My Fiancé Slapped Me and Lost Me To His Billionaire Nemesis

Aria's POV

His hands were everywhere at once, and I wanted them to be. Dante's mouth crashed against mine, a claiming that stole my breath and my sanity in one hot, wet sweep. His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling just enough to make my scalp tingle. His other hand... oh God... his other hand slid up my bare thigh beneath my skirt, rough palm skating over my skin until his thumb found the soaked lace of my panties.

I gasped into his mouth and my body pushed against the cold wall in the hallway. The music from the club was so loud it felt like it was shaking inside me, but my heart was beating even faster, like it was running really hard.

"Aria."

When he said my name, it sounded like a quiet growl, and it made my stomach feel weird and hot. I didn't even know him. I shouldn't be here. But the way he said my name made it feel like he knew me really well, like he knew things about me I didn't even know.

He stopped kissing me and looked at me with serious eyes, like a storm was coming.

"Tell me to stop," he said.

I couldn't say it. The word wouldn't come out. I only felt like someone else had grabbed me before and it hurt. I shook my head and whispered, "Don't you dare."

He smiled like he won something. Then he leaned down and kissed my neck really hard, and it felt like he was leaving a bruise. I cried out and grabbed his shoulders because it hurt. He smelled like rain and something warm, and it felt like I was getting pulled into it.

-Earlier that day-

I watched Catherine, my sister smile as she passed it to him, her fingers brushing his for a second too long.

Yet there it was. Rhys Granger accepted it like it was a prize.

"Here," Catherine said brightly. "You always complain about the cups here. Use mine."

Mine. She said it like she was proud. My heart pounded hard. That mug was not just a mug. It was something she carried everywhere. She once screamed when I used it by mistake. She had called it special, Important and Hers.

Now she was giving it to my fiancé.

I forced a smile that hurt my face. "Catherine," I said softly. "Why are you giving him that?"

She tilted her head and looked at me like I was slow. "Because it is just a mug, Aria. Or are you keeping count now?"

Rhys chuckled. The sound crawled under my skin.

He lifted the mug and took a sip. His eyes stayed on me while he drank, like he was daring me to say something.

"I do not want that cup used," I said.

My mother cleared her throat. My father did not look up from his phone.

Rhys lowered the mug. "Why?" he asked. "Jealous of your own sister now?"

Catherine laughed lightly and leaned against the table. "You always get sensitive over small things."

It was never small.

"That mug matters to you," I said, looking straight at Catherine. "You know it does."

Her smile widened. "Not anymore. Something sharp twisted in my chest.

Rhys stood up slowly.. "She gave it to me," he said. "That means it is mine."

"No," I replied. "That means you should give it back."

The air changed. Rhys's eyes darkened. "You are embarrassing me," he said quietly.

"I am asking for respect."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Respect is earned."

He pulled me close, his voice a harsh whisper for only me to hear. "You don't tell me what to do. You are here because I allow it."

I tried to pull back. "Let go."

The slap was not loud, but it felt loud inside my head. It made a sharp sound, like something breaking. My cheek started to burn right away, and my head turned to the side before I even knew what happened.

My eyes filled with tears. Not just because it hurt, but because I could not believe it. This was my parents' house. The place where I was supposed to feel safe.

I looked at them, hoping someone would say something. Hoping someone would stop it. But they did not move. They did not speak. They just stood there and watched.

My father's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. My mother looked away, adjusting a perfect bracelet.

Rhys dropped his hand from my neck. He set the mug down carefully, as if it were precious. "Clean yourself up," he said, his voice flat. "You're embarrassing yourself."

I didn't move. I couldn't. The mark on my face burned, but the shame burned hotter. Catherine's ghost was in the room, laughing at me. Second best, Always second best. Never chosen.

I turned and walked into the night with my face burning and my chest breaking apart. I ended up at a club without thinking. Loud music, Noise that drowned out my thoughts.

Ben, the bartender with kind eyes, slid a glass of amber liquid toward me without a word. I drank it. It burned, but it was a better burn.

And then I felt a gaze. Heavy and intent, like a physical touch across the crowded room.

I turned.

He stood near a shadowy pillar, a tall man in a dark suit that cost more than my car. Dante Blackwood. I'd seen his picture in the financial pages. My father hated him, Called him a shark.

Our eyes locked. His were unreadable from this distance, but his stare pinned me to my stool.

He walked toward me. "You look like you want to break something." His voice was deep, a vibration I felt in my bones.

"Or someone," I heard myself say, the whiskey making me brave.

