The Billionaire’s Red-Haired Secret

BELLE VALEZ I never imagined grief could feel like drowning. The hospital room still smelled like antiseptic. My mother’s bed was empty now—white sheets smoothed out, pillow gone, as if the woman who raised me had never taken her final breath here. But I had been here. I’d held her hand. I’d watched the machines fall silent. And now I stood outside the doors, clutching the unpaid medical bills heavy enough to crush a city. My siblings were waiting at home. I had no one else. And tonight… tonight, I needed to forget. Just for one night. My fingers trembled as I wiped my tears and applied makeup in the cracked bathroom mirror of the tiny apartment I illegally sublet. I painted the illusion I needed: Rich heiress. Untouchable woman. Someone whose life wasn’t falling apart. My real hair—deep, fiery red—fell down my back in soft waves. I rarely wore it out; it drew too much attention. But tonight, I let it shine. It was my only rebellion left. “This is the last time,” I whispered to my reflection. A promise I already knew was a lie. I slipped into the only elegant dress I owned—black, silky, hugging curves I never flaunted—and stepped into heels I borrowed from a neighbour. I looked expensive. I felt broken. But in the dim lighting of the uptown bar, no one would know the difference. *** EROS KINGSTON I hate places like this—loud, bright, full of desperate people pretending they aren’t lonely. But I couldn’t stand being home, and I didn’t want to see my friends. So I came here, the one place where no one bothers me. Tonight was supposed to be nothing. A drink. Silence. Forgetfulness. Until she walked in. A flash of red hair. A tight black dress. Green eyes like emerald fire. Every man in the room looked at her. But she only looked at the floor, unsure, trying to disappear even though she glowed like a flame dropped in darkness. My heart—normally cold, normally unreachable—stuttered. I don’t believe in love at first sight. But this… this felt dangerous. She walked up to the bar, took a seat, and ordered the cheapest drink on the menu in the softest voice I’d ever heard. Definitely not an heiress. Definitely pretending. I don’t know why, but I needed to speak to her. “Is this seat taken?” I asked, voice low. She startled—then smiled, a smile trying too hard to be confident. “No,” she said quietly. I sat. I’m not a man of many words, especially not with strangers—but she didn’t feel like a stranger. She felt oddly familiar. Her fingers shook when she lifted her drink. “You look like you’re trying to forget something,” I said. She laughed—bitter and beautiful. “Isn’t everyone?” I shouldn’t have wanted her. I definitely shouldn’t have asked her to dance. But I did. On the dance floor, she was someone else: bold, warm, soft in my arms. Her hands clung to my shoulders like she needed me to stay standing. Her body fit mine too perfectly. I breathed in her perfume—vanilla and something sweeter, heartbreakingly innocent. “Who are you?” I murmured against her ear. “No one,” she whispered. I cupped her cheek. “You’re someone.” Her eyes fluttered. I could feel her breaking—tears or desire, I couldn’t tell. So I kissed her. Slow at first. Then deep, hungry, desperate. She gasped into my mouth, clutching my shirt like she’d drown without me. “Take me home,” she whispered. I didn’t ask why. I didn’t think. I simply obeyed. *** BELLE Eros’s penthouse was dark, lit only by the city outside the tall windows. I stood there trembling, fully aware I shouldn’t be here. But when he tilted my chin up and said, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” something inside me cracked open. “I want this,” I whispered. I wanted to feel alive for one night. To forget the ache inside my chest. To feel something—anything—other than loss. Eros kissed me again, slower this time, as if memorizing me. His hands slid down my back, tracing my curves, worshipping me in a way I’d never experienced. No man had ever touched me like this. No man ever had. Tonight would be my first time. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t need to. My trembling told him enough. “Are you sure?” he breathed against my lips, his forehead resting on mine. “Yes.” The word was a confession. And an invitation. He lifted me, carried me to his bed, and laid me down gently, like I was rare, fragile, precious. He unzipped my dress slowly, his eyes studying every inch of me. Heat flushed my skin. I covered myself, embarrassed, but he gently pulled my hands away. “Don’t hide yourself.” He kissed down my neck, making me gasp. “You’re beautiful.” His fingers brushed between my thighs, teasing, patient, reverent. He kissed down my back. “I’ll show you heaven,” he murmured. His hand paused on my lower back. “You have a tattoo… stunning.” I melted beneath him. All my life, I had lived in hell, but here, in a stranger’s arms, for the first time—I felt peace. And then he ruined me. Sweetly. Completely. Over and over until the world disappeared. I cried afterward—not from pain— but from everything else. Eros gathered me into his arms, stroking my hair and kissing my temple as if I mattered. I fell asleep on his chest, safe for the first time in months. But at dawn, reality sliced through me. I slipped out of bed, put my dress back on, and left without a goodbye. No name. No number. No trace. Just the memory of a man I could never have. And on my lower back, hidden beneath my dress, was a red butterfly tattoo. The only clue he’d have for the next year