THE BILLIONAIRE'S MYSTIQUE BRIDE

"Get your hands off my butt, Sir! I'm warning you."

Mia pulled her arm free from his hold, disgust rising in her chest as she grasped a nearby table for support.

"And what if I don't?" he whispered, squeezing his hold tighter. "What comes next, darling?"

The charity event thrummed with affluence and power-men in customized suits, women adorned in high fashion, and secrets exchanged over glasses of vintage wine.

Soft jazz played in the background, enhancing the lively, cheerful ambiance.

Mia was only twenty-two, yet the man beside her, old enough to be her father, didn't seem to care. Seth Cornell-Vice Chairman of the ZIRCONS Group. A name powerful enough to silence a room.

The guests' identities were deliberately concealed for privacy, and their names were replaced with numbered tags.

But she wasn't here for names, for power plays, or for whatever game men like him indulged in.

Her task was simple: obtain a saliva sample from VIP01-Seth Cornell-and leave.

"Let... go!" Mia struggled, her eyes darting toward the men seated around him. Their amused expressions and mocking laughter made her stomach turn, but she managed to break free once again.

"I knew you'd be worth my time the moment I walked in," he growled, his fingers stretching out to graze her waist. "Tell me your price, and I'll have it done."

Without hesitation, Mia's fist connected with his chin, her humiliation boiling over.

The laughter at the table ceased immediately. Her gaze swept the hall, thankful as she observed that the handful of lingering guests were too absorbed in their conversations to notice the conflict.

She looked back at the man before her. His body shook with rage-not mere anger, but intense fury. Mia knew there would be consequences, but she forced herself to remain composed. Any further reaction could jeopardize her mission.

"I'm so sorry, Sir. Please forgive Miranda's silly mistake." The hospitality manager rushed in, his tone appeasing as he tried to defuse the situation.

"Is this how your hostesses treat guests?" Seth spat, slamming his palm on the table, causing the plates to shake.

"Miranda, kindly apologize to our esteemed sponsor," the manager insisted, his voice shaking with anxiety.

Mia stayed quiet, her lips pressed into a firm line. She refused to give him the satisfaction of an apology.

"That's her name-Miranda!" His glare bore into her. "Ignorance is a dangerous thing, Miss. And you've just made the biggest mistake of your life."

Mia rolled her eyes at his threats. Her real name wasn't Miranda, and she had no intention of staying in Costa Rica long enough to worry about his empty threats.

"Miranda! My office, now!" her manager barked, signaling for another hostess to take her place.

"That was a risky move, Mia. Are you out of your mind?" Xiang's voice crackled in her earpiece, sharp and irritated. Even through the tiny earbuds, his annoyance was clear.

"I had no idea I would encounter perverts in a corporate environment like this," Mia murmured, slipping into the closest restroom to hide.

"Stay in character, Mia," Xiang retorted. "We're close to pulling off the blackmail with Madame Shirley. Do not ruin this."

"How close is the driver? There's no need to stay here anymore," she pressed, urgency tightening her throat.

"That shouldn't be your worry," he interjected. "You have his DNA samples intact, right?"

"Affirmative, Boss," she said, slipping a carefully sealed wine glass into her bag.

"Brilliant. Now, take an exit through the kitchen. Your flight to New York departs in an hour. Meet us at the address I sent. Don't be late."

Mia quickly changed into a fresh outfit, swapped her wig, and covered her face with a scarf. With a new identity in place, she quietly exited the building and made her way to the airport.

But sleep wouldn't come easily. Shutting her eyes meant sinking deeper into this nightmare. No matter how many faces she wore, how many lies she told, she was still the same person inside.

************

Hours later, Mia stepped into the deserted warehouse as directed. The musty scent of rusted metal pipes filled the air. Each step echoed in the emptiness as she neared the small group of con artists seated around a worn out table.

The poor lighting cast a warm glow on their faces, making them recognizable even in the darkness.

"Here comes my beautiful Mia," Xiang's voice rang out from his seat.

Xiang was a man in his mid forties, the leader of the con gang Mia worked for. Known for only one thing-money, filling his pockets.

"Why the long face?" He grinned.

"I don't think there's much time for smiles in my line of work," she retorted, approaching him.

"Well... we have a special assignment for you, a delicate one that will require your feminine charm. So, cheer up."