A dark eyebrow lifted. "Easily arranged." He didn't smile. He just... absorbed me. "Come with me."

He didn't wait for an answer. He just turned, knowing I would follow. And I did. Down a hallway, away from the noise, into a quiet, dim space.

And then his mouth was on mine, his body pressing me into the wall, and all the broken, angry pieces inside me caught fire.

Now, his hand was under my skirt, His thumb moved in circles on the wet lace. It felt really strange and sharp, like a surprise, and it went right through me. I moaned, the sound lost against his lips.

"This," he growled, his breath hot on my ear. "This is what you really want. Not his pathetic games."

He hooked a finger in the side of my panties and pulled, tearing the lace, the sound was loud. Cold air touched my skin for a moment, then his hand moved closer and it felt strange and warm.

I jerked against him, a cry tearing from my throat. He seemed to know exactly what I was feeling like he could read my mind, his fingers sliding through my wetness, making a hot, slick mess.

"So responsive," he murmured, a dark approval in his tone. He pressed a finger inside me, just the tip, and my knees almost buckled. "So hot. And all for me."

He added another finger, stretching me, filling me. His thumb pressed against the tight, My body felt like it was full of nerves, and it started moving in slow, painful circles.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I forced my eyes open. His face was so close, his expression fierce, hungry. I was panting, my hips moving against his hand of their own will, chasing the pressure.

"Tell me whose." His fingers thrust deep.

"Yours," I gasped. The word was a truth I hadn't known until now. "Yours."

He looked at me like he was proud of himself. Then he pulled his hand away and I felt sad because I wanted him to stay. He brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them slowly while still staring at me. The sight was the most erotic thing I had ever witnessed.

Then he started taking off his belt, and it made a loud sound. He pulled his pants down a little bit. He was huge, thick and hard, the tip already wet. He nudged himself against me, The pressure felt crazy and strong.

"Wrap your legs around me," he ordered, his voice thick.

I did, locking my ankles behind his back. He held me up, pinning me to the wall with his body. There was no gentle slide, no asking. He pushed into me in one sudden, powerful thrust.

I screamed. It was too much. He was everywhere, splitting me open, filling a void I didn't know I had. The stretch was a sweet, burning agony. He went still, buried to the hilt, his forehead dropping to mine as we both trembled

"Aria," he growled again, He began to move.

Aria's POV

He began to move, and the world broke into pieces.

Every thrust was a punishment and a gift. The hard wall scraped my back, but I did not care. His body slammed into mine, over and over, chasing the wild feeling building inside me. It was too fast, too hard, too much. I could not think. I could only feel.

"You feel that?" he growled into my neck. "You feel how much I want you?"

I could only nod, my nails digging into his shoulders. My breath came in short, sharp gasps that matched his rhythm.

He kissed me again, his tongue pushing into my mouth, claiming that too. His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady for his deep, hard pushes. I felt myself stretching around him, burning and melting at the same time.

Something was gathering low in my stomach, a tight, hot coil. I had felt it before, alone in the dark, but never like this. Never with someone else. It felt scary and huge. My hips jerked, trying to get closer, trying to make it happen.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

His eyes locked on mine, dark and knowing. "That's it," he urged, his voice rough. "Chase it, Let me see you fall."

But it was like running toward a cliff in the dark. I got close, so close my whole body shook, and then... nothing. The feeling slipped away, leaving me empty and frustrated. A sob caught in my throat.

He stopped moving, still deep inside me. He studied my face. "What?"

"Nothing," I whispered, my cheeks burning with shame.

"That wasn't nothing." He pulled out of me suddenly, and I felt cold and abandoned. He set me on my feet, my legs wobbly. He fixed his pants with quick, angry motions. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"Somewhere you can scream."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall, past a shocked looking security guard, and out a private exit. A black car was waiting, its engine running. He pushed me into the back seat and slid in beside me.

"The penthouse," he told the driver.

The car moved silently through the night. I stared out the window. My body was still buzzing, still aching. I could smell him on my skin.

"Talk," he said, not looking at me.

"About what?"

"About why you stopped. About why you look like you're about to cry after the best fuck of your life."

I turned to him. The interior of the car was dark, but I could see the sharp line of his jaw. "It wasn't... I didn't..."

"You didn't finish," he stated, his voice flat.

The words hung in the air, humiliating and true. I looked down at my hands in my lap. "No."

"With him? Your fiancé?"

A bitter laugh escaped me. "With anyone."

The silence that followed was so thick I could taste it. I felt his stare like a physical weight.

His expression had changed. The anger was gone, replaced by something hotter, something more intense. His eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Never?"

