Chapter 2 : Ghosted by a Billionaire

Olivia’s POV 

I pushed open the door to The Velvet Note, my usual “artist’s bar” escape, and immediately felt the familiar hum of low jazz and clinking glasses wash over me. 

Dim lights, scattered candles, the smell of old wood and wine, and yet it felt like a sanctuary compared to the chaos of the set. 

And then I spotted them: Bethany Harlow, Sasha Vasquez, and Pedro Cortez, all perched at the corner booth, half-empty glasses in front of them, the kind of socialites who treated every night out like a performance. 

I tugged my hoodie lower over my head, stuffed my hands into the pocket, and slid onto the bench across from them. 

“Oh my God,” Bethany squealed, eyes widening like I’d just walked off a runway instead of, you know, out of a seven-year breakup tornado. “Is that… you?” 

I smirked. “Yeah, it’s me. Hoodie edition. Limited release.” 

Sasha lifted a brow. “Wow. You… you really don’t care about glam at all tonight, huh?” 

Pedro tilted his head, examining me like I had three heads. “Huh. Hoodie. Sneakers. And yet… somehow still devastating.” 

I chuckled, but it was more bitter than anything else. “Thanks, I guess. Some of us can’t just dress for PixGram when our hearts are getting stomped.” 

Bethany leaned forward, practically vibrating. “Oh, honey, we saw it. The post. Justin already moved on!” 

I groaned. “Yeah. Lucky him. Or unlucky me. Whichever you prefer.” 

Sasha gave a soft, sympathetic smile. “I mean… if it makes you feel better, we’re all here for you. Drinks are on deck, emotional abuse included.” 

Pedro held up his glass. “To surviving heartbreak without exploding on social media.” 

I clinked my glass to theirs, but honestly, I barely touched it. The bitterness of the wine mirrored my mood too well. 

Bethany, however, had no chill. She immediately launched into her latest escapade. “So, speaking of moving on… you won’t believe the sex I had last night. Absolute… legendary.” 

I blinked, blinked again. “Bethany, do I even want to know?” 

Bethany grinned, clearly knowing I did. “Oh, come on! It’s important info! He… wow, just… I can’t even. Best I’ve ever had. I swear, if you weren’t in public right now, I’d demonstrate with… never mind, let’s not.” 

I rolled my eyes, leaning back. “Right. Because I just love knowing about your… adventures while my world implodes.” 

Pedro smirked, shaking his head. “Classic Olivia reaction. Bitter, amused, slightly murderous.” 

Sasha snorted. “Anyway, moving on. Look at the guys tonight. There’s got to be someone here for you, Liv. Time to reset the scoreboard.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, this is gonna be good. Go on. Point.” 

Bethany wasted no time. “Okay, first up. Over there is the guy in the grey suit. Totally the businessman type. Probably made his money in banking. Boring, sure, but stability is sexy, right?” 

I squinted at him from across the room. “Boring is definitely the right word. And I already said no to the last guy who looked like he could calculate my net worth with one glance. Hard pass.” 

Sasha leaned in conspiratorially. “Fine, fine, next one. That guy by the bar with the messy hair, black shirt, leather jacket vibe. Looks like he knows poetry, maybe writes in cafes.” 

I gave a short laugh. “Yeah, poetic and probably broke. No offense, love of arts, but that’s not my type either.” 

Pedro raised two fingers. “Alright, check out number three, by the stage. Tall, broad shoulders, smiles way too easily. The kind that probably texts ‘u up?’ at 2 a.m. without shame.” 

I snorted. “Literally the last thing I need. Moving on.” 

Bethany tapped my arm like she was uncovering a hidden treasure map. “Okay, okay, last one. The quiet one. Doesn’t come out to bars, barely drinks, but when he does… you can tell he owns the world without screaming it. Class, elegance, control. Gabriel Moreau.” 

I froze mid-breath. Gabriel Moreau. Billionaire, wine magnate, empire owner, the guy who could crush reputations and sell vineyards across three continents while barely lifting a finger. 

