One Night with a Billionaire

Celeste's POV

My head was pounding. Not the dull ache of a headache you get from too little sleep, but the kind that made it feel like my skull was too tight for my brain.

A groan escaped my lips as I blinked against the sunlight pouring in from a massive glass window. My vision blurred, then cleared, and panic took its place.

This wasn’t my room.

Silk sheets, marble floors, an open-concept space that looked like it belonged in a luxury magazine. My breathing picked up as I pushed myself up on trembling elbows.

The sheets slipped off my bare skin.

Oh god.

I was naked.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I forced myself to look to my right, where a tall figure was asleep—peacefully, undisturbed. Dark hair splayed against the pillow. Long lashes casting shadows on sharp cheekbones. A broad chest rising and falling with every breath.

A man.

A man I didn’t know.

Everything in me screamed. I yanked the sheet to cover myself and scrambled out of the bed. Clothes. I needed to find my clothes.

I spotted my dress crumpled near the foot of the bed. No bra. No underwear. My heels were tossed by the door like some careless afterthought. I moved quickly but as quietly as I could, heart thundering so loud I swore he’d wake up any second.

Don’t look back. Don’t think. Just leave.

I snatched my purse from the floor, barely checking if anything was missing, and slipped out the door without looking at him again.

The hallway was just as luxurious as the room—gold accents, black marble floors, modern art hanging on pristine walls. This wasn’t just a fancy hotel. This was exclusive. The kind of place I couldn’t even afford to walk past.

The elevator ride felt like hours. When the doors finally opened to the street, the cold morning air hit me like a slap.

I stepped out barefoot, hugging my coat around me, heels dangling from one hand. My head throbbed harder with every step, and my stomach twisted with nausea and shame. My mind couldn’t remember how the night ended, but bits and pieces were starting to flash.

The bar.

My friends.

The third shot.

A stranger’s eyes locking with mine.

A smile that made my heart stop.

His hand on my back as he leaned in and asked—

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I wasn’t the type of girl who did this. Ever.

I was the responsible one. The one who calculated every dollar. Who skipped out on nights like this because I had bills to pay and classes to pass. The girl who didn’t let herself slip.

And I hadn’t even realized who I’d slept with.

Seriously?

You wake up in a room like that, next to a man like him, and it didn’t even occur to you to ask his name?

God, you’re a damn genius.

As I passed a row of newspaper stands, something white fluttered in the wind and smacked against my leg.

I bent down to grab it, just to crumple it and toss it aside—but then I saw the headline.

"Vale Group’s Elusive Heir Spotted at Private Gala Last Night"

My chest tightened. My fingers went numb.

There, in full color, was a photograph of the man I’d just shared a bed with. Sharp suit. Cold eyes. Same dark hair, same face carved from stone.

Killian Vale.

The Killian Vale. The only son of Victor Vale. The heir to Vale Group, one of the largest conglomerates in the country—spanning everything from tech to energy to international real estate.

He was on every finance magazine cover. There were rumors he was going to take over the company within the year.

People whispered that he was brilliant, ruthless, and emotionally detached. That no woman had ever stayed in his life longer than a press cycle. That he preferred power to people.

And now I’d…

I almost dropped the paper.

I’d slept with Killian Vale.

Blood roared in my ears. I stumbled to a bench nearby and collapsed onto it, breath shaky and cold despite the morning sun. The headline burned in my mind.

What have I done?