Truly. But companies like yours don’t survive long without protection. You need resources, infrastructure.” His gaze swept over her with infuriating calm. “Guidance.” She nearly laughed. There it was. The condescension she’d expected from the moment he first contacted her. The assumption that because Callan had inherited a dynasty and wore a ten-thousand-dollar suit, he understood business better than she did. “You want to acquire my company because you’re threatened by it,” she said. His expression darkened slightly. “I want to acquire your company because eventually you’ll realize selling to me is the smartest decision you can make.” Alex set down her champagne flute on a nearby table with deliberate care, then she looked back up at him, smiling sweetly. “Tell me, Callan.” It was the first time she’d used his first name. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “How much of Ashford Holdings did you build yourself?” A beat of silence. Around them, nearby conversations began to quiet. This room was full of sharks, and they sensed blood in the water. Callan’s jaw tightened. “Excuse me?” “No, really!” She tilted her head. “I’m genuinely curious. Since you seem determined to explain business to me, I thought perhaps you’d first explain what it’s like to earn something from scratch rather than it be handed to you.” The silence in the room deepened. Several people had turned toward them to outright stare. Callan’s voice dropped, deadly soft. “You’re making a mistake, Alexandra.” “Am I?” Alex took one step closer, smiling as if this were just friendly conversation. “Because from where I’m standing, the only reason you’re in the position you are is because your father died rich.” A visible ripple moved through the crowd. Someone audibly inhaled. Callan went still. Unnaturally still. And his eyes turned glacial. Alex knew she should stop, that she had made her point, but pride—reckless, vicious pride—has always been her fatal flaw. “So, here’s my answer, Mr. Ashford,” she started, voice carrying just enough for half the ballroom to hear. “When I decide to sell the company I built with my own hands, it won’t be to a trust-fund heir playing CEO in his father’s suit.” Silence. Absolute silence. Then, someone choked on a laugh. Another followed. And just like that, the most powerful heir in the room had been publicly gutted. Callan stared at Alex for one long, devastating moment. Then he smiled. It was not a kind smile. There was no amusement or embarrassment. It was the smile of a man filing away a wound and promising himself revenge. “You should be careful, Alexandra,” he said quietly. “Public humiliation has a way of becoming expensive.” Her pulse kicked, but she smiled anyway. “I can afford it.” His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then rose again. “Enjoy your evening.” With that, he turned and walked away. The crowd erupted into whispers the second he disappeared. Alex stood frozen beneath the chandeliers, heart pounding with adrenaline and triumph and something darker she refused to name. Her best friend, Iris King, appeared at her side, looking horrified. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her words laced with terror and amusement. “Did you just publicly castrate Callan Ashford?” Alex picked up her champagne and drained it. “Yes, I did.”