Bethany leaned closer, practically vibrating with excitement. “Don’t you know him? He’s legendary! Everyone talks about him in whispers, Liv. He doesn’t even do this bar scene. And yet here he is. Right there, by the window.” 

I turned slowly, and there Gabriel was. Hands in his pockets, sipping a glass of deep red wine, eyes scanning the room like he was cataloging every person without actually trying. And somehow… it worked. His presence didn’t shout; it commanded. There was a quiet power in the way he carried himself. 

I could feel Bethany, Sasha, and Pedro practically vibrating beside me, ready to push me forward like I’d walk into a lion’s den wearing raw meat. 

I crossed my arms, staring at Gabriel like he was an equation I couldn’t solve. “And why, pray tell, am I supposed to even consider him?” 

Bethany rolled her eyes. “Because, my dear, for once, this guy isn’t some flaky artist, or a desperate businessman, or a guy who texts at 2 a.m. He’s… different. Dangerous, but classy. Innocence might just be your kryptonite.” 

Pedro chuckled. “Or your ticket to disaster. Either way, can’t wait to see what happens.” 

I let my gaze linger on Gabriel a little longer, trying to ignore the ridiculous twinge of curiosity that had nothing to do with money or power. 

Unlike Justin, whose charm was easy, effortless, and now completely meaningless to me, Gabriel radiated something I couldn’t fake a reaction to. 

And it threw me off. I’d spent the last half hour shooting down every guy my friends pointed out with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she wanted, but one glance at him and suddenly I wasn’t as sure of myself as I pretended to be. 

Sasha leaned over, whispering like she had insider knowledge. “Go on. Talk to him. Or at least let him notice you. That’s half the battle.” 

I let out a soft laugh, dry and unimpressed. “Notice me? Please. I’m rocking hoodie chic tonight. He probably thinks I’m here auditing the wine list, not flirting.” 

Bethany groaned, throwing her hands up. “Liv, don’t be ridiculous. Tonight’s the night.” 

Sasha leaned in, smirking. “Come on, Liv. What’s the worst that could happen? He says no?” 

Pedro sipped his drink. “Which he absolutely will. Men like that? They only talk to other people with private jets.” 

I glared at him. “Wow. Way to manifest failure, Pedro.” 

Bethany clapped her hands like a demented life coach. “Girl, please. Hoodie or not, you’re Olivia freaking Rayne. You’ve outlived award-show disasters, trolling critics, and Justin’s planet-sized ego. One frosty billionaire is child’s play. Shake out your hair, lose the hoodie, and go say hi before I drag you there myself.” 

I hesitated, then sighed. “You know what? Fine. Why not add ‘public humiliation’ to my emotional damage bingo card?” 

Sasha squealed. “That’s the spirit!” 

With exaggerated drama, I tugged off my hoodie, letting my hair fall loose around my shoulders. The air hit the back of my neck, cool and sharp. My friends whistled and clapped like I was about to perform an exorcism. 

Bethany leaned in and whispered, “Confidence, darling. Remember, you’re the main character.” 

“Right,” I muttered, grabbing my glass for moral support and standing up. “Main character walking to her doom. Perfect.” 

I made my way across the bar, trying to appear relaxed but walking like a baby deer in heels, despite the fact that I was wearing sneakers. Great start. 

Gabriel was exactly as I’d pictured: calm, controlled, the kind of man who made silence look expensive. His eyes flicked up briefly as I approached, polite but unreadable. 

“Hi,” I said, putting on what I hoped was my “charming but tragic” smile. “Mind if I join you?” 

Gabriel studied me for a beat. “I’m sorry,” he said, tone neutral but not unkind, “do I know you?” 

I blinked. “Uh. Not personally. Yet.” I gave a small laugh. “I’m Olivia Rayne.” 

Nothing. 

Not a blink of recognition. Not even a polite “oh, the actress.” Just a quiet sip of wine. 

Oh, perfect. The one man in the city who apparently doesn’t have WiFi. 

“Right,” I said, my voice pitching slightly higher. “Movies. Music. Paparazzi? Headlines about my ex being a complete jerk?” 

His brow furrowed faintly. “I don’t really follow celebrity news.” 

