CLAIMED BY THE BILLIONAIRE

Chapter 1

Raymond's POV

They call me ruthless. Calculating. The devil in a custom suit.

It's all true. I've earned those titles and wear them like armor. Every deal, every victory, every enemy crushed beneath my polished shoes-each one has built this reputation. But as I sit at the head of the boardroom table, staring at the morning's entertainment on the projector screen-a recording of Ariana's aunt spinning her absurd story-I feel something unusual.

Amusement.

No one has ever dared something this desperate with me. Forcing a pregnancy scandal? Laughable. I have no interest in women-none. They're deceitful, dangerous, and endlessly calculating in their games of manipulation. I've spent my life ensuring I never fall into their traps. Or so I thought.

"She's bold," I mutter, leaning back in my chair as the video replays. Ariana's aunt, crocodile tears streaming, accuses me of ruining her precious niece's life. The headlines plastered beneath the footage scream: City's Most Feared Bachelor Caught in Scandalous Affair.

"Shall we address this in court, Mr. Ray?" Simon, my head of legal, asks, his tone careful, as though he's walking on glass. He adjusts his tie, avoiding my gaze. He knows better than to look me in the eye when I'm in this kind of mood.

"No." I steeple my fingers, my eyes fixed on the freeze-frame of the aunt's overly dramatic face. "We won't waste time with lawyers."

"Should I arrange for... a visit?" Simon ventures, his voice low and deliberate.

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. "Not yet."

The room falls into tense silence. No one dares to speak out of turn, knowing how thin the ice is under them. But my mind isn't on the aunt or her ridiculous lies-it's on the girl at the center of this mess. Ariana.

I don't recall ever meeting her, but the tabloids have plastered her face everywhere. Wide, frightened eyes. A quiet, undeniable beauty. She looks like someone who doesn't belong in my world, someone who couldn't survive even a day in it.

And yet, here she is.

"Sir?" Simon prods, clearly unnerved by my silence.

"She lied," I say softly, my tone sharp enough to cut glass. "But not convincingly enough to bother me." I pause, letting the tension hang in the air before adding, "That doesn't mean I'll let it slide."

Simon clears his throat, his brow furrowed. "What's the plan, then?"

I stand, straightening my cuffs with deliberate precision. "Marriage."

Simon chokes on his coffee. "Excuse me?"

"Marriage," I repeat, savoring the weight of the word. "Announce it publicly. Tell the media I've claimed responsibility and that the wedding is imminent."

"But... why?" Simon blurts, his professional mask slipping for the first time. "You don't even know this girl."

"Exactly," I say, my smirk widening. "I don't know her, but I will. And when I do, I'll make sure she regrets letting her aunt drag me into this charade."

Simon frowns, crossing his arms in a rare display of defiance. "And if she's just another pawn?"

"She's not just a pawn," I say, my tone hardening. "She's going to be useful.

Simon raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate.

"Do you think I don't hear the whispers in the boardroom?" I ask, my voice cold. "The questions about my personal life? They've been circling like vultures for months, pressuring me to settle down. Marrying this girl kills two birds with one stone."

Simon exhales sharply, realization dawning. "You're using her to shut them up."

"Precisely," I say, my smirk returning. "This scandal plays right into my hands. By marrying Ariana, I silence the board and take control of the narrative."

"And if she doesn't cooperate?"

"She will," I reply firmly. "She doesn't have a choice."

Simon still looks skeptical but nods. "Understood."

"I want the wedding tomorrow," I add, my tone leaving no room for debate.

Simon freezes mid-step, turning to look at me as though I've gone mad. "Tomorrow? That's..." He falters.

"I hate delays," I say, already heading for the door.

As I make my way to the parking lot, I can feel the whispers of my staff trailing behind me like shadows. Let them talk. Let them speculate. None of it matters.

I drive through the city, the familiar streets passing in a blur. My mind races with the details of what needs to happen next. By the time I arrive home, the plan is crystal clear.

Dinner is waiting when I step inside, but I barely taste it. The maids hover in the background, whispering amongst themselves. It's always the same: fear and curiosity. They've learned to keep their distance, but I can feel their eyes on me.

After dinner, I head to my room, loosening my tie as I go. Stripping down to my undershirt, I collapse onto the bed.

Tomorrow will be a long day.

Tomorrow, I get married.

I pick up my phone and send a text to the handful of people who need to be there. No big wedding. Keep it simple. Attendance mandatory.

The message is cold, clinical, and leaves no room for excuses.

As I set the phone down, my thoughts wander back to Ariana. Her image has been burned into my mind since the moment I saw it. Those wide eyes, that hint of fear-she's different. And I don't know why that bothers me.

But it doesn't matter.

This isn't about her. It's about me. My power. My reputation. She has to pay the price of making fake reports about me.

What did she think? Just ruined my reputation and walk away.

No! Things aren't done like that, especially in my world.

Tomorrow, I'll take what I want. And she'll have no choice but to fall in line.