Billionaire Romance: Mine Tonight

The flash of cameras was relentless, each burst of light another knife to Seraphine Ashton’s chest. She stood on the red carpet of the Midnight Dreams premiere, her emerald gown clinging to her frame like a second skin, her smile fixed in place even as her world crumbled around her. This was supposed to be her triumph the film she’d poured her soul into for eight months, the role that would finally prove she was more than just a pretty face in Hollywood’s shallow waters.

Instead, it had become her public execution.

“Seraphine! Over here!” A photographer shouted, and she turned automatically, muscle memory from six years of A-list stardom guiding her body even as her mind screamed to run. The camera flashes intensified, and she knew what they were really photographing. Not her Valentino gown or her carefully styled chestnut hair. They were capturing her humiliation, the exact moment America’s Sweetheart discovered her boyfriend no, ex-boyfriend now had his tongue down another woman’s throat just thirty feet away.

Derek Castellan, golden boy actor and critically acclaimed director of the very film being premiered tonight, stood beneath the spotlight with his co-star Vanessa Cole wrapped around him like a python. The woman wore a dress that barely qualified as fabric, all crimson silk and exposed skin, her platinum blonde hair a stark contrast to Seraphine’s warmer tones. But it was the way Derek held her possessively, proudly, his hand splayed across the small of her back in that intimate way he used to touch Seraphine that made bile rise in her throat.

“Mr. Castellan! Can you comment on your relationship with Vanessa Cole?” A reporter thrust a microphone toward them, and Derek’s movie star smile widened. That smile had charmed her two years ago, made her believe in fairy tales and happy endings. Now it looked like the predatory grin it had always been.

“Vanessa and I fell in love during filming,” Derek announced, his voice carrying across the red carpet with practiced projection. “When you find your soulmate, you can’t deny destiny. I hope everyone can be happy for us.”

The crowd erupted. Questions flew like arrows, each one finding its mark in Seraphine’s heart. When had it started? Had he cheated on Seraphine? Was this why they’d broken up two weeks ago? The narrative was already being written, and Seraphine could see exactly how it would read: Derek Castellan, brilliant director, found true love with his leading lady. Poor Seraphine Ashton, the jealous ex-girlfriend who couldn’t handle being replaced.

Never mind that Derek had been the one controlling every aspect of her life for two years. Never mind that he’d isolated her from friends, dictated which roles she could accept, manipulated her into believing she needed him to survive in this industry. Never mind that she’d caught him in bed with Vanessa three weeks ago and had the strength to finally walk away.

None of that mattered. In Hollywood, the narrative was everything, and Derek had always been better at playing the game.

“Seraphine! How do you feel about Derek’s new relationship?” A vulture sorry, reporter materialized beside her, microphone extended like a weapon.

She could feel hundreds of eyes on her, waiting for her to crack, to give them the tears and drama they craved. Her publicist, Maya Rodriguez, appeared at her elbow like a guardian angel in a power suit, her dark eyes flashing with barely contained fury.

“Ms. Ashton has no comment,” Maya said sharply, her Cuban accent thickening the way it always did when she was angry. “Please respect her privacy.”

Privacy. The word was laughable on a red carpet surrounded by cameras and hungry journalists. Seraphine’s hazel eyes found Derek’s across the distance, and for just a moment, his mask slipped. She saw the cruel satisfaction there, the deliberate calculation. He’d planned this. Timed it perfectly to cause maximum damage, to remind her that he still had power over her even after she’d left.

He’d directed her in this film, shaped her performance, and now he was directing her public humiliation with the same meticulous attention to detail.

“I’m fine,” Seraphine heard herself say, and was surprised by how steady her voice sounded. Years of acting training served her well; she could perform even when her heart was shattering. “I wish Derek and Vanessa all the happiness they deserve.”

The emphasis on ‘deserve’ was subtle, but Maya’s hand tightened on her arm in approval. Let the reporters interpret that however they wanted.

“We need to get you inside,” Maya murmured, already guiding her toward the theater entrance. “Smile, querida. Don’t let them see you break.”

Seraphine smiled. It felt like her face might crack from the effort, but she smiled. She waved to fans calling her name, signed an autograph for a young girl who looked at her with stars in her eyes, and walked into the theater with her head held high and her spine straight.

It wasn’t until she was safely in her seat, the lights dimming for the film to begin, that she allowed herself to truly feel the pain radiating through her chest. Maya sat beside her, a silent fortress of support, and Seraphine was grateful her best friend knew when words would only make things worse.

The screen flickered to life, and Seraphine watched herself perform in a role she’d loved, in a film that would now forever be tainted by this nightmare. On screen, her character fell in love, trusted the wrong man, paid the price for her naivety. Art imitating life in the cruelest possible way.

Two hours later, when the credits rolled and the audience applauded, Seraphine stood and clapped along with everyone else. She congratulated cast members, posed for photos at the after-party, and played the role of gracious professional even as Derek and Vanessa made a spectacle of themselves in the corner, feeding each other champagne and laughing too loudly.

“I’m getting you out of here,” Maya declared at midnight, her patience finally exhausted. “You’ve done enough.”

Seraphine didn’t argue. She let Maya guide her through a back exit, away from the party that had become a celebration of her public humiliation. The cool Los Angeles night air hit her face like a blessing, and she inhaled deeply, trying to wash the sick feeling from her lungs.

“That bastard planned this,” Maya said as they slid into the back of a black SUV. “Every detail. The timing, the announcement, even Vanessa’s fucking dress designed to make you look overdressed and frigid by comparison. He’s been planning this for weeks.”

“I know.” Seraphine’s voice was hollow. She stared out the window as the city lights blurred past, each one a tiny star in an endless galaxy of broken dreams.

“We can fight this narrative. I’ll call”

“No.” Seraphine cut her off gently. “Let him have his moment. Let them have their happiness. I just want to disappear for a while.”

Maya was silent for a long moment, her dark eyes studying Seraphine’s profile with the intensity that made her such an effective manager. Finally, she sighed. “There’s a charity gala next week. The Ashford Foundation thing. A-list only, very exclusive, very private. No press allowed inside. You could make an appearance, show the world you’re unbothered, then leave early. Minimum exposure, maximum impact.”

Seraphine wanted to say no. She wanted to hide in her Malibu beach house and never face another camera, another question, another pitying look. But Maya was right disappearing would only feed the narrative that she was broken, defeated, unable to move on.

“Fine,” she whispered. “One appearance. Then I’m taking a break.”

“Deal.” Maya squeezed her hand. “And Sera? He didn’t deserve you. He never did.”

Seraphine knew that was true. Intellectually, she knew Derek Castellan was a narcissistic manipulator who had controlled and diminished her for two years. But knowing something and feeling it were different things, and right now, all she felt was the crushing weight of betrayal and the terrifying certainty that she would never trust another man again.

Seven days, she told herself as the SUV pulled up to her house. She just had to survive seven more days of public scrutiny, one charity gala, and then she could hide. Then she could heal.

She had no way of knowing that in seven days, at that charity gala, she would meet a man who would change everything. A man whose power made Derek look like a child playing dress-up. A man who would see past her celebrity facade to the wounded woman beneath and decide, with the cold certainty that had built empires, that she belonged to him.

In seven days, Seraphine Ashton would meet Damien Hale.

And nothing would ever be the same.