"What is it this time?" Mia snapped, her brows drawing into a frown.

"Easy, tigress." Xiang reached for an envelope on the dusty table, pulled out a photograph, and slid it toward her.

Mia's eyes locked onto the target's face, but she barely registered it-she could already sense Xiang's sinister grin watching her reaction. Something was off.

"That's Lorenzo De Luca, an Italian business mogul," Xiang explained, clearing his throat. "He's known for spotting intruders, so we'll have to do this the other way."

He paused before adding, "He frequents The Red Room, a VIP-exclusive club. You'll go there, pose as a new stripper, follow him to his hotel room, and steal that drive from his suitcase."

"What?!" Mia's breath hitched. "You... you want me to seduce this man?"

"Actually... he's rather a practical man. If you want to get close, you'll have to do more than just look pretty. Get prepared."

"You're joking." Her stomach twisted. "Tell me you're joking."

Her throat tightened as a tear slipped free, but she turned away, wiping it before anyone could see. Breaking down wouldn't change a damn thing

Four years. Four years of working undercover, lying and deceiving to survive all for a debt she never owed. But this? Giving away what little dignity she had left... How could she escape this?

"Xiang... I signed up to be your mole, not a... a stripper. I've never done anything like this before," her voice shook slightly.

"You knew what you signed up for, didn't you? Or did you think undercover work only meant listening in on conversations and passing notes?"

Mia clenched her fists, steadying herself against the weight of her own humiliation. "Is... is there any other way we can get this drive?"

Xiang rose from his seat, approaching her with slow, calculated steps.

"Lorenzo has a type, and lucky for us, you match it perfectly. So if bedding him is the only way for us to succeed, then so be it."

"Wait... What if I bring my father to you instead? Would that settle it?" she pleaded.

Xiang scoffed. "And how long has that been? Four solid years, Mia. And even if you do find him, you really think he can pay back a hundred million overnight? Don't be delusional."

A sinister laugh escaped his lips as he returned to his seat. Something inside Mia snapped, causing her knees to buckle, bringing her to the ground.

"I've always been obedient Xiang... you know it. But please be merciful," she whimpered.

A patronizing grin spread across his face as he slowly brushed his beard with his fingers.

"Look here, Mia, I'm going to make you an offer," Xiang began, his tone almost mockingly considerate.

"I don't usually do this, but I'm feeling generous today."

Mia swallowed hard, waiting.

"If you pull this off," Xiang continued, "maybe... just maybe, you can consider this your last task."

His words sat like acid on her tongue. But what then? Would she choose to run away, knowing Xiang would hunt her down? Refuse, and let someone else take her place-someone who might enjoy it?

Her fists clenched. One last job. One last lie.

Then she exhaled sharply.

"Fine. I'll do it," she said, though it felt like a noose tightening around her neck.

"Now that's the spirit." Xiang leaned back, satisfied. "Go home and get some rest. Rambo will pick you up tomorrow."

It was shortly after noon, yet the pounding headache from three sleepless nights pressed heavily on Zac Cornell.

The twenty-six-year-old heir sat at his neatly organized desk, staring blankly at the city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The silence was disrupted by an unexpected ring from his phone. It was Martini-an old business associate his late father had trusted.

"Hey, Martini, what's up?" Zac answered, trying to mask the exhaustion in his voice.

"Zac, I need you at The Red Room tonight. I've managed to sway the investors for Project Rainbow. Are you game?"

"The Red Room... a strip club?" His frown deepened in disbelief. "You know that's not my style, Martini."

"I know, but this is the only chance we've got with Suarez and Lorenzo," Martini said, his voice firm. "We need to move this project forward."

"Can't we find a more conventional setting?" Zac rubbed his temples, frustration mounting.

"I know it's not ideal for you." Martini's tone softened but remained resolute. "But now's our chance."

Partnering with his late father's colleagues would give him an edge over his uncle. If this was what it took, then he was all in.

"What time are we meeting?"

"Ten o'clock works," Martini confirmed.

Zac ended the call, staring at the phone screen for a brief moment before returning to his incomplete tasks.

*******

Hours later, the door swung open, and his closest friend, Angelo, walked in with his usual smile.

"Hey, Zac! You know working overtime won't change Grandpa's mind about the chairmanship," he raised an eyebrow, observing Zac's disheveled appearance.

