Contracted To The Cold Billionaire

The soft clinking of champagne glasses and hum of expensive conversation echoed through the golden-lit ballroom of the Monroe estate. The place Ariana once called home. She walked through the crowd in a deep emerald gown, her long curls cascading over her shoulders. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration—the annual Monroe Foundation gala, the first without her parents. She’d plastered on a smile, greeted old friends, and kept her chin up for the press. But deep inside, she felt like a glass on the edge of a shelf—one nudge away from shattering. She hadn’t seen Daniel yet. Her boyfriend of three years. Until now. The sight stopped her breath. Daniel stood near the fireplace, his arms wrapped around a woman in a crimson satin dress. Their bodies were pressed too close, lips far too familiar. It was Camilla. Her cousin. Her only living blood relative. Camilla pulled back from the kiss slowly, like she wanted to be caught. Her hand lingered on Daniel’s chest as she turned her head, eyes locking onto Ariana’s. A cruel smile bloomed on her face. Ariana’s stomach dropped. “You have got to be kidding me,” she whispered. Daniel didn’t even flinch. He looked her dead in the eye—no guilt, no shame. Just indifference. “You’re early,” he said smoothly, like she’d walked in on something as casual as a meeting. Ariana’s fists clenched at her sides. “What the hell is this?” Camilla stepped forward, looping her arm through Daniel’s. “What does it look like, cousin?” she purred. “We finally decided to stop hiding.” “Hiding?” Ariana choked. “You were with me, Daniel!” “Were,” he corrected with a shrug. “Things change. You were too... fragile. Always so wrapped up in grief and charity. I needed someone who could match my ambition.” “You mean someone willing to sleep with you behind my back?” she snapped. Camilla let out a theatrical laugh. “Oh, please, Ariana. Let’s not pretend you didn’t see this coming. Daniel’s not your type. You were just... a phase.” The guests nearby were watching now—silent, entertained, pretending to mind their own business but leaning closer with every cruel word. Ariana’s voice trembled, but she held her ground. “You’re my cousin. You held my hand at my mother’s funeral.” “And now I’m holding your man.” Camilla leaned in, her voice low and vicious. “Don’t be mad that I can finish what you were too broken to hold onto.” That did it. Ariana raised her hand—but before it connected, a strong grip caught her wrist. “Don’t embarrass yourself further, Ariana,” said a cold voice behind her. She turned. Her uncle—Camilla’s father, Lawrence Monroe—stood with a glass of scotch in hand, his expression devoid of warmth. His once-graying hair was freshly dyed, and his tailored suit screamed power and manipulation. “Let go of me,” she hissed. He released her wrist with a scoff. “You’ve made enough of a scene. It’s time you left.” “What?” Ariana blinked. “This is my house.” “Was,” he said, sipping his drink. “Everything under the Monroe name now falls under my control. Your father left behind quite a mess, and the board agreed it was time someone capable stepped in.” “My father’s will left the estate to me—” “Contingent on your ability to manage it,” he cut in smoothly. “Which, after your recent ‘emotional instability’ and financial recklessness, you’ve clearly failed.” Ariana’s voice cracked. “You forged the documents.” He smiled. “Prove it.” Behind him, Camilla smirked, snuggled against Daniel like she’d just won a crown. Ariana’s chest heaved. “You stole everything from me.” “No,” Camilla said sweetly. “We took what was never yours to begin with. You were just playing heiress. It’s time for the real Monroe to rise.” Lawrence snapped his fingers at security. Two black-suited guards stepped forward. Ariana stumbled back a step. “You’re really doing this? You’re throwing me out?” “You have five minutes to leave,” Lawrence said. “Anything you leave behind becomes house property.” Daniel looked past her, already done with the conversation. Ariana stared at them—at the man she loved, the cousin she once trusted, and the uncle who had raised a monster. She could cry. She could scream. She could beg. But instead, she squared her shoulders and looked Camilla dead in the eyes. “Enjoy this while it lasts,” she said quietly. “Because one day, all of this? It’ll crumble beneath you.” Camilla scoffed. “Empty threats won’t get you your bed back, Ari.” Ariana turned and walked away, each step echoing through the silence that had fallen across the ballroom. Outside, the night air was sharp and unforgiving. She stood on the estate steps, still in her gown, purse in hand, no car, no home, no plan. The gates closed behind her with a heavy metallic clang. She had nothing left. No family. No inheritance. No one. But she had one thing. Fire. And she would use it to burn every last one of them down.