Billionaire's One-Night Stand

chapter 4

Serena's Point Of View

Footsteps. Heavy. Measured.

I squeezed my eyes shut as they drew closer. Each step echoed in my ears, my pulse a frantic drumbeat beneath my skin.

The air shifted. A presence loomed over me.

Then, the tug.

The covers shifted slightly, warmth escaping. I braced myself, every muscle locking up...

A sharp ringing tone cut through the silence.

Father grunted, a rustling sound following as he reached into his pocket.

"I thought we were done with the meeting," he muttered, his voice clipped, impatient.

The heavy steps retreated.

I remained still, frozen, as the door clicked shut once more.

Then, finally, I exhaled, the air I’d been holding escaping in a shaky rush.

When I was sure they were far off, I pulled down the blanket just enough to uncover my eyes - the bright light almost blinding me. So typical of Father to leave it on. I stepped out of bed, careful not to make a noise, and fumbled for my phone in my bag. Several messages from Jane flooded my screen.

"Where the hell are you??"

"Serena, are you safe?!!"

"Oh my God, answer me!"

I quickly typed back, "I’m fine. Uncaught."

Her reply came instantly.

"Oh, thank God!"

I sighed, my muscles still sore. From flying the fence in record time? Or from last night?

Heat rushed down my core as flashes of it filled my mind.

The rough grip on my waist. The way his lips claimed mine like I was something he’d been starving for. The way he stretched me, ruined me, made me feel things I never thought were possible—

I clapped a hand over my mouth. s**t.

I slept with a stranger.

I curled my toes against the cold floor, my breath coming shallow. I’ve been shielded my whole life, taught to keep my distance from men. And when I finally let someone touch me - no, devour me - it was a one-night stand.

My first time.

No names. No strings. Just heat, sweat, and whispered curses against my skin.

I should be panicking. Should be regretting it.

But God… it was so much better than I ever imagined.

Is this what everyone raves about? Or was I just lucky? None of the secret moments in my locked bathroom with my toys ever felt like that. Was I just using them wrong, or was he that good?

I groaned, running a hand down my face. What are these thoughts?

I plopped onto my bed, sighing. The wall clock read 6:30 AM. I had time for a quick shower before anyone noticed I was awake. If they saw me like this—flushed, disheveled, reeking of last night’s sins—I’d be six feet under before sunrise.

The last time I was caught sneaking out…

I shuddered. Jane thought I was simply grounded for six months. I never told her the truth. It was better that way.

***

Thirty minutes passed too quickly. I rushed into the bathroom, stripping off the flimsy dress still clinging to my body. The hot water stung my skin, washing away sweat and sin, but not the memories.

By the time I stepped back into my room, I felt more composed. I slipped into my purple sweatpants and a white top, tying my hair into a bun. I locked the dress and heels in my drawer, shoving the key deep into my jewelry box.

A sharp knock on my door made me stiffen.

"Young Mistress, it's time for breakfast."

I frowned. Breakfast? This early?

I smoothed my shirt, forced my expression into something unreadable, and stepped out.

My parents were already seated in the dining room.

"Good morning, Father. Mother."

Mother gave me a warm smile. Father barely glanced at me. No surprise there.

"You're going to be following your mother for the wedding preparations today."

Just like that. No greeting. No explanation. Just another order.

I set my cup down. "Today?"

"The wedding has been shifted to next week."

I stared at him. "Next week?"

A tight nod.

Whose wedding is this, exactly? And why am I always the last to know?

A weight settled in my chest. Next week. Today was Saturday. That meant...

"Monday," he clarified, taking a sip of his coffee.

Everything inside me froze.

Monday.

I was getting married in two days.

Oh my God.

The rest of breakfast was silent, and right after, I dressed in a simple blue gown to follow my mother for wedding dress shopping.