"It's not about making an impression on him; it's about gaining control," Zac responded, tilting his head slightly to lock eyes with Angelo.

"Well, your eye bags say otherwise. Why not let your uncle handle the position until next year?"

"Hold on, Angelo. Which side are you on again?" Zac snapped.

"Yours, obviously. But if you want to act fast, marry Bella and get it over with."

"You know me, Angelo... I'm not interested in Bella. Yet he thinks arranging a marriage will make me back off from the chairmanship?"

"But your father signed that agreement, Zac," Angelo answered, scratching his head.

"My father would never stoop that low, and I'll prove it."

"So... are you ready to leave now? It's late," Angelo sighed, changing the subject.

"Yeah, but I need you to pick up some files at my condo and meet me in Manhattan. Catch!" Zac tossed him a key.

"No way, Zac. It's high time you hired a personal assistant. I have my own company to run, remember?"

"Come on, what are friends for?" Zac smiled, even as the burden of his duties weighed down on him.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise."

With a reluctant sigh, Angelo agreed, and the duo exited the building.

****************************

The meeting had been a success, but Zac remained seated in one of the VIP booths. The flashing lights, the loud music, and the chaos of the club felt irritating-until Martini approached.

"Congratulations, Zac. Lorenzo's already gone?"

"Not really. He-" Zac's words caught in his throat as his attention turned to an enticing figure covered in a sequined bodysuit on the stage.

She swayed with assured elegance, a flawless stance, and a touch of rebellion in her twirling.

***

"Tiffany," a hefty man called, addressing Mia from behind.

She turned to see one of the club's floor managers standing with his arms crossed.

"Grab your things. Lorenzo wants you in his suite right now."

"Okay," she smirked, popping her bubble gum as she released the stripper pole.

She stole a glance at the VIP booths, her eyes sweeping past usual power players-old money, new money, men with excessive influence and little integrity. But then her eyes settled on someone unfamiliar.

A handsome young man in a black suit sat in a booth with the club owner. His fingers tapped gently on his glass, yet his focus was directed at her.

Mia's breath hitched slightly.

Why was he staring at her like that?

There was something unique about him. He wasn't like the others, who stared at her openly, with no attempt to hide their intentions.

His expression was neutral, yet, for a second, she thought she saw something else. Was it recognition? Or interest?

"Whatever," she muttered, averting her gaze as she turned on her heel and walked toward the dressing room.

********

"Who's that girl?" Zac asked, swallowing hard.

"Oh, her? That's Tiffany. Quite the enigma, isn't she?" Martini replied.

Zac didn't answer. His thoughts continually looped back to how her eyes had shifted in his direction, how she stared back at him for too long before walking away.

He shook his head, dismissing the ridiculous idea creeping into his thoughts.

He had come for business, not distractions. Or should he have his men contact her after the show?

"Zac, Zac, are you good?" Martini asked.

"Yeah, in fact... I need to get going," Zac said, glancing at his watch.

"Give me a second, please." Martini held up a hand.

But as soon as Martini made the call to confirm whether Mia was ready to be sent to Lorenzo, something inside him snapped.

A sudden wave of tension rushed through him like a time bomb. It felt like something was being taken from him-something that should have been his.

"Martini, I want a private session with Tiffany," he blurted out.

"Did I hear you correctly, Zac? Or are my ears playing tricks on me?" Martini's eyes widened in surprise.

"Absolutely." Zac nodded.

"See, the thing is, Lorenzo is already expecting her. But hey, if you really want to have a good time, I can get you someone more exotic," Martini proposed.

"No," Zac retorted. "I want her."

"Zac, I understand, but this isn't a business transaction. You're making a personal request," Martini pointed out.

"And I own this land, Martini. If I want this place gone by tomorrow, it will. Now, do we have a deal?"

Martini stiffened, his face faltering. "Alright, I'll do what you ask."

Zac downed the last of his drink, tossing the cup aside.

"Dammit," Martini muttered, adjusting his tie as Zac made his exit.

********

A short drive later, Zac stood at the entrance to his suite, momentarily taken aback as his eyes settled on the beautiful woman by the window.

The warm lights bathed her shimmering dress, casting a glow that danced across the walls. Her back was bare, highlighting her slim waist and curvy figure.

A mix of admiration and curiosity welled up in his chest, yet he maintained his composure as he walked toward her with measured steps.

