Owned By The Billionaire Devil

Chapter 4

My hand flew to my mouth, trying to trap the scream building in my throat. Alistair just watched me. His expression wasn't one of shock, but a grim, satisfied calm.

That was what shattered me completely.

He had known. The entire time.

"You…" I managed to choke out, my voice ragged. "You knew."

A slow, knowing smirk touched his lips. It was devoid of its usual polite warmth. It was the same ruthless one I’d felt against my skin last night in the dark. That smirk confirmed everything.

This wasn't a mistake or a drunken coincidence.

It was his choice.

Betrayal, humiliation, and a searing rage clashed inside me, burning away the last of my shock. My hurt deepened.

"You selfish, monstrous bastard," I spat, the words trembling with fury. "You set this up?. You played with me. Was this a game? Some sick test?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but I wasn't finished.

"Since it's you…" I began coldly. "Then you should know something. Even if it hadn't been you behind that mask, I would have given myself to a stranger last night. In your eyes, that probably makes me cheap, no?"

I saw a flicker in his calm expression, a tightening around his eyes, and it angered me even more. "But since the man still turned out to be you, you didn’t just take my first time. You took my pride, my trust, and every illusion I had about who you are.”

I took a deep breath.

"This engagement is over. We are done. I am not marrying you."

I pointed a shaking finger at him. “Stay out of my sight. Consider this our official cancellation. Go home, Alistair. Go convince my parents, and yours, that this marriage will never, ever happen."

I stormed toward the door, angry tears blurring my vision and making my movements jerky.

He stayed on the bed, motionless, watching me with that infuriating calm.

I turned back one last time, raised my hand, and gave him a sharp middle finger. Then I spun around and slammed the door so hard the frame shook.

Outside in the empty hallway, I sank against the wall, gasping for breath. I grabbed fistfuls of my hair, tugging lightly as if the pain could erase everything. How? How had I mistaken my own fiancé for a stranger and slept with him? The thought was absurd, like a cruel joke. Then, a fresh wave of shame hit me. Why did I call myself cheap in front of him? I had handed him a weapon to use against me.

I pushed off the wall, straightening my clothes. "Well," I muttered to the empty corridor. "That ought to make him change his mind. No one would marry someone like me. Someone cheap."

Keys in hand, I walked out. The morning sun felt falsely bright and cheerful. I couldn’t go home yet. I couldn’t sit in my room with this secret screaming inside me. I needed someone to help me make sense of it.

I steered my car toward the other side of the city and drove straight to Chloe’s.

…..

Chloe took one look at my rumpled clothes and led me inside without a word.

"Your mom has been calling me," she said, following behind me. "She was worried when you didn’t come home last night or answer your phone. I covered for you. I told her you crashed here, that you were still sleeping and I’d send you home once you were up." She handed me a glass of water. "So...what happened?"

I took a long sip, but the water didn’t help. "I came here to tell you everything," I said, my voice rough. "But first… I desperately need a clean up. I need to scrub last night off my skin. Can I borrow some clothes?"

"Of course. Take your time."

Under the hot, punishing spray of the shower, I tried to let the water wash away the memory of his hands, his lips, his voice promising I’d never erase him but it was impossible.

Once I was done, I dressed up and walked back into the living room. I felt slightly more human.

"Okay," I said, sinking into the sofa. "Now, I think I need fuel for this story. Do you have anything to eat?"

Chloe nodded. "Coming right up. You look like you need a whole feast." She turned toward the kitchen, but before she could take two steps, the sharp ring of my phone made her stop.

I dug the phone from my bag to see my mom’s name flashing on the screen.

My brief sense of calm evaporated... still, I answered, keeping my voice carefully light. "Hi, Mom."

"Maisie... where..."

I couldn't handle a conversation, not now. "On my way home," I cut in, then hung up.

I stood abruptly. "I have to go."

"What's wrong? Really?"

"I don't know," I said, grabbing my bag. "I honestly don't know. I'll explain everything later. Meet me at the usual café tonight, okay?"

With a gentle nod from Chloe, I left.

The drive home was a blur. My mind kept replaying the events of last night.

I pulled into my family’s driveway. The moment I stepped out of the car, a wave of dizziness hit me as the memories ambushed me again.

Alistair's face. That smirk.

Anger and humiliation heated my cheeks. I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to regain composure as I pushed the front door open and stepped into the cool, quiet mansion. "I'm home," I called out, my voice echoing slightly.

I looked up toward the living room and froze.

Seated on the cream-colored sofa, looking perfectly calm, was Alistair. He was still wearing the same dark-blue shirt from moments ago, probably the one I had fisted in my hands last night.

He looked composed like he was just stopping by for a casual visit. Not like a man who had been part of a relationship-ending confrontation about thirty minutes ago.

Then, my mother appeared from the kitchen, her face breaking into a warm smile. "There you are! What took you so long?"

Alistair rose to his feet, a polite smile appearing on his face.

My mother continued, gesturing to Alistair. "Did you know Alistair has been here for two hours, waiting for you so patiently?"

"Whattt?" I blinked, my brain utterly short-circuiting.

Two hours?

The words didn't make sense. They were impossible.

The math was wrong.

I had left him at the hotel after throwing him out of my life. I had driven across the city. I had showered and changed at Chloe’s and all of that had barely been 45 minutes ago.

There was no physical way he could have beaten me here, let alone been waiting for two hours. My blood ran cold. A deep, primal fear settled in my stomach.

Then what was going on? What was this game?