The Billoniare's Fake Husband

Tyler's pov

"You ungrateful piece of shit,” my mom yelled through the phone. “After everything I’ve done for you, Tyler. I even decided to keep you instead of flushing you out when I had the opportunity to.”

It was nothing new, but the story was always new.

“I told you I don’t have that kind of money,” I said calmly.

“You told me you were working, didn’t they pay you?” she asked, anger lacing her tone.

“Even if they did, it’s not much,” I replied, frustration edging into my voice.

“I don’t care. Find it. You have seven months to come up with the money and send it. That’s the least you can do for your mother.”

She ended the call.

I hated my life.

Ever since my dad died of liver cancer when I was twelve, my mom had spiraled—drinking, gambling, constantly taking out loans she couldn’t pay back, then guilt-tripping me into covering them. She also went as far as making her boyfriends touch me so they could pay her. In high school I survived on scholarships and had to go through different stages of bullying. And I also had to work to pay my tuition through college.

Why give birth to me only to hate me this much?

I kept telling myself she just missed her husband, excusing her terrible behavior with my father’s death.

I had just finished a contracted editing job for a renowned publishing company in New York and needed a breather, so I took a trip to Vegas. Only for my mother to call a few hours after my arrival and tell me she’d taken out a ten-million-dollar loan—and expected me to pay it back.

How?

Where was I supposed to get that kind of money?

How did she even owe that much?

Why me?

Fuck.

I slammed my phone down on the receptionist counter harder than I meant to. I hoped the screen didn’t crack, but I didn’t bother checking.

“Sorry.” I said to the lady behind the counter and headed to the bar.

Kingston Hotel was luxurious—the kind of place only rich people frequented. I wasn’t rich enough to be here, but I wanted to enjoy a taste of what little I’d earned.

When I got to the bar area, they were having some sort of masked party. I looked around and hesitated for a bit.

"Fuck it, I deserve some fun too." I muttered to myself and walked to the huge guy giving out masks.

"Do I have to pay for that?" I whispered to the guy.

"Nah, it's free." His old voice rumbled.

I collected a brown mask to match the colour of my eyes which were the colour of hazelnut, not that anyone would notice.

A slow romantic song was on and a few people were on the dance floor.

I went straight to the bartender and ordered three shots of tequila and downed all of them like I’d been thirsty for days. The burn made me feel better in a way I couldn’t explain.

“Two more, please,” I said to the bartender.

He looked at me like I had something on my face, which I obviously did. Then he moved to fill the order. I ignored him.

I drank the first shot and was about to do the same with the second when I felt a presence looming beside me. I lifted my head…

And my eyes met my worst nightmare.

Quin fucking McKenzie.

The boy who’d made my high school years a living hell.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, already sitting down on the stool beside me.

Did he not recognize me or something? I didn’t think I’d changed that much. Oh I forgot, I had contacts on and I was wearing a mask. But why wasn't he wearing one?

Cocky much. He always likes to feel above the law.

“Uh… yeah. Yes, you can,” I replied.

He sat down and ordered a drink. He took a sip, set the glass down, and an evil smirk spread across his face.

“Do I get the pleasure of knowing your name?” he said, turning on his seat to face me, hand stretched out. “no pressure, just want to keep the conversation going”

No way in hell was he nice, maybe it was all pretence.

I might have zoned out for a second. Because his hand was waving in front of me. "Are you ok?" He asked and took another slow sip of his drink.

“uhh, yeah I'm ok” I said

“You're a cute one ain't you ?" he chuckled.

I ignored his snack comments. I stretched my hands out to him.

"Ryan. My name is Ryan Grey."

He took my hand and kissed it. Then looked at me.

"I want you in my bed tonight Ryan. How does that sound?"

I was dumbfounded. Nothing was coming from my mouth. Never in a million years would I believe Quin Mackenzie was into guys or be this blunt about it, for someone who bullied me for being gay.

"You're staring like you want me to take you here right now. You look like you wouldn't mind though.”

Heat crawled from nowhere under my skin. Was this normal? I hate this guy with my entire being. I didn't expect the next words that left my mouth.

“Fuck you,” I spat.

“Wouldn’t you love that?” he shot back. "You’re probably dying to be fucked by me. I'm obviously irresistible.”

“Go find someone else to be your sex toy” I said.

My voice came out louder than I meant it to.

I glanced around the bar, making sure I hadn’t drawn attention. I didn’t trust these rich brats.

He leaned in closer and my heart began to race faster than it ever has. Was he pretending not to know me?

“You can’t be so sure you don't want this,” he said calmly. “How about we play a little game?”

“ You'll probably cheat your way to the top” I scoffed, grabbing my phone from the bar’s counter to leave. “No, thank you.”

His words were slowly getting to me or maybe it was the alcohol. But I felt my dick twitch and itching to be touched, and my body hot like hell.

“Dont be a coward,” he said, his voice edged with something dark.

That was how he played—made you feel small, backed you into a corner, then crushed you, typical Quin. I turned to really look at him. He lifted his glass and drank, and for a split second, I imagined ripping his throat out as he swallowed.

Fuck it.

Whatever this was, I’d do it. I was in Vegas to relax and have fun, and we’d probably never cross paths again. I'll go with the “what happens in Vegas stays in vegas” phrase. And most of all I wasn't about to let anyone ruin my mini vacation.

“What kind of game?” I asked.

I sat back down. There was still one shot in front of me—I’d almost forgotten it. I downed it, skipped the lime, just to feel the burn again.

“Nothing big,” he said, that smirk returning. “Just a little drinking game..”

He waved the bartender over and ordered more tequila. Ten shots.

Shit.

I was already a little tipsy from the previous shots I had, but I wasn’t backing down.

The bartender set the shots down and walked away.

The others in the bar were probably having the best night ever.while I was here , trapped with the devil himself.

Quin slid five of the shots toward me and kept the other five. He picked up two at once, maintaining eye contact as he downed them back-to-back.

“Pfft. Such a show-off,” I muttered.

I drank all five shots in a row.

Then I ordered more—just to prove I wasn’t a coward.

And that was the beginning of my real nightmare.