Owned By The Billionaire Devil

Maisie ~~

“The Gilded Vine, 8:15 p.m. Booth by the fireplace. You’ll hear him call you a family friend this time.”

I stared at my phone, and the world narrowed to the glow of the screen.

It was a text from an unknown number. The third this month. And overall twenty in two months.

My heart began to hammer against my ribs wildly. I flicked my wrist, checking my watch. 8:14 PM.

A cold trickle of dread seeped down my spine. I was in The Gilded Vine. I was here for a casual girls' night with my best friend, Chloe, who was currently debating between two cocktails on the menu.

"The passionfruit mojito or the elderflower spritz? Maisie, help me out," Chloe said, not looking up.

I couldn’t answer. My throat felt dry as I slowly looked around the cozy restaurant; brick walls, soft jazz, the warm light of the fireplace. And there, in the booth directly beside it, was my fiancé.

Alistair Grimshaw.

He was leaning forward, a confident smile on his handsome face, surrounded by three older men in expensive suits. He looked every bit the perfect heir to his family’s fortune, the rising star. The man I was supposed to marry in four weeks.

"Hey, Sie Sie?” Chloe snapped her finger in front of my face, instantly drawing my attention. “You’re white as a sheet and you’re completely zoned out. What’s wrong?" she followed my gaze, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Oh. Is that Alistair?"

“Nothing,” I said quietly. The lie felt weak. “Everything’s fine.”

But to me, everything was wrong.

Whoever was sending those messages was never wrong. The first time, it was a private rooftop club. The second, a charity auction after-party. Each time, the message contained a specific location, a time, and a chillingly accurate preview of exactly how Alistair would betray me.

‘He’s showing them the ring. Calling it a family heirloom for a future, hypothetical wife.’

‘He’s toasting to his freedom and flexibility.’

And each time, I went to the location like some stupid moth drawn to the flame of my own heartbreak, and witnessed it myself. Alistair—my calm, charming, understanding Alistair—publicly denying me.

The first confrontation had been a shock to him. He’d been genuinely startled, his brown eyes wide. "How did you…? That was a private meeting, Maisie." He’d taken my hands, his voice softening into that gentle baritone that had made me fall for him a few months ago. "It’s just talk. You know that. It’s for the investors. They see a single, unencumbered man as a safer bet. It means nothing. I love you. I’m marrying you."

I had wanted to believe him. I had tried. I became the understanding fiancée, pushing down my pride and hiding my worries behind a small smile.

But after every so-called “business necessity,” more space grew between us. He’d forget to call, forget to reply to my texts. He’d miss our dinner dates, blaming last-minute work, while photos of him out with different models filled the news daily. The man who once promised to love me in his quiet way was slowly turning into a stranger.

And now, this.

At exactly 8:15, one of the men at his table pointed toward our corner, smiling like he was joking about me. I knew he was asking who I was. Alistair looked up and our eyes met across the room.

A jolt went through me. ‘See me. Please, just acknowledge me.’

He held my gaze for a brief moment. There was no warmth, no recognition. Just the empty polite glance you give someone you don’t know. Then he turned back to them, laughing easily, as if I were nothing more than a stranger across the room.

I saw him speak. I saw the words form on his lips. I didn’t need to hear them to know what they were.

‘Family friend.’

The air left my lungs in a silent rush. The diamond on my left hand, a perfect two-carat diamond ring he’d slid onto my finger under the moonlight on his family’s yacht, suddenly felt like a cold, heavy chain.

If this was how he introduced me now, what would I be after the vows? A ghost in his penthouse? A secret hidden away while he flaunted other women?

Something inside me, something I had been holding back for months, finally snapped.

Without a word to Chloe, I stood up, my chair scraping softly. I didn’t look at Alistair again. I walked out of The Gilded Vine, the cool night air hitting my face. I didn’t cry. I felt numb, drained by a truth I could no longer ignore.

I drove to my parents’ modest suburban home on autopilot. I found them in the living room, my mother eating some apples, my father watching the news.

"I’m not marrying Alistair," I said, my voice eerily calm in the quiet room.

My mother’s hands stopped midair. My father muted the TV.

She looked up, a frown etching her face. "Don’t be ridiculous, Maisie. The wedding is in a month. Everything is paid for."

"He introduces me as his 'family friend,'" I said sharply, "He tells people he’s single while he publicly flaunts other women as his ‘girlfriend’. I’ve seen it myself. I’ve heard it. I won’t do it. I don’t want a man like that.”

My father sighed heavily. "Maisie, you know how these powerful families are, especially the Grimshaws. Just see it as business, alright?”

"I am not a business transaction!" I snapped, my calm finally breaking. Anger rushed in to fill the emptiness inside me. "I am his fiancée! Or am I? Because he clearly doesn’t remember that!”

My mother stood up, setting her apple aside. "You will mind your tone. This marriage is happening. It’s the best thing for you. For all of us."

"Why?" I demanded, stepping closer. Tears of frustration finally brimmed in my eyes. "Why is it so damn important? What aren’t you telling me? Is it the money? The status? What did you sell me for? You rejected every other guy I introduced to you. But the day I mentioned Alistair, about us dating, you all were suddenly very happy, and supportive, telling me to seduce him more. Why? What aren’t you telling me?"

The slap came without warning. A sharp crack sent my head snapping to the side.

A thick, suffocating silence filled the room afterwards.

My mother’s hand was still raised, her face pale but hard. "You will not speak that way. You wanted to marry him too, right? You came to us, remember? Starry-eyed, saying you loved him and he was the one. And you both agreed. He told his powerful, influential family he wanted you. Do you have any idea what an honor that is? What it means? To you? To our family?"

I cradled my burning cheek, stunned into silence.

My mother’s voice dropped firmly. "The wedding will happen. It is not a debate. You will walk down that aisle, you will say your vows, and you will be his wife." She leaned in, her eyes holding me captive. "And if you think of running, or hiding, or causing a scene… understand this, Maisie. Even if you were to drop dead tonight, they would prop your corpse in that wedding dress, stitch a smile onto your dead lips, and he’d slide the ring onto your cold finger before they’d ever consider putting you in the ground... That’s how serious I am. That’s your fate. Now, go to your room."

And for the first time, I understood the truth.

I wasn’t getting married.

I was being handed over like an object.