"Hello, Tiffany," he said gently, clearing his throat.

She barely reacted, but her expression showed her disappointment. Her eyes darted restlessly, hoping someone else would emerge from behind his shadows but no one else came.

Her breath hitched.

She had expected Lorenzo and not this man.

She wondered if she was sent to the wrong room. But no-this was exactly where the manager had told her to go. Then what the hell was going on?

"Are you alright?" Concern crept into Zac's voice.

Her gaze finally settled on him, and beneath the pink wig and tacky makeup, he caught a glimpse of something raw-innocence.

"Rest assured, you're in a safe space." He stepped closer, narrowing the distance.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, crossing her arms, but Zac caught a shift in her boldness as she stepped backward.

"You don't look excited to see me." Zac slipped off his jacket, causing her to step back further until her back hit against the wall.

"You're not Lorenzo... this must be a mistake." She frowned, fumbling for the exit. "I'm sorry... I can't stay here."

Does she not realize who I am? Zac thought. Many women would kill for a chance to be with him-why Lorenzo? Does she prefer older men?

"Slow down, beautiful." He extended his hand to her waist, drawing her closer. "You don't seem to belong here."

"Neither do you." She grabbed his neck with sudden strength, making him lose his grip. "I prefer to work with hyperactive men."

Why is she so fierce? I like her. Zac thought.

"Well, that makes two of us," he smirked, gently removing her hands off his neck.

"I don't have time for this, Mister," she muttered. "I have other clients waiting."

"Then I'll pay triple what you charge," Zac said with an urgent tone.

"Sorry, I'm not interested." She scoffed, stepping toward the door.

What else would convince a mere stripper to stay? Zac wondered.

She was already at the door. But he couldn't let her go like that. He needed to unravel the mystery behind this obsession before his emotions got the better of him.

"Marry me, Tiffany."

The words came out smoothly-certain, as if they had been waiting for the right moment to surface.

"Are you serious right now?"

Mia turned, tilting her head to meet his deep-set, smokey grey eyes. His focus was still on her as if he still had unfinished business with her.

Zac exhaled deeply, running his fingers through his sleek black hair. The remaining strands settled back into position smoothly.

"Look... I'm sorry if that came off kind of weird. But I can't help the way I feel about you."

"Oh, please," Mia scoffed, crossing her arms. "Don't start. You men all want the same thing."

"No... it's not the way you think, I assure you. My intentions are pure," he stated, his tone gentle. "I want you, Tiffany. Not just for now-but by my side, outside these walls."

Her thoughts whirled, trying to comprehend his words. How did she find herself here, caught in a situation she never saw coming? Zac was supposed to be a distraction for her, nothing more.

"I know this sounds crazy, but back there when our eyes met... you felt it too, right?" His voice dropped as he reached for her hand.

Mia wanted to pull away-to shut this down completely. But he was right, she couldn't deny the pull between them. And that frightened her more than anything else.

"You don't even know me." She chuckled nervously, attempting to lighten the seriousness of the situation.

"It takes only a day to meet someone, but just a moment to fall in love," he reassured her as he carefully intertwined his fingers in hers. "You can take all the time you want, Tiffany. I'll be here, waiting."

His honesty was almost overwhelming. She didn't intend to be here; she ought to have realized it was unwise to lose focus. But the thought of sharing a bed with a man like Lorenzo felt wrong and disgusting.

"What if you're involved in some scandal?" she probed, observing for any crack in his composure.

"Not at all. By the way, I'm Zac." He smiled confidently, extending a hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said, shaking his hand regardless, but her mind was still on edge. "I'll consider your proposal, but I need to go now."

"Wait!" Zac pointed toward the window. "It's raining outside. It's not safe to go out in this weather. How about you spend the night here?"

Her pulse skipped a beat. She hadn't realized how late it was. Outside, rain flowed against the glass, causing the city to fade behind the transparent silver lines. She knew there was no chance of returning to the club.

She ought to go; however, the thought of returning to the cold, into the chaos of her reality, suddenly felt unbearable.

A break from everything might give her the clarity she desperately needed.

"Fine." The word escaped her lips before she had a chance to reconsider.

****

The rain drummed softly against the windows while the shots of whiskey warmed her throat. Across from her, Zac leaned back in his chair, observing her with a calm aura.

