The Billionaire’s Scandalous Contract

~Sophia’s POV~

“Damin, you’d better kiss me breathless when I walk in,” I laughed into my phone, clutching a bouquet of roses as I climbed the steps. The key trembled in my hand in anticipation.

'No answer. Probably in the shower,' I thought, smiling.

But when I opened the door, his cologne greeted me—and something else. Musky. Intimate.

Then the sounds. Gasps. A creaking bed.

My grip crushed the flowers. Petals fell like broken promises.

I climbed the stairs, heart pounding. The bedroom door was ajar. Our bedroom.

“Damin?” My voice echoed before I even saw them.

Kiara gasped. Damin froze.

For a second, the world stopped breathing. Sheets tangled around their legs, Kiara’s hair spilling over his chest like every nightmare I’d never dared to picture.

I laughed, short and ugly. “Well,” I said, “I guess the surprise worked.”

“Sophia...wait, I can explain...” Damin started, scrambling for his shirt.

“Don’t bother.” I turned to Kiara. “You too. Say it. Tell me you didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Kiara’s eyes welled instantly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to hurt you, Sophia. But Damin and I—we love each other.”

The words hit harder than I thought they could. “Love?” I repeated. “Right. You love him now. Because every single thing I’ve ever had—you just had to have it too.”

Damin’s hand shot out, pulling Kiara behind him as if I was the danger. “Kiara isn’t who you think she is. She’s kind. Beautiful. I’ve loved her for a long time. We didn’t tell you because she didn’t want to hurt you. But I’m done hiding. She’s the real mistress of this house.”

“The real what?” I snapped. “This house? The house I worked two jobs to afford? You’re insane.”

His face hardened. “You don’t own this place, Sophia. The deed’s under my name. Legally, you can be out tonight if I want.”

The room tilted. “You’re serious?”

The first time I truly saw how shameless the man I thought was gentle and humble could be, my world tilted. Completely disillusioned, I stormed out and slammed the door so hard the sound seemed to echo everything I’d been swallowing for years.

Ever since we were kids, Kiara had taken everything from me. Every time I tried to stand up for myself, our parents always took Kiara’s side. Over time I learned to live with it — to expect it. I’d never believed Damin was anything extraordinary, but I liked his simplicity, and that felt like enough.

My life with Damin had been calm, even dull, for two years. I honestly thought Kiara would never be interested in him and had finally let me be. When I said yes to Damin’s proposal, relief washed over me for the first time — like maybe I could finally have something that was mine. I had, in a way, resigned myself: I only wanted someone who loved me, someone Kiara wouldn’t try to steal. I thought if Damin was ordinary enough, Kiara wouldn’t bother. In the end, of course, Kiara still took the man I loved.

My parents loved Kiara more. Damin loved Kiara too. Everyone I loved loved Kiara — no one loved me.

“I’m done pretending,” Damin’s voice pulled me back to reality.

Kiara reached for me. “Sophia, please—don’t hate me—”

I stepped back. “Too late.”

The sound of the door slamming behind me was louder than my heartbeat. Outside, cold air stung my face.

Fighting back tears, I dug through my bag for my phone, ready to call my old landlord and beg for my place back. That’s when I saw it—Damin’s cardholder, still tucked inside my purse.

For a moment, I just stared. All those months I’d spent saving, scraping by, building a future with him… only to be betrayed and thrown out of my own home.

I stared at it for a long moment. Then I stood up straight, wiped my face, and whispered, “Fine. Let’s make it hurt.”

My chest burned—not from heartbreak anymore, but from anger. If he could take everything from me, then maybe I’d return the favor.

Fifth Avenue glowed like temptation itself. Neon lights reflected in my tear tracks, turning pain into something almost cinematic.

Louis Vuitton first. “All of it,” I told the salesgirl, sliding Damin’s card across the counter.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said all of it. Wrap it pretty.”

Gucci, Prada, Chanel, Cartier—each receipt heavier than the last. Anger burned through the exhaustion. The sound of the card reader was better than therapy. When the first card finally declined, I laughed.

Next one.

By the time I hit Tiffany’s, two cards were maxed out. The third, a gold one I’d never seen before, still worked.

I frowned when the register approved a twenty-thousand-dollar necklace without blinking. “Shouldn’t that max it out?”

The cashier woman smiled politely. “That’s a Gold Card. The limit on this card is two million dollars, ma’am. It’ll take quite a bit to reach it.”

My breath hitched. “Two… million?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I had no idea Damin was this rich. All this time, he’d told me he was just a regular office worker. Was that a lie too? Or did he hide his wealth because he didn’t want me spending his money?

Suddenly, he felt like a stranger—someone I’d never really known.

A few seats away, a group of women were gushing about a man named Xavier St. Clair, the F1 racer who’d just won the championship. Their voices were full of awe, all starry-eyed over how handsome and perfect he was.

I scoffed into my sleeve. Men. The prettier they were, the better they lied.

Too much had happened today, and the pain sitting in my chest was starting to choke me. So I did what I shouldn’t have—but what felt right.

I walked into the nearest bar, dropped Damin’s gold card on the counter, and said, “Champagne tower. Drinks for everyone. On me.”

He blinked. “Are you sure....”

“Do I look unsure?”