The billionaire CEO who was never mine _until now

chapter 3

(Viora’s POV)

He kissed the top of my head, and I felt a strange sense of belonging, as if this was exactly where I was meant to be.

He got up to wash off, and I lay there, my body still humming with the remnants of what we’d just shared. But even as I listened to the sound of the water running, I couldn’t help but wonder... What happens next?, just like that I have fell in love with him how we fell for Each other?

How We Fell in Love

I didn’t expect that spilled paint to change my life. But somehow, that moment...his awkward apology, my ruined shoes, the way he smiled like he had the world figured out...set everything in, And the way he performs in bed was super hot....

After our first café meetup, we kept seeing each other. At first, it was casual...late-night calls, long walks in the park, stolen moments between my art sessions. But soon, it became something deeper. Something I didn’t want to run from.

Aman had this way of making everything feel like an adventure. One evening, after I finished a piece I had been struggling with for weeks, he surprised me with a rooftop dinner. Fairy lights, soft music, and my favorite meal, all waiting for me.

“For my artist,” he had said, holding out a single white rose. “To remind you that even when you feel lost, your art always finds its way back.”

I didn’t just love him. I fell in love with the way he saw me—the way he understood me even when I didn’t understand myself.

Our love grew in quiet, steady ways. The way he’d hold my hand in crowded places like I was the only thing he needed to hold onto. How he’d leave little notes in my sketchbooks—sometimes words of encouragement, other times silly doodles that made me laugh. How he never let a day pass without making sure I knew how much he adored me.

Then, one night, everything changed.

We were at the art gallery, my first major showcase. My nerves were all over the place, but he stayed by my side, whispering reassurance whenever I needed it. And just as I thought the night couldn’t get any more overwhelming, Aman stepped forward in front of everyone, took my hand, and dropped to one knee.

“I don’t just want to admire your art for the rest of my life,” he said, his voice steady. “I want to admire you—to love you, to stand by you, to be your partner in every masterpiece you create. Marry me, Viora.”

Tears welled in my eyes. The world blurred, the people around us faded, and in that moment, all I saw was him.

“Yes,” I whispered. “A thousand times, yes.”

The applause, the cheers, the flashing lights....all of it barely registered. Because the only thing that mattered was the way he held me afterward, like he had just secured the most precious thing in his life.

If someone had told me that love could change overnight, I wouldn’t have believed them.

Love was supposed to be constant, right? Steady. Something you could lean on when the world felt like it was shifting beneath your feet. And for a long time, that’s exactly what Aman was to me—solid, unwavering, mine.

Our love wasn’t just grand gestures and picture-perfect moments. It was the little things. The everyday magic.

Like how he’d trace patterns on my arm absentmindedly while we watched movies, his fingers warm against my skin. Or how he’d pull me onto the dance floor at weddings, even when I protested that I had two left feet. Or how, on nights when my mind was a mess of colors and unfinished ideas, he’d sit beside me in my studio, not saying a word ,just there.

That was love.

And for a long time, it was enough.

But the thing about love? It doesn’t always fade in a dramatic, catastrophic way. Sometimes, it shifts so gradually you don’t even notice—until one day, you wake up, and it feels different. Like wearing your favorite sweater and realizing it doesn’t fit the same way anymore.

And for us, it all started the moment Aman tasted wealth.

"You Won’t Believe This, Babe"

It was a Sunday afternoon, and I was sprawled across the couch, sketchbook balanced on my lap. The apartment smelled like coffee and vanilla—Aman had been experimenting with new recipes all morning, insisting that he’d perfect the "art of making the best damn latte in the world."

I was mid-shade, trying to get the shadows just right, when Aman burst through the door.

"Babe!" His voice was electric, like he’d just won the lottery. "You won’t believe this!"

I looked up, smiling at his excitement. "What happened? Did you finally crack the secret to that latte?"

"No, no, listen....okay, you know Malik? The guy who owns that fancy gallery downtown?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah…?"

"He wants to work with me! ME. Can you believe that? He saw the mural I did at the café and says it’s got ‘undeniable energy’ or some artsy rich guy phrase like that. He wants me to do a commission for his next exhibition!"

I blinked, absorbing the words. Then, the excitement hit me all at once. "Aman! That’s amazing!" I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I told you your work was incredible! This is huge!"

He laughed, spinning me around before setting me down. "I know, right?! And get this—he’s willing to pay a fat check for it. Like, real money. Not ‘starving artist’ money."

I grinned. "See? All those nights covered in paint and cursing at unfinished walls were worth it."

"Apparently so." His smile was wide, but there was something in his eyes—something new. A spark I hadn’t seen before.

At first, nothing seemed different.

Aman was still Aman. He still kissed my forehead every morning before heading to work. He still texted me random thoughts throughout the day—“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” (No, Aman, please shut up). He still made us stay up way too late talking about the meaning of life and whether pigeons had feelings.

But then, slowly, things started to change.

The first time, I barely noticed it.

"Hey, babe, I might be late tonight. Malik’s hosting this thing—networking, you know? Gotta be there."

"Okay, cool. Want me to wait up for you?"

"Nah, don’t bother. I’ll probably crash at his place after."

The second time, it was a little harder to ignore.

"Babe, are you free this weekend? We should do a gallery date, celebrate your big break!"

"Ah, shit.....yeah, I actually have this event with Malik. But next weekend, yeah?"

The third time?

"Aman, you’ve missed, like, the last three things we planned. Are you good?"

"Vee, come on. This is important. Do you know the kind of people I’m meeting? This is my future, babe."

His future.

And just like that, I realized I was no longer part of the equation.

"You’ve Changed"

One night, I was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta, when Aman walked in, phone glued to his ear.

"Yeah, yeah, just send the details to my assistant. No, bro, I need that spot....if Malik says it’s exclusive, then I want in."

I frowned, setting the spoon down. "Your assistant?"

He held up a finger, mouthing “one sec” before stepping into the hallway.

I exhaled, annoyance prickling under my skin. A few minutes later, he came back, dropping his phone on the counter.

"Since when do you have an assistant?" I asked.

"It’s just this intern Malik set me up with....nothing serious. She handles scheduling and emails, that kinda stuff."

"Scheduling and emails?" I repeated. "Aman, you used to forget to check your email for weeks. Who even are you right now?"

He chuckled, brushing past me to grab a bottle of water. "Babe, relax. It’s just business. You of all people should understand that."

"I do understand, but I also understand that the guy who used to stay up painting with me until sunrise now barely has time to even text back."

He sighed, rubbing his temple. "Vee, come on. Not this again."

"No, seriously....do you even like who you’re becoming?"

His jaw tightened. "Maybe I do."

That shut me up.

I stared at him, trying to find traces of the Aman I knew. The one who used to drag me out of bed at 2 AM just to look at the stars. The one who once told me that no amount of money could ever make art more valuable.

But all I saw was someone I didn’t recognize.

I kept trying to fix things. I told myself it was just a phase, that he’d come back to me once the excitement of success settled.

I was wrong.

Because one night, I went to his place, hoping—praying—to talk things out. To remind him of us.

But instead, I found them.

Aman.

And Heiti.

Together.

The world tilted.

"What the f**k?" My voice came out strangled, like someone had punched me in the throat.