The Billionaire That Couldn’t Let Her Go

CHAPTER ONE: HATE-FUELED SURRENDER

SERENA'S POV

“Fuck you,” I gasped, my nails digging into the silk sheets as Caspian thrust into me with force.

“You’re already doing that,” he growled, his voice low and rough against my ear. His hips snapped forward harder, faster, hitting that spot deep inside me with every thrust.

My eyes rolled back, a broken moan escaping from my throat despite myself. God, I hated him. I fucking hated this man. But my body betrayed me, clenching around his thick length as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in my belly.

Sweat slicked my skin, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the massive master bedroom of his mansion. His hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise, holding me exactly where he wanted me. Spread open, claimed, owned.

“Mhnn—God, I hate you,” I choked out, even as my walls fluttered around him. The words came out more like a plea than a curse.

Caspian’s dark chuckle vibrated against my neck. “Liar.” He reached between us, his thumb finding my swollen clit and circling it with precision. “Your pussy clearly doesn’t hate me, baby. It’s dripping for me.”

Before I could retort, I came hard, shattering with a cry that echoed off the high ceilings. My vision blurred, pleasure ripping through me. Caspian followed right after, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, his release flooding me in hot spurts. For a moment, the world narrowed to just this. His heavy body pinning mine, our ragged breathing, the overwhelming scent of sex and his expensive cologne.

Then reality crashed back in.

He pulled out slowly, deliberately, and I felt the loss immediately.

Bastard.

Caspian smirked down at me, that arrogant curve of his lips that made me want to slap him and pull him back inside me at the same time. He patted my ass once, almost affectionately, before rolling off the bed and striding butt-naked toward the ensuite bathroom.

Every inch of his 6’4 frame was on full display. Broad shoulders, defined back muscles, and that infuriating confidence that screamed he owned the world. Owned me.

“Asshole,” I muttered, pulling the sheet up over my naked body as the bathroom door clicked shut behind him.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, my chest still heaving, trying to piece together how my life had become this. A year ago, I was just Serena Vale. An event planner scraping by in New York, fighting to keep my younger brother Lucas alive. Now I was Mrs Caspian Laurent. Wife to the ruthless billionaire CEO of Laurent International. Trapped in a marriage built on lies, scandal, and control.

It had all started that night at the charity gala.

I had been working the event for Laurent International, desperate for the paycheck that might cover Lucas’s next round of treatments for his Dilated Cardiomyopathy. The hospital bills were piling up like mountains I could never climb. When a VIP guest went missing from the main floor, I’d gone searching. Stupidly, I’d pushed open the door to the private penthouse suite on the top floor.

Caspian had been there, pacing like a caged animal in his tailored suit, eyes blazing as he barked orders into his phone about missing confidential documents. The moment our eyes met, something had passed between us. Anger, suspicion, and an unwanted pull that made my stomach tighten even now.

I’d fled almost immediately. But someone had captured photos of me leaving his private floor late that night. By morning, the images were everywhere, paired with the news that sensitive company files had vanished. Headlines painted me as a gold-digging whore who’d slept with the billionaire for corporate secrets. My reputation was destroyed overnight. Clients dropped me. Reporters camped outside my tiny apartment.

Then Caspian had summoned me.

In his office overlooking Manhattan, he’d laid out the deal with that same dominance he’d just used on my body. Marry him for one year. Play the perfect wife in public. Let him control the narrative and bury the scandal before it tanked his precious merger. In return, he’d cover all of Lucas’s medical expenses. Surgeries, specialists, experimental treatments and make the police investigation disappear.

I’d hated myself for saying yes. But Lucas’s pale face in that hospital bed, his weak smile as he told me not to worry… I had no choice. Caspian didn’t care about my innocence. He didn’t believe me when I swore I had nothing to do with the stolen documents. To him, I was just another problem to control.

And now here I was. Six weeks into this sham of a marriage, living in his mansion, my body still humming from the hate-sex we couldn’t seem to stop having. Every argument ended like this. Me cursing him even as I came apart beneath him. He never kissed me gently. Never held me after. It was always raw, possessive, a power play wrapped in pleasure.

The bathroom door opened, steam curling out behind him. Caspian emerged with a towel slung low around his hips, water droplets tracing the hard lines of his abs. His grey eyes flicked over me, assessing, as if he could read every thought in my head.

“Get dressed,” he said flatly. “We have a charity gala in two hours. You’re playing the devoted wife today. Smile for the cameras.”

I sat up, clutching the sheet tighter. “And if I don’t?”

His smirk returned. “Then Lucas’s next treatment gets delayed. Your choice, Serena.”

My blood boiled. I wanted to throw something at his perfect face. Instead, I forced myself to stand, ignoring the ache between my thighs. “One year. That’s it. Then I walk away and never see your stupid face again.”

Caspian crossed the room in two strides, towering over me. His hand cupped my chin, tilting my face up. The touch was deceptively gentle, but his eyes burned with that familiar intensity. “Keep telling yourself that, princess. We both know you crave this as much as I do.”

I jerked away, heart pounding. “I hate you.”

“Good.” He leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “Hate keeps things interesting.”

He released me and walked to his massive closet, dismissing me like I was staff. I grabbed my robe and headed to the guest bathroom, because God forbid I share too much space with him.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I glanced at it, stomach dropping. Another news alert.

Billionaire’s Mystery Wife: Gold Digger or Corporate Spy? New Evidence Emerges.

“For fucks sake,” I whispered as I clicked it with trembling fingers. The article rehashed the scandal, but at the bottom was a new photo. A grainy surveillance from the gala night. A woman leaving Caspian’s floor. Me.

But I was still downstairs at that time. Right?

My breath caught. What the hell happened that night?

The closet door opened again. Caspian stepped out, fully dressed in a crisp suit that screamed power. His eyes narrowed at my expression.

“What is it?”

I turned the phone toward him, the photo glaring between us. “Care to explain why they're still talking about this?”

For the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine surprise cross his face. Then his jaw tightened, that dominant mask slamming back into place.

“Get ready,” he said, voice colder than before. “We’re handling this now.”

As he left the room, my heart hammered. This marriage was supposed to be my prison for one year. But as that photo burned in my mind, I realized the real scandal might have only just begun.

Just as I was about to get into the bathroom, my phone rang.