At first, their words were light-casual exchanges between two people stranded by circumstance. But as the drinks flowed, their stories grew more intimate.

Zac addressed her in a manner that captured her attention; his tone was low and soothing. He didn't just hear-he listened.

Mia wasn't used to this. The men in her world were predictable: grand gestures, empty promises, ulterior motives wrapped in charm. But Zac was different. His confidence wasn't loud; it was steady. He didn't press, didn't demand.

And for the first time in years, she felt safe.

Somewhere between laughter and whiskey, exhaustion pulled at her. She barely remembered closing her eyes.

***

Blinking awake, Mia discovered she was no longer on the couch. She was lying in bed.

She looked over at the couch, where he slept, his long legs awkwardly dangling off the edge, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, revealing his chest to the cool air of the room.

He looked so uncomfortable that his brows knitted even in his sleep, yet there was something appealing about him.

A wave of guilt hit her. He had given up the bed for her, enduring discomfort so she could relax.

Careful not to wake him, she reached for the duvet and tiptoed toward him. She only meant to cover him and leave. That was all.

But as she stepped closer, her eyes lingered. She couldn't help but notice how well-sculpted his body looked. Her fingers twitched, compellingly attracted to the soft rise and fall of his chest. But she caught herself, catching her breath.

What was she doing?

She turned to walk away, but just before she could move, a hand grabbed her wrist.

"Why are you still up?" Zac's voice was heavy with sleep, low and husky.

"I... uh..." Mia stammered, her mind scrambling for an excuse.

Before she could step back, he pulled her softly, causing her to lose her balance and fall onto his chest.

Their eyes locked and it suddenly felt like the world was narrowing to just them. His fingertips grazed the tiny area of her back, a barely-there touch that ignited sensations across her skin.

"Tiffany..." he whispered, gently moving a loose piece of hair away from her lips.

"I don't know how you did it, but... you have my heart."

His skin was warm, his heartbeat steady under her palms. She could feel her body relax into him. The faint scent of wine and cologne clung to her as she sighed.

"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing about you." Her words came out slurred.

She shifted slightly, nuzzling closer, her fingers brushing his face with a featherlight touch. "I think... I love you."

Zac's heart stopped. Before he could react, she let out a soft, sleepy laugh.

"Mmm... that sounds dramatic, huh?" Her words slurred together, her grip on reality slipping. "But I mean it."

But before another word could be spoken, the haze of sleep overtook her, pulling her into unconsciousness, leaving Zac wide awake.

***************

When Mia woke, she was back on the bed. The space beside was colder.

Panic surged as last night's memories crashed over here. But when she checked beneath the sheets, relief settled over her.

Nothing had happened. Yet... beneath the relief, something else lingered-disappointment.

Zac was gone.

Just as she turned, her eyes landed on the bedside table. A bouquet of flowers rested next to a shiny vase, with a note placed beside it.

"Didn't want to disturb you. Call me when you're up. Dinner at 6?"

At the bottom was his phone number, scrawled in a confident hand.

Mia smiled as warmth spread through her chest. Maybe last night wasn't a mistake after all.

But as she left the hotel and made her way back, reality crashed down on her. For the first time in four years, she had failed her task.

Yet despite everything, all she could think about was seeing him again.

***************

"I want you by my side."

Zac's words echoed in Mia's mind as she stared at her reflection.

Just then, Samantha stormed into the room, radiating in her usual whirlwind of energy.

"Goodness, Mia, I swear you attract more drama than a soap opera."

"What else could I have told Xiang? Lorenzo didn't show up," Mia admitted, her voice quieter than she'd intended.

"But... I think Zac's worth a shot."

"Worth it?" Samantha's eyes widened. "You're about to go on a date with a guy whose last name you can't even recall!"

Just before Mia could reply, her phone vibrated loudly, interrupting their discussion.

The screen lit up, followed by Xiang's message: We're on our way. Be packed and ready to move. No excuses, no delays.

In a split second, the room seemed to shrink. The light laughter from moments ago dissolved into heavy silence.

Mia swallowed hard.

The weight of reality crashed down on her, erasing the sweetness of whiskey with Zac-the fleeting lightness of imagining something more.

She wasn't Tiffany-the free-spirited girl exploring new feelings.

She was Mia.

A woman bound to a duty she couldn't abandon.