Betrayed By The Billionaire Playboy

The morning light filtered through the curtains, slicing through the darkened room like the remnants of the storm inside me. My eyes burned from the tears I had cried all night, my body heavy with exhaustion. The events of the previous night replayed in my mind like a broken record: James’s cold, dismissive stare; Samantha’s smug smile; the stranger’s cryptic words. I turned to the side of the bed and rubbed my hand on it as I remembered how I’d always wake up and see my James sleeping peacefully and I rush to make breakfast for him, trying my best to be the perfect housewife. I tried and knew I had done everything right but where had I gone wrong?! I was going to make sure that James and Samantha pays for what they have done, for all the sacrifices I had made.The black card lay on the nightstand, its pristine edges mocking the chaos of my life. I picked it up, the embossed name staring back at me: Armando Moretti.Who is he?The question buzzed in my mind as I turned the card over,

The morning after Vincent’s warning, the air in Armando’s penthouse felt heavy, almost oppressive. I sat on the plush gray couch, staring at a folder Armando had placed on the coffee table in front of me. The sleek leather cover was unassuming, but I knew whatever lay inside would change the way I saw James—and possibly, myself.“This will answer most of your questions,” Armando said, standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his silhouette stark against the bright city skyline.I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the edge of the folder. “Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.He turned, his gaze sharp but unreadable. “Because you need to understand who James really is—and why he deserves what’s coming to him.”His tone sent a shiver down my spine. Taking a deep breath, I flipped the folder open.Inside were documents, photos, and financial records that painted a picture far worse than I had ever imagined. James wasn’t just a liar or a cheat—he was a frau

(Olivia’s POV)The silk lining of my gown clung to my legs as I slid into the passenger seat of Armando’s Aston Martin. My fingers twitched in my lap, nervous energy I couldn’t quite hide. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence as Armando navigated the streets like they belonged to him—smooth, calculated, and always in control. We had a Gala to attend. First party to attend as a couple.“Do you have to look so tense?” he asked, glancing at me briefly. His hand rested casually on the steering wheel, his cufflinks catching the light from passing streetlamps.“I’m not tense,” I lied, smoothing my dress over my knees. I just didn’t know how to hide my tension.“You’re practically fidgeting,” he countered. “It’s a gala, not a battlefield.”“For you, maybe,” I muttered, turning to watch the city blur past the window. The truth was, my nerves had been shot ever since the attack. I could still feel the cold blade of the knife from that parking lot, hear Armando’s sharp command as he br

(Armando’s POV)The city was quiet at this hour, the kind of silence that felt unnatural, like the calm before a storm. I stood by the window of the penthouse bedroom, nursing a glass of whiskey, my eyes fixed on the skyline. The lights stretched endlessly, each one representing someone else’s life, someone else’s struggle.And yet, my thoughts couldn’t leave her.Olivia was in the bathroom, the soft hum of running water breaking the quiet. I could still picture her from earlier tonight—the way she handled herself under James’s glare, the calm edge in her voice when she dismissed him like he was nothing. It was a game to her now, or at least that’s what she wanted everyone to believe.But I’d seen the way her hand trembled when she set down her glass. I’d felt the tension in her body when I touched her back.She was scared. And she hated that.I took another sip of whiskey, letting it burn down my throat. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. When I first brought Olivia into my world

(Dual POV)Olivia’s POVThe storm came suddenly, violent and unrelenting, like it was trying to tear the city apart. Rain hammered against the penthouse windows in furious bursts, the sound echoing through the quiet space. The power had gone out an hour ago, leaving us with nothing but the flickering light of scattered candles.Armando moved through the room like the storm didn’t bother him at all. Calm. Controlled. Of course he wasn’t rattled—nothing ever seemed to reach him. Not the chaos outside, not the mess we’d found ourselves in, and certainly not me.I tucked my legs under me on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “I didn’t think storms like this happened here.” I broke the ice of silence.“They don’t,” Armando said, setting another candle on the coffee table. He turned toward me, leaning against the edge of the couch, his face partially illuminated by the warm light. “Not usually.”I tried to focus on the storm, but my thoughts kept drifting. Isabella’