My billionaire driver

The Price of One Night

The glass vase flew past Ariana Westbrook’s head and shattered against the wall behind her.

“You want to destroy me, is that it?” her father’s voice thundered across the marble-floored living room. “You want to drag my name through the gutter with your madness?”

She flinched but didn’t step back. Not this time.

“Dad, it’s not what it looks like—”

“Not what it looks like?” Victor Westbrook’s face was red with fury, veins pulsing at his temple as he jabbed a remote at the TV. “Look at this!”

The screen lit up with a freeze frame from the now-viral video: Ariana, hair wild, body arched back in a drunken laugh, one heel in her hand, and a man’s lips pressed against hers as someone shouted in the background.

The chyron read:

“WESTBROOK’S DAUGHTER IN DRUNKEN SCANDAL — AGAIN”

Ariana’s stomach twisted. Her palms curled into fists. “It was just a party. I was dragged into that kiss—”

“Save it!” her father roared, pacing toward her in his silk robe like a storm in human form. “You’ve embarrassed me in front of board members, potential investors, and the entire country! You think this is just about a kiss?”

He pointed at the TV again, shaking. “They think you’re a train wreck. A wild card. The spoiled brat who can’t keep her legs or her liquor in check!”

“Enough!” Ariana shouted, stepping between him and the TV. “I’m not your PR stunt! You don’t get to rule my life just because you own half the city!”

Victor narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

He walked to the console table and picked up a file. “From this moment on, your credit cards are suspended. Your phone will be monitored. And you’ll have a new full-time driver.”

“What?” she gasped.

Victor raised a brow. “He’ll report directly to me. You won’t so much as breathe without me knowing.”

Her voice cracked. “You can’t do that. I’m not a child—”

“You’re worse!” he barked. “A child can be trained. But you—” he scoffed bitterly. “You think you’re untouchable because you wear designer shoes and flash a pretty smile?”

Ariana’s face flushed with heat. “You’re trying to lock me in a cage!”

Victor’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “If I don’t control you, you’ll be the end of me, Ariana. The end of everything I built.”

She stood frozen, breath shaky.

The room fell quiet except for the soft buzz of the TV in the background.

Victor straightened his robe, regaining that polished, CEO calm. “Your driver will be here in one hour. Be dressed.”

Ariana clenched her jaw, eyes stinging. “I hate you,” she whispered.

But her father didn’t even flinch. “You’ll thank me when you realize freedom isn’t for girls like you.”

He walked out, leaving her alone with the sound of her own heartbeat—and a war quietly rising in her chest.

The Night That Broke the Rules

Ariana lay curled on her bed, the sheets tangled around her body, her ears still ringing from her father’s voice.

But even louder than that… the memories.

They crashed in her mind like broken waves.

---

Flashback — 12 Hours Earlier

"Come on, Ari," Tessa whispered with a mischievous grin, already halfway through her smoky eye makeup. “Just one party. No Westbrook security. No house curfew. Just us, music, and maybe a few bad decisions.”

Ariana frowned, arms crossed on the windowsill of her massive room, the night wind brushing her curls. “My dad’s going to kill me if he finds out.”

Tessa snorted. “You think the media’s obsessed with your reputation? Girl, your dad’s obsession is worse. You’re nineteen, not ninety. Live a little.”

Ariana chewed her bottom lip. Something in her burned for freedom—just one night without being shadowed, judged, protected like a porcelain doll in a glass case.

She turned around slowly. “Fine. One party. We leave by midnight.”

Tessa grinned. “Queen behavior.”

---

At the Party — Warehouse District, Downtown

It was packed. Music pulsed through the industrial building, strobe lights slicing through mist and sweat. The air was thick with perfume, liquor, and secrets.

Ariana wore a black satin mini dress and boots that clicked against the concrete. Heads turned when she walked in. People always stared — the name Westbrook carried weight like gold and blood.

Tessa vanished into the crowd, and Ariana grabbed a drink from the bar. Just something fruity. She didn’t want to get drunk, just feel… light.

For once, she danced like no one was watching. She smiled. She laughed.

Then he came.

She didn’t even know his name. Some guy with perfect teeth and too much cologne. He danced close, whispering things in her ear. At first, she ignored him.

Then, when she tried to walk away, he grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t be like that, baby. You're Ariana freaking Westbrook. Let’s give the city something to talk about.”

She tried to shake him off. “Back off.”

But he didn’t listen.

In one fast, clumsy moment, he grabbed her face and kissed her, hard and messy. Cameras flashed — someone recorded.

Her eyes widened. She shoved him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

People were laughing, filming. Whispers ran like wildfire through the crowd.

Ariana’s chest heaved in panic.

And then—

“Ariana.”

A familiar voice.

A firm hand wrapped around her arm, yanking her from the crowd like a shadow moving through the light.

“Who—wait—what are you—let go of me!” she protested.

But the man said nothing. Black suit, earpiece. One of her father’s men.

He pushed open the back door of the warehouse and led her toward a sleek black car waiting on the curb. Another man stood by the passenger seat, opening it wordlessly.

Ariana’s voice cracked. “Did my father send you?”

No reply.

She sat in the car, fuming. Furious. Ashamed.

The door slammed shut beside her, trapping her in leather seats and silence.

But the real prison would begin in the morning.

---

Back to Present – Her Bedroom

Tears stung Ariana’s eyes. Not because she regretted going out.

But because once again, someone had made a choice for her. Taken something from her — her space, her voice, her night — and now her future.

And now… they were assigning her a glorified babysitter?

She didn’t know what infuriated her more — the kiss… or the control that followed.

She rolled

onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

The knock on her door came exactly an hour later.

“Ariana,” her father’s butler called. “Your driver is here.”