Help! The Billionaire is In Love With Me

"You are going to ruin me," Fifi Derin muttered to her reflection in the cracked mirror of the staff bathroom. She smoothed down the front of her cheap, borrowed waitress uniform. The black fabric rubbed against her skin, a constant reminder of how out of place she was at the Grand Plaza Hotel. This charity gala was packed with people who spent more on a single pair of shoes than she owed in medical bills. But Fifi wasn't here to mingle. She was here to survive. Her phone buzzed on the sink, the screen lighting up with a text from her mother’s nurse. *Hospital payment due by midnight, Fifi. If the balance isn't cleared, we have to transfer her to the public ward.* Fifi swallowed the lump in her throat and clenched her fists. "Not happening. I'll get the money. I always do." She grabbed her serving tray, balanced a bottle of vintage red wine and two crystal glasses, and pushed through the heavy kitchen doors. The grand ballroom was a sea of glittering diamonds, expensive perfume, and fake smiles. Fifi moved quickly through the crowd, keeping her head down. She just needed to finish her shift, collect her double-pay bonus, and run to the hospital bank terminal. Then, the crowd suddenly parted. A heavy, suffocating silence swept over the room. The loud laughter died down to quiet whispers. Fifi blinked, looking up to see what caused the sudden shift. A man walked through the grand entrance. He was incredibly tall, easily six foot three, with a powerful, athletic build that made his perfectly tailored black suit look like armor. His hair was jet-black, contrasting sharply with a jawline that looked like it was carved from marble. But it was his eyes that made Fifi stop in her tracks. They were a piercing, emerald-green. Cold. Lethal. Entirely devoid of warmth. "It’s him," a waitress next to Fifi whispered, her voice trembling. "The Ice King. Régis Annauté." "He actually showed up?" another muttered, stepping back. "I heard he ruined a man’s entire career yesterday just because he didn't like a financial report." Fifi stared at him. Régis Annauté. The French billionaire. The media called him a genius, but the business world called him the Devil. He looked like he owned the room, the hotel, and every single soul inside it. He didn't look at anyone. He walked with an intimidating, ruthless presence that made people physically back away from his path. *Just stay far away from him,* Fifi told herself, her heart hammering against her ribs. *He's not your problem.* She turned to head toward the VIP lounge, wanting to avoid the storm. But fate had a twisted sense of humor. A rushing guest, eager to get a glance at the billionaire, slammed hard into Fifi’s shoulder from behind. Fifi gasped. Her feet slipped on the polished marble floor. The heavy silver tray tilted violently out of her hands. "Watch out!" someone screamed. Time seemed to slow down. Fifi watched in absolute horror as the bottle of deep, dark red wine flipped through the air. Right toward the approaching billionaire. *Smash.* The crystal bottle shattered directly against Régis Annauté’s chest. The dark red liquid exploded across his immaculate white shirt, soaking through the expensive fabric and dripping down his sharp trousers. It looked like a crime scene. The entire ballroom went completely, utterly silent. You could hear a pin drop. Fifi hit the floor hard, her hands catching her weight on the cold marble. She looked up, her breath catching in her throat. Régis stopped walking. He stood completely still. He slowly looked down at his ruined clothes. The dark red wine dripped from his cuffs, pooling onto the floor. When he raised his head, his emerald-green eyes locked directly onto Fifi. The air in the room instantly turned to ice. Fifi felt a chill run down her spine. The look in his eyes wasn't just angry; it was murderous. "Get up," a security guard hissed, grabbing Fifi’s arm. "Get up right now!" Fifi scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears. Everyone was staring at her. Some looked horrified; others looked like they were watching a person walk to the gallows. Régis stepped closer. His heavy footsteps echoed in the silent room. He stopped less than two feet away from her. His tall shadow completely blocked out the light, trapping her in his space. The scent of expensive cologne, cedarwood, and rich wine washed over her. "Do you have any idea," Régis spoke, his voice a low, terrifyingly smooth baritone with a deep French accent, "what you have just done?" Fifi’s expressive eyes widened. She was terrified, but as she looked at his arrogant, cold face, something inside her stubborn nature flared up. It was an accident. He didn't have to look at her like she was dirt under his shoe. "It was an accident," Fifi said, her voice shaking slightly but clear enough for everyone to hear. "Someone pushed me." A collective gasp echoed through the crowd. No one spoke back to Régis Annauté. Ever. Régis narrowed his emerald eyes. A dark, dangerous look crossed his handsome features. "An accident? Your incompetence just ruined my evening. You do not belong here." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and carelessly threw them at her feet. The money scattered across the wet marble. "Clean this up, take your pathetic pay, and get out of my sight before I have you blacklisted from every establishment in this city," Régis said, his tone dripping with absolute contempt. Fifi stared at the money on the floor. Then she looked up at his face. The fear inside her completely vanished, replaced by a sudden, hot wave of fury. He was rich, powerful, and beautiful, but he was a monster. He thought he could buy everything. He thought he could stomp on people just because he had money. Fifi did not bend down to pick up the cash. Instead, she stepped forward, right into his personal space. She had to tilt her head far back just to meet his eyes. Her bright red hair stood out like fire against the black and white ballroom. "Keep your dirty money," Fifi said, her voice loud, sharp, and ringing with defiance. Régis froze. His jaw tightened so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. "What did you say?" he whispered, his eyes flashing with a dangerous spark. "I said, keep your money," Fifi repeated, stepping even closer, her chest almost touching his ruined shirt. "I made a mistake, and I am sorry for your clothes. But you don't get to throw cash at me like I’m a dog. You are a rude, arrogant bully. I don't care how many billions you have. You don't own me." The room was so quiet it felt like the air had been sucked out. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Régis stared down at her. For the first time in his life, a woman was looking at him with pure rage instead of fear or desire. She was tiny compared to him, but she looked like a fierce little wildcat ready to tear him apart. Her bright eyes were blazing. He didn't speak. He just watched her, his gaze intense, heavy, and suddenly very unreadable. Fifi didn't wait for his response. She tore off her serving apron, threw it onto the floor right over his scattered money, and turned on her heel. She walked away, her head held high, marching right out of the ballroom. Régis did not move. He stood in the center of the room, his eyes locked on her retreating figure, watching the way her long red hair swayed against her back until she completely disappeared through the exit. "Sir?" his assistant, Mark, rushed forward, trembling. "Should I have her arrested? I can call the police right now. She will pay for this—" "No," Régis cut him off. His voice was unusually low. He reached up, slowly touching the spot on his chest where the wine had hit. His heart was beating faster than usual. His mind was completely filled with the image of her blazing eyes and her stubborn, beautiful face. "Find out who she is," Régis commanded, his green eyes staring at the empty doorway. "Everything about her. I want a full report on my desk by tomorrow morning." An hour later, Fifi was sitting on the cold plastic chairs of the hospital waiting room. Her hands were shaking. She had been fired instantly, of course. No surprise there. She didn't care about the job. She cared about her mother. "Miss Derin?" the hospital billing clerk called out, looking at her with a cold, professional expression. "The midnight deadline has passed. The system shows a zero balance for the monthly care package. If you cannot pay the three thousand dollars right now, we have to move your mother to the general ward downstairs." "Please," Fifi begged, standing up and gripping the desk. "Just give me forty-eight hours. I'll find the money. I promise. My mother is too weak to be moved to a crowded room. She could get an infection!" "I’m sorry, Miss Derin. Rules are rules. If you don't have the cash, please sign these transfer papers." Fifi felt her world crashing down around her. She looked at the papers. Tears blurred her vision. She was completely trapped. She had nothing left to sell. No one to turn to. Suddenly, a heavy shadow fell over the desk. A cold, familiar scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne filled the small, sterile hallway. "She won't be signing anything," a deep, smooth baritone voice cut through the air. Fifi gasped and spun around. Standing in the shabby hospital hallway, looking completely out of place in a fresh, perfectly pressed dark gray suit, was Régis Annauté. His emerald eyes locked onto hers, holding her captive. Before Fifi could even speak, Régis slapped a black American Express card onto the hospital counter. "Clear her mother's entire debt," Régis ordered the clerk, his eyes never leaving Fifi's shocked face. "And upgrade her to the private executive suite immediately." Fifi’s jaw dropped. "You? What are you doing here?" Régis stepped closer, his massive frame towering over her, trapping her against the counter. A dark, dangerous smile touched his lips. "You said I don't own you, Fifi," he whispered, his voice dangerously low, sending a shiver through her entire body. "But by tomorrow morning... you will realize just how much you belong to me."