Bound to the billionaire

Tension

Amira pov

The bags from my shopping trip sat on the couch untouched. I sank into the cushions, staring at them with no intention of unpacking. My mind wandered back to Bloom Café, back to the blonde woman I had seen with Damien the same woman tangled up with my best friend’s boyfriend. The thought pricked me like a thorn.

Part of me wanted to tell Damien. To throw it in his face, maybe as comfort, maybe as proof that his precious “date” wasn’t so perfect. But another part of me the tired part told me to keep my mouth shut. Why should I? It wasn’t my business, and Damien wasn’t exactly the kind of man you poured your heart out to.

The jingle of keys snapped me out of my thoughts. Damien walked in, his tie loosened, his shirt slightly crumpled from work. He looked drained, but his presence still carried that firm, commanding weight.

“Get dressed,” he said, not even bothering with a greeting. “We have a business dinner tonight. My foreign clients are in town.”

I blinked at him, stunned. “What?”

He pulled off his wristwatch, setting it on the table casually. “Dinner. Tonight. With my clients.”

“Are you kidding me right now, Damien?” I shot up from the couch. “You didn’t think to call me? You didn’t think to at least inform me before you barged in here with this order?”

His eyes flicked up to mine, calm and unbothered. “I didn’t think it was necessary. You’re my wife, Amira. You should be ready for things like this.”

“Ready?” My laugh came out sharp. “Do I look like I’m sitting around in evening gowns waiting for your business calls? News flash I’m not prepared, and I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he reached into the bag he’d carried in and placed a box on the coffee table. Then another.

I frowned. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

I hesitated, but curiosity got the better of me. Inside the first box was a sleek, fitted black dress that shimmered faintly under the lights. The second held a pair of strappy heels that looked straight out of a fashion magazine.

“You bought these?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Yes.” His tone was even, his face unreadable. “Because I knew you’d say you had nothing to wear.”

The nerve of him. My pride screamed at me to refuse, to shove the boxes back at him. But my fingers lingered on the fabric, betraying me. He had chosen well too well.

I lifted my chin. “So, what? You think you can just buy me clothes and I’ll dance along like your puppet?”

His lips twitched, almost a smirk. “No. I think you’ll wear them because you don’t want to embarrass me in front of my clients. And because deep down, you actually like them.”

I glared at him, but the man wasn’t entirely wrong. Still, I couldn’t let him win. “Fine,” I snapped. “But don’t think this means anything.”

“Good,” he said simply, and turned toward the door. “I’ll wait in the car. Don’t take forever.”

By the time I finished dressing, I almost didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. The dress clung to me in all the right places, the heels elongating my legs. I sighed, brushing my hair back. He wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of hearing me admit it, but he had chosen perfectly.

I stepped outside and made my way toward the car. Damien was leaning against it, scrolling through his phone. When he looked up and saw me, something flickered across his face something he quickly hid.

“Let’s go,” he said, opening the car door for me. His hand brushed mine as I slid in, and I hated the little spark it sent up my arm.

The restaurant glowed with golden light, every table adorned with crisp linens and crystal glasses. We were ushered to a reserved corner where a tall man with broad shoulders and a warm smile stood to greet us. Beside him sat a blonde woman, her hair sleek and her eyes sharp behind her polite smile.

“Amira,” Damien said, resting a light hand on my back. “This is Marcus, my business partner, and his assistant, Claire.”

Marcus’s handshake was firm. “A pleasure. Damien’s spoken highly of you.”

Claire’s smile was practiced, the kind that never reached her eyes. “Lovely to meet you.”

We settled into our seats. Conversation began smoothly, Marcus asking about the city, about how we liked the restaurant, about trivial little things. Eventually, it shifted to family.

“So, Amira,” Marcus said, his accent curling around my name, “do you come from a big family?”

I hesitated, glancing at Damien before answering. “Yes. Complicated, but yes.”

He chuckled knowingly. “Ah, family is always complicated. I have four brothers every time we gather, it’s chaos.”

Damien gave a small, polite smile but didn’t add much.

“Damien never tells me anything about his family,” Marcus continued, clearly amused. “I asked him once if he has any brothers or sisters, and he dodged the question like I was trying to steal state secrets.”

Claire laughed lightly, though her eyes never left Damien.

I felt the tension from Damien’s silence, so I cut in. “Sometimes people value their privacy,” I said smoothly.

Marcus nodded. “True, true. But still family is what makes us human, no?”

Damien’s jaw tightened, but he finally said, “Family can also make us weak. That’s why I keep business separate.”

The words hung in the air. Marcus studied him carefully, then smirked. “Always the strategist.”

Dinner carried on, but when the conversation shifted to business, Marcus suddenly switched to Spanish. His words flowed smoothly, quick and pointed.

I blinked, lost instantly.

Damien responded in the same tongue, his voice steady, his expression sharp. Back and forth they went, their tones growing sharper, the rhythm of the language turning into a clash.

I couldn’t understand the words, but I didn’t need to the tension was thick enough.

Then Marcus slammed his glass down, laughing without humor. Claire froze, clearly uneasy.

Damien rose abruptly. “We’re done here.”

I quickly stood too, my hand brushing his arm, steadying him. We left the table, the blonde’s eyes following us all the way out.

When we finally got home, Damien went straight into his study, and I went back to my bedroom without saying a word.