A wedding was supposed to be something filled with joy, but all I felt was dread. As the shop attendant held the dress against my body, gushing about how stunning I would look, I felt nothing. No excitement, no anticipation—just a hollow emptiness. I wished someone, anyone, would swoop in and take me away from this nightmare.

We spent about three hours in the bridal shop and we or rather, my mother, eventually settled for a ball gown dress with puffer sleeves. I hated the dress. It didn't suit me and it made me look like I was thrown in a haystack made of lace. Literally.

By the time we got home, exhaustion weighed me down like bricks. The worst part? I was preparing to marry a complete stranger. A man I knew nothing about, a man whose face I couldn’t even find when I searched the Giovanni family online.

I could be getting married to a bald, potbellied old man, for all I knew.

Late in the night, Jane texted me, asking about how I was. It was then I realized I hadn't told her about the whole marriage thing. I didn't even know where to start. I wanted to tell her right there but I couldn't and I didn't know why.

***

MONDAY - THE WEDDING DAY

The day had arrived.

The wedding day.

I should have been excited. Or at least, I should have felt something. But all I could feel was the knot in my stomach that had been there for days now. The heavy pressure of knowing that I was about to marry someone I knew nothing about.

I spent the morning getting ready, the bridal gown hanging in my closet, untouched. I had no interest in it. The whole thing felt like a farce - a show for everyone but me.

The makeup artist was in the middle of applying a layer of blush when my phone buzzed on the table.

It was a message from Jane, "Girl, you haven't told me about the sexy hunk you hooked up with! What does he look like? What is his name?!!"

I stared at the screen, the words blurring in front of my eyes. His name...

A sharp knock came at the door. "Young mistress, the car is ready."

I pushed the phone aside and stood up, my heart racing. There was no turning back now.

I felt a strange, hollow sense of calm wash over me as I made my way out of the room, down the grand staircase, and into the waiting car. My father’s stern face was the last thing I saw as I climbed in.

As we drove to the venue, I tried to keep my breathing steady, but the closer we got, the more suffocating the atmosphere felt. The world seemed to close in on me, and I wondered how this could be happening to me.

But I was just a pawn in this game. A game that I had no control over.

When we arrived at the grand hall, the place was filled with extravagant decorations, the rich scent of flowers and fine food in the air. But nothing seemed real. I felt like I was watching someone else’s wedding. Someone else’s life.

I was ushered into the bridal suite, where my mother fussed over my appearance, ensuring every strand of hair was in place, every detail perfect. But I wasn’t really listening.

I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

And then, the moment arrived.

It was time.

My father took my arm, leading me toward the grand doors of the ceremony hall. The music began to play, and the crowd rose to their feet. As the doors opened, the sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful shadows on the floor. The aisle stretched before me, the eyes of everyone in the room turning toward me as I took my first step forward.

But as my eyes scanned the room, my heart nearly stopped.

At the altar, standing with a quiet, composed, stoic expression was none other than him.

The man from that night.

The stranger I had shared a passionate night with, a man I had never expected to see again.

I froze. My legs felt like they were made of lead, my heart hammering in my chest.

It couldn’t be him.

But there he was.

His dark, intense eyes locked with mine, and the recognition hit me like a ton of bricks.

I stumbled, almost tripping over my own feet as I tried to process what was happening.

"Serena?" My father’s voice came from beside me, his grip tightening on my arm. "Get hold of yourself!"

My mouth had gone dry, and all I could do was stare at him - at the man who had been my one-night stand and who was now about to be my husband.

The man who had no idea who I was.

The man who would never know that it was me—the woman he had slept with in a moment of passion—that he was now bound to.

I turned my head toward my father, panic rising in my chest.

I could feel the walls closing in around me. The room, the music, the whispers of the guests, all of it seemed to blur. The only thing I could focus on was him. The man who I had no choice but to marry.

The man who was supposed to be my husband.

And the truth, the gut-wrenching, terrifying truth, hit me like a wave: My soon-to-be husband wasn't a bald, potbellied old man, but the man who f****d me senselessly three nights before.