I shook my head, my throat too tight to speak.

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. It was not a nice smile. It was the smile of a hunter who found exactly what he was looking for. "Mine," he whispered, more to himself than to me.

The car stopped. We were in front of a tall, glass building. He got out and pulled me with him, Then we went to a private elevator. The doors closed, and we were alone again.

He pushed me against the mirror, his body pressing into mine. He kissed me, deeply, slowly this time. His hand cupped my breast, his thumb rubbing my nipple through the thin fabric of my dress. The feeling I had before rushed back, and I couldn't stop thinking about it.

The elevator opened directly into his home. It was all dark floors and huge windows showing the whole sparkling city. The ceiling was high. The place felt powerful, like him.

He did not turn on the lights. City glow lit the room. He walked me backward until my legs hit the edge of a huge, low sofa.

"Take off your dress."

His voice was quiet, but it was not a request. My fingers trembled as I found the zipper. I stood before him in only my torn lace panties. The night air from the open windows kissed my skin, raising goosebumps.

He looked at me, his gaze traveling over every inch. "Beautiful," he said, and it sounded like a fact. He took off his jacket and then his shirt. His chest looked strong and wide. I could see scars on his skin, like shiny lines that glowed in the dim light.

He closed the distance between us. His hands were hot on my waist. He kissed my shoulder, my collarbone, the space between my breasts. His mouth was soft, which surprised me. He laid me back on the soft cushions and knelt on the floor between my legs.

He hooked his fingers in my panties and pulled them off, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he lowered his head.

His mouth on me was a shock. Hot, wet, perfect. I cried out, my back bowing off the sofa. He licked a slow, firm stripe through my folds, and my hands flew to his hair, tangling in the dark strands.

"Dante..."

He did not answer with words. He answered with his tongue, circling that tight, desperate nerve, then sucking it gently between his lips.

Pleasure, sharp and bright, shot through me. It was different than before. It was not a gathering storm. It was lightning, straight to my core. He held my hips down, keeping me still for his mouth. His tongue flicked and pressed and stroked. He slid one finger inside me, then two, curling them just right.

I was panting, begging, words I did not recognize falling from my lips. The coil in my stomach wound tighter, tighter. I could feel it, the edge of that cliff, right there.

He lifted his head, his chin looked shiny. "Look at me, Aria. Look at me when you let go."

His fingers pushed deep, and his mouth found me again. His eyes, dark and commanding, locked onto mine.

I stared back, falling into that storm. The pressure built, unbearable, wonderful. My thighs trembled. A sound, a raw, broken scream, tore from my throat as the world exploded into white hot light. Pleasure crashed over me, wave after wave, shaking me apart. I gripped him, sobbing, as it went on and on.

Slowly, it faded. I went limp, boneless, gasping for air. He crawled up my body, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked proud, with a wild look in his eyes.

"Mine," he said again, and kissed me. I could taste myself on his lips, salty and sweet.

He was still hard, pressing against my thigh. He positioned himself at my entrance. I was soft and open and still trembling from the finish. He pushed inside, a slow, It felt like everything was being taken over, that made me moan.

He started to move again, long, deep strokes. It felt different now. Softer, but somehow more intense. Every slide brushed a place inside me that made me see stars. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer.

"Again," he whispered against my lips. "I want to feel you come again. With me inside you."

He reached between us, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. The touch, combined with his deep thrusts, was too much. A second, sharper climax ripped through me, stealing my breath. I clenched around him, my body milking his.

With a rough groan, he drove into me one last, hard time. I felt him pulse, hot and deep, as his own finish took him. He collapsed on top of me, his weight heavy and perfect.

For a long time, we just breathed.

Then, he rolled to the side, taking me with him, keeping me close. His fingers traced idle patterns on my arm.

"That mug," he said suddenly, his voice calm in the dark. "The one your sister gave him."

My body went stiff. "What about it?"

"I want you to get it back."

I propped myself up on an elbow to look at him. "What? Why?"

He looked at me, his face serious. "Because it's yours. And I don't like other men holding what's yours." He paused. "Especially when they don't appreciate it."

"It's just a mug," I said, repeating Catherine's words, but they felt like a lie.

"No," he said, his hand sliding down to cup my backside possessively. "It's not. And tomorrow, you're going to walk into your parents' house, and you're going to take it. And then you're going to bring it to me."

The idea was crazy. Terrifying. After what happened, facing Rhys again...

"I can't," I whispered.

His eyes glinted. "You can. Because if you don't..." He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "I'll go with you. And I promise, I will make what happened in that hallway look like a polite hello." He pulled back, his gaze holding a dark promise.