My brain short-circuited. “You… don’t… follow celebrity news?” I repeated, like he’d just confessed to not believing in sunlight. “At all?” 

Gabriel shook his head. “No. I run a business. That takes most of my time.” 

Of course he did. Of course the man with the jawline of moral superiority also had a life free of pop culture and heartbreak hashtags. 

I leaned on the bar, trying to recover my dignity. “So you just what? Spend your nights drinking wine alone and judging everyone silently?” 

One corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Something like that.” 

God, the worst part was, he was still infuriatingly attractive while rejecting me. 

“Well,” I said, tilting my head, “I was going to offer you the incredible privilege of buying me a drink, but seeing as you’re apparently allergic to joy—” 

“I don’t buy drinks for strangers,” Gabriel said simply, and went back to his glass. 

Ouch. 

My pride, my ego, my fragile celebrity aura, all collectively flatlined. 

“Wow,” I said with a laugh that came out a little too loud. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.” 

“I don’t mean to offend,” Gabriel added calmly, “but I’m not looking for company.” 

“Oh, don’t worry,” I said, pushing off the counter. “You’re definitely not in danger of getting mine again.” 

I spun around before Gabriel could reply, marching back toward my table. My friends’ faces were a mix of horror and barely contained laughter. 

Bethany was the first to speak. “So… how’d it go?” 

I dropped into my seat, grabbed the nearest shot glass, and downed it. “I think I just got emotionally ghosted in real time.” 

Pedro howled with laughter. “Oof. He didn’t even know who you were, did he?” 

I glared. “Apparently he’s too busy swimming in his private vineyard to care about pop culture.” 

Sasha clapped her hands, grinning. “Okay, but that’s kind of hot?” 

“Hot?” I repeated. “He rejected me like I was trying to sell him a gym membership!” 

Bethany sighed dramatically. “So what now?” 

I looked at my empty glass, then the bottle, then back again. “Now?” I said, pouring myself another shot. “Now I’m getting obliterated.” 

Bethany grinned. “Atta girl! Embrace it!” 

And that’s how I ended up three shots deep in a row, my hair loose, hoodie abandoned, and my heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. 

The world spun. Or maybe it was just me. Either way, the floor felt like an unreliable friend. 

“Liv, slow down,” Sasha’s voice came from somewhere far, far away, like down a tunnel or maybe across several dimensions. 

“I’m fine!” I declared, which was obviously a lie, judging by the way I almost tripped over my own shoe. I blinked through the blur of dim lights and dancing shadows. 

The Velvet Note had dissolved into chaos: Pedro was flirting with a girl in red, Sasha was glued to her phone, and Bethany, oh of course, was already making out with some guy who looked like he owned a boat and three commitment issues. 

So much for my support group. 

I stumbled back to the bar, waving vaguely for another drink. “Tequila. Something strong. Surprise me.” 

The bartender frowned. “You sure?” 

“Buddy, I’m Olivia freaking Rayne. I’m never sure.” 

He sighed but poured it anyway. I threw it back like it was salvation. It wasn’t. The warmth hit hard, fast, spreading like liquid regret through my veins. I turned, leaning on the counter, trying to focus, but the world had other plans. 

That’s when I felt it. A hand, rough, insistent, curling around my arm. 

“Hey, pretty thing,” a voice slurred near my ear, breath sour with beer and bad intentions. 

I twisted around. The guy was tall, suit wrinkled, smile slimy. His eyes flicked over me like I was something to unwrap. 

“Let go,” I muttered. 

He didn’t. “Come on. Just one dance. Or maybe something more fun, huh? Heard actresses like you don’t say no much.” 

My stomach dropped. “I said let go!” 

But he just laughed. “Oh, I know who you are, sweetheart. Olivia Rayne, the nation’s darling, right? Let’s make a new headline tonight, ‘Pop Princess Gets Down and Dirty in Public.’ Sound fun?” 

Panic clawed up my throat. I shoved him, hard, but my body wasn’t cooperating; everything blurred, tilted. 

And then— 

“Let her go.” 

The man froze, and so did I.