Chapter 3 The stranger I spend the night with is a Billionaire

"A disappointment! A disgrace, that's exactly what you are!"

Grace felt the words reverberate through her mind like a bell tolling in an empty room. The bitter taste of last night's encounter with her mother still lingered. Her body tensed at the memory-her mother's drunken fury, the stinging slap, and the sour smell of alcohol that filled the room.

She blinked hard, pushing it away. The past would not own her today. Not now. Not in front of him.

Victor stood casually before her, his arm draped lazily over the balcony railing, as though her fury meant nothing.

"How do you sleep at night knowing what you did?" Grace's voice was sharp, controlled-her eyes locked onto his, daring him to look away.

Victor scoffed, a humorless grin curving his lips. "Your mother slapped you again?"

"That shouldn't concern you," she shot back, fists clenched at her sides. "What you did was worse. You drugged me. You let that happen-you planned for it."

Victor tilted his head, eyes narrowing in mock amusement. "You should be glad. Most people don't get someone like that as their first." His voice dripped with condescension. "I'm sure you're screaming with joy inside."

Her glare didn't waver. "Seriously? Would you just answer the question?"

Victor exhaled a tired sigh and raked his hand through his dark hair. "Grace, I wanted this engagement to end cleanly. I found someone I loved."

"Loved?"

His expression hardened. "She didn't like that I pitied you. Or that it seemed like I was attached to you. She came up with the idea, and I supported her. It's messy, yes-but what's done is done." He turned sharply to leave, dismissing her. "Now go away."

Grace grabbed his arm before he could step further. "Did any of it matter to you?" Her voice cracked, though her grip was firm. "Did I mean so little that you'd let her ruin me? Don't act like you're decent. You're not."

Victor yanked his arm free, nearly knocking her off balance. "Get over yourself, Grace." His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "Look at you. You wanted to be a model-now you're a lousy accountant. You dress like someone's grandma. No class. No style. Did you really think I'd stay with you?"

Her face flushed, but she didn't flinch.

"You were something once," he continued, each word like a needle. "But now? You're pathetic. You make me sick. Cindy Rodriguez, though-she's got class. She's the heiress to a hotel chain. Beautiful, rich, and powerful. How do you compare to that?" He sneered. "The only thing you've got going for you is being fucked by a rich man. That's all you'll ever be."

He shoved past her, leaving her trembling with fury. She wanted to hit him, to tear his smug face apart with words and fists. But she didn't. Instead, she drew a long, shaking breath, turned on her heel, and walked out of the restaurant balcony.

Her heels clicked against the marble floor-each step deliberate, measured. There was no use crying over spilled milk.

"Aiya! Miss Valdes, why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"

Kiana Flores, the art editor and Grace's closest friend, stood at her desk, holding a cup of warm milk. Kiana's eyes widened as she took in Grace's pale face and the faint red mark on her cheek.

"Trouble at home again?" Kiana asked softly, lowering the cup to the desk. "Why don't you take some leave, go on vacation?"

"I'm fine," Grace replied, her voice flat. She picked up the cup, its heat seeping into her cold fingers.

Kiana frowned but said nothing more, instead sliding a memo across the desk. "I need edits for some photos. Apparently, they're 'sensational' enough to be on the website today. Oh, and I'll need a new iPad. Mine's busted-can you cover it in the budget?"

Grace only nodded, her mind elsewhere. The warmth of the milk grounded her momentarily, but the events of the past 24 hours still churned in her head-her mother's drunken rage, Victor's betrayal, the shame of that hotel room.

Thank God no one from the company saw.

She sipped the milk, her gaze wandering to a magazine peeking out from her stack of papers. Victor's smug face grinned from the cover, hearts she had drawn only days ago circling his image like cruel reminders.

Her hands moved before her mind caught up-snatching the magazine and shoving it into the shredder.

A sharp, satisfying whirr filled the air.

"AH!"

The sudden scream jolted Grace from her thoughts. Heads turned across the office, and a chorus of confused murmurs followed.

"Kiana?" Grace frowned, rising from her chair. "What happened?"

Kiana spun her monitor around, her face a mix of disbelief and awe. "Grace... is this... you?"

Grace's stomach dropped. She pushed through the small crowd now forming around Kiana's desk, her heart pounding. There, plastered across the news site, were pictures-her pictures.

The headline blazed like fire: 'Divine Group Chairman Spent Time With His Fiancée in a Romantic Hotel Room Last Night!'

Grace stared at the photos in horror. There she was-hair tangled, a blanket haphazardly wrapped around her shoulders, and Alpha Nelson Divine's figure beside her. In one shot, it looked as though she leaned into him for a kiss, though she knew she had only been hiding her face.

Whispers erupted behind her.

"Oh my God! Is that really Grace?"

"You're engaged to Alpha Nelson Divine?"

"Why didn't you tell us, Grace? You're living a dream!"

"You don't even need to be here! Why work when your fiancé owns everything?"

Grace's head spun. The murmurs, the accusing stares, the envy-it was suffocating.

"Is this real?" someone whispered. "Your birthday party must have been insane. Did he send that driver for you this morning?"

The irony of Victor being mistaken for a chauffeur almost made Grace laugh. Almost.

She pushed through the crowd, ignoring the questions being thrown her way. The photos stared back at her, glaring proof of her humiliation. Her wolf instincts screamed to run-to flee this room and everyone in it-but there was nowhere to go.

With trembling hands, she scrolled down the screen, hoping to see an explanation, a rebuttal-anything. Instead, all she found was her image: exposed, vulnerable, his.

Her mind buzzed, and for a moment, everything else became a blur.