Aria's POV

Sunlight pushed through the curtains and landed on my face. I blinked and pulled the sheet higher, my heart thumping fast. My body felt sore in a strange way. Memories rushed back, bright and messy. Dante's voice. His hands. The way he looked at me like I mattered.

I sat up quickly, the sheet slipping to my waist.

The bed beside me was empty.

The room held his scent, rain mixed with smoke, warm and sharp. My cheeks heated as I remembered how close we had been. How bold I had felt. How free. A smile tried to form, but worry followed right after.

He was gone.

No note, No message, Nothing.

I pressed my fingers to my lips. They still tingled. My chest felt tight, not with regret, but with questions. What if Rhys found out? He would not just shout. He would punish. Still, another thought whispered louder.

Last night, I felt alive.

I slid out of bed and walked to the bathroom, wrapping the sheet around me. The mirror showed faint marks on my neck. My eyes widened. I touched them softly. My heart raced. This was careless, This was dangerous.

The shower helped clear my head. Warm water ran over my skin, calming and sharp at the same time. When I finished, I dressed in yesterday's clothes. The dress looked tired, like me.

My phone waited on the table. Ten missed calls, All from Rhys.

My stomach twisted. I placed the phone in my bag without calling back and left the room.

The hotel lobby buzzed with voices and rolling suitcases. I kept my head low. Outside, a familiar car waited. Jameson stood by the door, calm as always.

"Miss Belmont," he said, opening the door. "Everything alright?"

"Yes," I replied, sliding inside. "Just a long night. Please take me home."

The city passed by in flashes of glass and steel. I stared through the window, but my thoughts stayed elsewhere. Dante's dark eyes followed me in my mind. He felt nothing like Rhys. Strong, quiet, watchful.

My phone buzzed again. I answered.

"Where are you?" Rhys snapped.

"Out with a friend," I said. The lie came easily, which surprised me.

"You disappeared," he said. "Dinner tonight, Wear something decent."

The call ended.

The house came into view, tall and cold. Jameson stopped the car.

"Thank you," I said.

Inside, the halls felt empty. I went straight to my room and locked the door. My body sank onto the bed. I closed my eyes, but sleep would not come. Dante's face filled the dark.

A knock broke the quiet.

"Aria?" Catherine's voice called. Sweet, Fake.

"What?" I asked.

She entered anyway, dressed perfectly, hair shining. Her eyes scanned me.

"Rhys called," she said. "You ran off again."

"Mind your own life," I replied.

She laughed and sat near the window. "Big dinner tonight, Important talk do not ruin it."

"Important how?" I asked.

"Business," she said. "You would not understand."

She stood and looked me over. "Wear blue and hide those marks."

My breath caught. She left before I could speak.

I rushed to the mirror and covered my neck as best I could. My hands shook. Dinner with Rhys felt like a storm waiting to break.

That night, candles lit the long table. Voices filled the room. I sat beside Rhys. His hand rested on my knee, gripping too tight.

"So," he said, smiling for show. "How was your day?"

"Quiet," I answered. He leaned closer. "You smell different."

I stiffened. "You are imagining things."

Across the table, my parents watched. Catherine laughed with Victor Granger.

"Contracts are ready," Victor said. "The land deal stands."

"Yes," my father replied. "And the Blackwood promise."

My heart skipped. Blackwood. I said nothing, but my thoughts raced.

After dinner, Rhys pulled me outside. The garden glowed under the moon.

"Tell me the truth," he said. "Now."

"I did nothing wrong," I replied. His hand struck my face, Pain flashed bright.

"You belong to me," he hissed.

Anger burst free. "No, I do not."

He grabbed my wrist. "Your family needs this, You cannot leave."

I pulled away and ran. Then I saw Dante stood near the trees, calm and solid. My breath caught.

"Aria," he said. Rhys turned. "You again?"Dante stepped forward. "Let her go."

Rhys laughed. "You think you can take what is mine?"

"I am not his," I said.

Rhys lunged, Dante moved fast. A punch landed. Rhys fell back, shocked.

Then a blade flashed in his hand. I screamed.

Dante tackled him. The knife flew away. They struggled until sirens sounded.

Catherine ran out, shouting. My parents followed. Police lights painted the garden red and blue.

Dante held Rhys down. "It ends here."

Rhys laughed through blood. "Ask her about the pact. Ask him why he is here."

I looked at Dante. His face went still. He leaned close and whispered, "Trust me."

My heart raced as the officers stepped forward.