The Billionaire's Fake Wife

The Breaking Point

The moment he let me go, I bolted. I didn’t stop until I was outside, lungs burning, heart racing. My hands shook so badly I could barely swipe my keycard for the staff exit.

The whispers from the cafeteria still echoed in my head. The stares. The phones. Damian’s arm around me like I was already his property.

I stumbled into the alley beside the hospital, gulping down air, trying to steady myself.

But he was there.

Leaning against the black car waiting at the curb, as if he knew exactly where I’d run. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, veins running sharp down his forearms. He looked too calm. Too collected. Like he was the one in control of this nightmare.

I froze. Rage surged hotter than my fear.

“You don’t get to do that,” I snapped, marching toward him. My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. “You don’t get to drag me out in front of everyone like some prize you won!”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t move. “You embarrassed yourself, not me.”

I shoved at his chest, the hard wall of muscle refusing to budge. “Stop twisting this! You humiliated me! Do you know what they’re saying now? Do you even care what this does to me?”

His hand shot out, catching my wrist mid-swing before I could push him again. “Careful.” His voice was low, dangerous.

“Or what?” Tears blurred my vision. My chest rose and fell wildly. “You’ll threaten me again? You’ll dangle my mother’s life over my head like it’s some game?”

His grip tightened, his jaw clenching. “It’s not a game.”

“Yes, it is!” I yanked free, stepping back, shaking. “To you, this is all just control, power, possession. You don’t even see me as a person. I’m just… just a thing you’ve decided you want.”

Silence stretched. For once, his mask slipped. Something flickered in his eyes something darker, almost wounded but it was gone in a blink.

“You think I don’t see you?” His voice dropped lower, rougher. He stepped forward, and I instinctively backed up until my spine hit the brick wall. He caged me in with one hand beside my head, the heat of his body crowding mine. “Sweetheart, I see everything. Every time your lips tremble, every time your eyes flash with fire, every time you fight me even though your whole body wants to give in.”

“Stop,” I whispered, tears spilling. “You’re sick.”

His fingers brushed my cheek, wiping one tear away, slow and deliberate. “No. I’m obsessed.”

I slapped his hand away, chest heaving. “Then I want nothing to do with you. Nothing. Do you hear me? I don’t care how much money you have, or how powerful you are. You don’t own me, Damian. You never will.”

For a heartbeat, silence hung heavy between us. His jaw flexed, his nostrils flaring like he was holding something back.

Then, without warning, his fist slammed into the brick wall inches from my face. The sound cracked through the alley, making me flinch.

“You have no idea what you’ve started,” he growled, voice raw. His chest heaved, his composure slipping for the first time. “You think you can fight me, but every fight just pulls you deeper. I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”

Fear and fury tangled inside me, but I forced the words out anyway. “Then I’ll hate you. Every second, every breath. I’ll hate you until it kills me.”

His eyes burned into mine, so close our breaths mingled. Then, slowly, he stepped back. The distance between us felt like air returning to my lungs.

But his voice was still sharp enough to cut. “Hate me if you want. Just remember hate and love burn the same. And sooner or later, you’ll find out which one consumes you first.”

He turned, sliding into his car, the door shutting with a finality that echoed in my bones.

I slid down the wall, hugging my knees to my chest, sobbing.

Because he was wrong about one thing.

It wasn’t hate that scared me most.

It was how close it already felt to something else.