The Billionaire’s Contracted Fiancé

Sia Jenkin

I sat at the bar, surrounded by the pulsing music and the dimly lit club. It was one of those nights when SheVil Broadcasting Company organized casual hangouts. While my colleagues were enjoying themselves in the VIP lounge, I decided to have a drink at the bar instead. I didn't want to be around them, or at the club at all, for that matter.

I didn't have anything against clubs, but I was afraid of running into my ex, Jaxon Campbell. It had been a month since I broke up with him after catching him in bed with my cousin, Tessa. It had been a difficult time for me, and I had to go into therapy for two weeks. Free therapy was the only perk of being a junior reporter at SheVil.

The company was not great. The employees were underpaid, and hardworking ones like me never got a salary raise. Since I couldn't afford therapy, I took advantage of the free sessions provided by the company.

I hated that Jaxon cheated on me with my cousin, Tessa. It wasn't just the cheating, but the reason behind it. Did he no longer find me attractive after three years together? The thought was overwhelming. Thankfully, I was out of therapy now.

As I sat at the bar, I waited for the bartender to be free, then slipped her a ten.

"Something to drink? It's on the house," she said.

"How about a dirty martini?" I asked.

"Not a problem," the bartender replied, mixing the drink and handing it to me. I gave her another ten and took the glass. As I sipped the martini, the vodka with a tinge of sweetness from vermouth burned a fiery trail from my mouth to my gut. The drink left a refreshing aftertaste.

I dropped the glass, smiled at the bartender, and got on my feet, adjusting my red dress that stopped mid-thigh with spaghetti straps and heels.

As I grabbed my bag, I felt my phone vibrate. I took it out and saw a message in the company's group chat from the head of the department.

"I hope everyone got home safely? Be sure to go to bed early. Good night, team members."

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. How could everyone have already left without me? It wasn't the first time; people always seemed to forget me. It was as if I was invisible and didn't exist.

I got used to it as I grew up. I didn't have both parents; they died in a car accident when I was just three. I didn't have any siblings either, except for my adopted sister, Zoya, who left three years ago to be the mistress of a rich old man.

I had never blamed Zoya for leaving everything behind and running away; she had her own life and needs.

I exhaled as I clutched my phone tightly in my hand and made my way towards the exit. My phone beeped again, and I let out a dramatic gasp. I thought the HOD asked us to go to bed early, so why was she sending another text to the group again?

I held my phone up to my face to see what the text was about, but I realized it wasn't a group text. It was from my landlord.

"I think I've helped you enough. Your rent is three months overdue, and I've been trying to understand you. If I don't get the payment by the end of the month, you'll have to move out."

Could this night get any worse? How was I supposed to get the money for the rent before the end of the month? I was already swimming in debts after I used all my savings to get Jaxon out of jail three months ago when he was accused of stealing from his rich boss. I still woke up every day regretting that horrible decision I made.

I took a deep breath and tried to control the tears from spilling. "You're over him, Sia. Do not cry," I reassured myself.

I walked back to the bar and slipped the bartender a ten again. "Four shots of tequila," I said as I took a seat again. As long as I could drink, I felt numb, and numb was good; numb didn't hurt.

After taking a few shots, I felt a lot freer than I thought I'd get. I felt like I had no care in the world. I had forgotten my problems; the fact that I was probably going to be homeless in a few days, the fact that I had an underpaid job and would probably never be able to get a decent place to live again, the fact that I was drowning in debts and had no idea how I was going to clear them.

But right now, I wasn't bothered. I slowly stood up and moved to the dance floor. The music moved me like puppets on strings, my head mashing so hard that my brain was in shut-down mode.

There was so much sweat on my skin, and not all of it was mine because I found myself moving from one dance partner to another. My legs suddenly turned to jelly, and my palms became sweaty. I felt my face turn purple as a chill of unease ran down my spine and settled in my stomach. Oh my God, I was definitely going to throw up.

I hurried out of the club room into the hallway and ended up in a quiet suite in the VIP lounge. I quickly found the bathroom, lifted the lid, crouched down on my knees, and threw up.

Afterward, I slowly stood up and washed my face in the sink. I stepped back into the quiet suite. It was crazy of me to rush into someone's private space to throw up. The suite was spacious and had an open archway that connected the small living room to the bedroom.

A minibar, a couch, an armchair, an ottoman, and a coffee table occupied the living room side. A vase full of freshly cut white lilies filled the air with a heady perfume. How could such a big suite exist in this club? Some people were just so lucky.

Feeling exceptionally bold—or maybe more drunk than I should be—I staggered to the minibar and poured myself a drink. Might as well enjoy the luxury while I was here.

After two shots, I made my way out of the suite into the dimly lit hall and bumped into someone. Exasperated, I looked up into the face of the most attractive man I had ever seen. Obsidian hair, jade-green dreamy eyes, perfectly chiseled cheekbones, and designer stubble.

He was at least a head taller than me, his broad shoulders impossibly wide. Unlike the other men at the club, he was wearing a black suit, cut to show off his trim waist. He had a devil-may-care grin that framed his handsome features.

"Are you the girl Chizzy sent?" Mr. Dreamy Eyes asked slowly, leaning against the wall.

Despite the coldness of the tone, there was a dark edge to it that put my lady parts on edge. In a very good but slightly inappropriate way.

I still wasn't sure who Chizzy was or who sent who. Standing still and confused, he staggered to where I was standing and suddenly smiled at me.

"You just came out of my suite. I guess you're the one Chizzy sent," Mr. Dreamy Eyes said again.

"Yes," I found myself saying.

My gaze flickered from him to the floor. Then I stared into his lustful eyes down to his lips. They were lush with a perfect Cupid bow. I tried not to moan, but hell, I did, and he heard. There was no way I was going to leave without tasting those lips. And a one-night stand if I had the chance.

My life was already fucked up, so why not fuck it up even more?