THE BILLIONAIRE’S SHATTERED VOW

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Chapter 4 - Into the Lion’s Den

The car that arrived the next morning gleamed like liquid obsidian, the kind of machine Serena had only ever seen in glossy magazines. It idled at the curb outside her crumbling apartment building, the driver standing at rigid attention beside it. Neighbors peeked from their windows, whispering behind curtains.

Serena adjusted the strap of her worn satchel on her shoulder. She felt absurd, standing there in her thrift-store jeans and paint-smudged hoodie, about to step into a world where even the car door handles probably cost more than her rent.

The driver opened the rear door. “Miss Hayes.”

Her stomach knotted. She glanced back at her apartment window, where her mother’s pale face watched anxiously. Serena forced a smile and lifted her hand in a wave before sliding into the car.

Inside smelled faintly of leather and something crisp, expensive. She perched on the edge of the seat, fingers twisting together. The city blurred past the tinted windows, every passing block carrying her farther from the life she knew.

By the time the car pulled up to the Wolfe Tower—fifty gleaming stories of glass and steel slicing into the clouds—Serena’s palms were slick with sweat.

Damian was waiting in the lobby.

If the night of the gala had unsettled her, this morning left her reeling. He wore no suit jacket, only a perfectly tailored shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Power radiated from him in waves, not loud but contained, precise. Every person who passed him seemed to shrink just a little.

His gaze swept over her the moment she stepped out of the elevator. “You look… authentic,” he said.

She bristled. “That’s a polite way of saying I don’t belong here.”

“It’s an honest way,” Damian replied smoothly. “Which is precisely why you do belong. At least for my purposes.”

Before she could respond, another woman appeared—a tall figure in sleek black, tablet in hand, eyes sharp behind cat-eye glasses.

“This is Vivian,” Damian said. “She’ll be managing your schedule, your public image, and ensuring you don’t inadvertently destroy my reputation.”

Vivian gave Serena a once-over, lips pursing. “We have work to do.”

Work, as it turned out, meant hours under bright lights while stylists circled like hawks.

Hair brushed and glossed until it shone. Makeup layered with surgical precision. Dresses zipped, unzipped, pinned, and dismissed. Serena stood stiffly as strangers debated her body like she was raw material to be sculpted.

“Soft waves frame her face better.”

“No, sleek. She needs polish.”

“The gown in emerald—yes, that brings out her eyes.”

By the time they finished, Serena barely recognized the woman in the mirror. Her reflection wore a silk dress that clung in all the right places, diamonds glittering at her ears. She looked sophisticated, elegant, untouchable.

But her eyes—her eyes still held the storm.

“Breathe,” Vivian instructed. “You’ll need to get used to this. Cameras won’t forgive nerves.”

Serena exhaled shakily. She hated it—hated how quickly they’d erased the girl who painted until dawn and replaced her with a stranger draped in silk.

And yet… part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, she could play the part.

Damian waited in the penthouse when they brought her upstairs. The suite was vast, a palace suspended in glass and light, with a view that made the city seem small.

He glanced up from a file as she entered, his eyes flicking over her new appearance.

“Well,” he said simply. “You’ll do.”

Heat surged into Serena’s cheeks. “You make it sound like I’m livestock.”

He tilted his head, unbothered. “You agreed to the role, Miss Hayes. Don’t pretend you didn’t know what it entailed.”

Something in her bristled at his certainty, at how easily he dismissed the battle raging inside her.

“You think this is easy for me?” she snapped. “Pretending to be your fiancée, letting strangers decide who I am?”

Damian set the file aside, rising slowly. He crossed the space between them with the deliberate grace of a predator. When he stopped a breath away, she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.

“You want easy?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Then you should have slammed the door in my face. But you didn’t. You made a choice. And now you’ll follow it through.”

Her pulse hammered, but she held his gaze. “I’m not your puppet.”

Something flickered in his expression then—not anger, not amusement, but the faintest glimmer of respect.

“Good,” he murmured. “A puppet would bore me.”

The silence between them thickened, charged. For a dizzying second, Serena wondered what would happen if she didn’t step back.

Vivian cleared her throat. “We should discuss the announcement strategy.”

The moment snapped like a rubber band. Damian turned away, all business again. Serena exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself.

That evening, Damian’s world revealed itself in full force.

Vivian escorted Serena through rehearsals for press conferences, photographs, staged dinners. She was taught how to smile without revealing too much, how to angle her face for cameras, how to slip her hand into Damian’s arm like it belonged there.

Every correction grated. Every instruction felt like a layer of herself being scraped away.

By the time the session ended, Serena’s feet ached in unfamiliar heels, and her patience was frayed thin.

She found Damian waiting in the study, a glass of whiskey in hand. He looked up as she entered, his eyes flicking briefly to the diamond ring glittering on her finger—the symbol of their false engagement.

“You survived,” he remarked.

“Barely.”

He smirked. “You’ll learn. Adaptability is a strength.”

Serena sank into a chair, pulling off her shoes. “You really think this will work? That people will believe us?”

Damian studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “They’ll believe what I want them to believe. That’s how power works.”

She shook her head, exasperated. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he said softly, “you agreed to bind yourself to me.”

Her stomach fluttered against her will. She hated it—the way his voice wrapped around her, the way his certainty made her feel like she was already caught in his orbit.

“Don’t mistake desperation for devotion,” she shot back.

Damian’s smirk deepened, but his eyes darkened with something she couldn’t name. “Careful, Miss Hayes. You might convince me you mean that.”

Hours later, when she finally retreated to the guest room assigned to her, Serena collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

What had she done?

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from her mother:

How was your first day? I’m proud of you, sweetheart. Don’t forget who you are.

Serena’s throat tightened. She wanted to reply, to promise she wouldn’t lose herself in Damian’s world. But the words stuck.

Because part of her feared she already had.

Back in his study, Damian poured himself another drink. His reflection in the window stared back at him, cold and unreadable.

He’d thought Serena Hayes would be nothing more than a solution to a problem. A pawn on the board.

But tonight, as her fire blazed against his control, he realized something dangerous.

She wasn’t a pawn.

She was a complication.

And Damian Wolfe never tolerated complications.

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