The Billionaire's Blueprint

~001

Velvet Nights

~BELLA

I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the bodice of my strapless gown. The dark crimson satin clung to my body like a second skin, smooth and sensual beneath my fingertips.

The neckline dipped just low enough to hint at danger, and the slit in the dress promised it. I applied a final coat of lip gloss and tossed my hair over one shoulder as my best friend Zara burst into the room.

“Bella, are you not done yet? We’re late already, and you know what that means!”

Her voice was sharp with urgency, but her eyes sparkled. She was used to me taking my time.

I chuckled softly. “Almost, babe. I’ll be ready in a sec.” I slipped on my silver stilettos, grabbed my clutch, and gave myself one last glance. Fierce. Flawless. Untouchable.

As we rushed down the hallway and into the waiting car, a familiar pang tugged at my chest. No matter how perfect I looked on the outside, I could never outrun the past.

Twelve years ago, my father had kicked me out of our mansion without a second thought. My mother had died months earlier in a car crash, and before her perfume had even faded from the halls, he’d remarried — a woman who hated the sight of me. His excuse? I was “too much like her.” As if that were a bad thing.

But tonight wasn’t about the past. Tonight, I belonged to the present. To luxury. To power.

We arrived at SETH HOTELS, a glittering palace carved into the skyline. Everything inside gleamed — from the polished marble floors to the golden chandeliers. It smelled like money and roses.

On the rooftop terrace, the city lights stretched endlessly around us, and champagne flowed like water. It was here that I saw him.

Xavier Louis.

Heir to the LV Group. A walking empire. Tall. Tailored. Dangerous.

Our eyes locked, and the moment thickened. He moved toward me like a storm in a silk suit. His voice wrapped around me like velvet.

“Hey, gorgeous. You look absolutely stunning tonight.”

I smirked, tilting my head. “Thanks, handsome. You clean up well.”

His grin deepened. “Join me for a drink?”

I leaned in, eyes teasing. “Let’s skip the small talk, shall we?”

That lit something in him. “You’re direct. I like that.”

“Do you now?”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping an octave. “My suite’s just a few floors up. Want to come see the view?”

There was no hesitation in his voice. Just heat. Confidence. Chemistry.

I paused only for effect. “Lead the way.”

The elevator ride was electric. Neither of us spoke. His hand brushed against mine, and that single touch made my breath catch. When the doors opened, he led me into a suite that screamed wealth. Glass walls, designer furniture, city skyline glowing beyond the windows.

He turned to face me, slow and deliberate. For a moment, we just looked at each other. Then he closed the distance.

His fingers brushed my cheek. “You’re even more beautiful up close.”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t need to. I reached for him, and our mouths met in a kiss that was soft at first — a test, a tease — but quickly deepened. His hands were firm on my hips, pulling me against the hard lines of his body. I moaned softly against his mouth as his lips trailed down my jaw, to my neck.

He lifted me easily, carrying me toward the bed. My dress slid off with a whisper, pooling around my heels. He paused, eyes dark with hunger as he drank in every inch of me. Then his mouth was on my collarbone, warm and wet, and I gasped as his hands roamed lower.

He stripped off his shirt, revealing a chest sculpted like sin. My fingers found his skin, and we were a blur of limbs and breath and tension. When he entered me, it was slow — deliberate. A claiming. My body arched against his, our movements falling into rhythm like music.

The sheets tangled beneath us, silk against hot skin. I wrapped my legs around him as he moved inside me, deep and sure. His hand slid beneath my thigh, angling me perfectly, drawing out sounds from my lips I didn’t know I could make.

“Say my name,” he growled into my ear.

“Xavier…” It left me in a gasp.

We flipped — my turn to ride. I moved over him, hands pressed to his chest, feeling the power beneath. His hands gripped my waist, guiding me, groaning with every rise and fall. Our sweat-slicked bodies moved in perfect harmony, breathless and unrelenting.

Hours passed. We tried to stop. We didn’t. After a brief pause for wine and breath, we were back at it — this time slower, more intimate. His hands in my hair. My lips on his chest. His whispers in my ear.

“You’re addictive,” he murmured.

“You’ll get over it,” I whispered back, though I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.

By the time we collapsed for good, it was nearly morning. I lay with my head on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek. The glow of city lights painted us in gold and shadow.

For a moment, we didn’t speak. We just breathed.

It was only supposed to be one night.

But something about the way he held me — not possessive, just present — made me wonder if it would really end that simply.

And deep down, I already knew

This wasn’t over.