The Billionaire I Mistook for an Escort

Iris's POV

"I don't agree. I won't marry Damian!"

"Your father is doing this for your own good, and for the family business."

"For my own good? Dad, you've already destroyed our complete family, and now you want to destroy my marriage too?"

I questioned him with reddened eyes.

He probably felt his authority was being challenged, as a violent anger surfaced on his face.

I lifted my head to stare directly at him, pointing at the woman beside him, Camilla, and let out a cold laugh. "If you really cared about me, about this family, then throw this woman out and bring my mother back!"

"Slap!"

I felt my left ear ringing, my face burning with pain.

Camilla and her son Julian, along with her daughter Serena, sat to the side watching my father and me argue, as if watching a show.

My mood hit rock bottom.

Seeing this, Camilla stepped forward, pulling at my father's arm and gently persuading him, "Darling, Iris is still a child. Don't be like this."

My father looked at the hand he'd used to slap me, frozen for a moment, as if somewhat surprised by his own action.

Camilla's words slowly brought him back to his senses.

He spoke again, his voice hoarse but his tone brooking no argument. "She's twenty years old. It's time she understood what she needs to do. Don't go anywhere for now. Stay home and prepare properly for next month's engagement party!"

I stood there covering my face, looking at that familiar face, suddenly feeling this man was terrifyingly strange.

This wasn't the father from my memories who would pick me up from school on rainy days, who would build snowmen with me in winter.

That father had ceased to exist the moment I left two years ago.

I had only known that my father—Mr. Richard Blackwood—was a successful businessman. Only now did I discover he was also a complete emotional tyrant.

Pain, shock, disappointment, and grievance all surged through me at once.

"You'll regret this."

After saying this, I turned and slammed the door behind me.

Behind me came a roaring voice. I ignored it.

I was the only young lady of the Blackwood family, possessing an enviable happy life.

Returning after two years of studying abroad, I thought I would be starting an even better life, only to find everything had changed.

All the former beauty had ended.

My mother had moved out after the divorce, my father had become someone else's father, even my bedroom had been taken over by others, and I'd been arranged into an alliance marriage with a man who had once hurt me—Damian.

Damian Harrington, twenty-four years old, the eldest son of the Harrington family. Everyone in our circle knew we were childhood friends, and I too had thought I would marry him when I grew up.

At eighteen, I dressed in a beautiful dress, holding flowers and confessing to him with a heart full of joy, only to be met with indifference—neither agreement nor rejection.

Later, he frequently dated different girls, even deliberately showing off his affection in front of me.

My repeated initiatives only brought coldness and disdain.

I was completely heartbroken.

Utterly disappointed, I took the opportunity to study abroad to clear my mind.

I never imagined that right after my return, the two families would decide on this alliance marriage.

I couldn't accept any of this reality.

After running out of the house, I realized I had nowhere to go.

My mother's current state wasn't good. If I went to her looking like this, I'd only add to her burdens.

When I came back to my senses, I found myself standing in front of a bar.

The Hidden Bar.

My good friend Amelia was a reporter who had discovered this treasure of a place while working on a story about "New York's underground bar culture." We used to come here occasionally for drinks.

Thinking of this, I took out my phone and sent Amelia a message: "Amelia, come out and have a drink with me. The usual place."

I put away my phone and walked into the bar.

Inside, the lighting was dim, the music languid. Behind the bar stood a bartender, probably around thirty, wearing a vintage vest, his bartending movements elegant and practiced.

I walked straight to the bar and sat down, looking somewhat dejected.

Perhaps the bartender sensed my emotional state. Without waiting for me to speak, he silently pushed a glass toward me.

"This one's called 'Shattered Pearl,'" he said, wiping an empty glass in his hand, his voice calm. "You should need it."

"Thank you." I picked up the glass and took a sip.

The initial taste was the burning sensation of vodka, followed by a crisp, slightly sweet middle note.

The bartender's hands kept moving as he casually explained, "This drink is based on vodka, mixed with elderflower liqueur, fresh lime juice, and a touch of elderflower syrup."

I nodded, staring at the "pearl" at the bottom of the glass.

I couldn't understand why Damian would agree to this marriage.

My good friend Amelia had privately told me that during the two years I was abroad, Damian went around telling people how deeply I loved him, how I would willingly do anything for him, and swore that when I returned he would treat me well. But in reality, he never stopped having women around him.

The bartender probably noticed me staring blankly at the sugar ball and gently prompted, "Edible sugar ball. Try it—the flavor after being soaked in alcohol is quite unique."

I tilted my head back and drank the remaining alcohol along with the sugar ball.

The moment that "pearl" shattered in my mouth, it burst with an intense floral fragrance, like beautiful memories being smashed.

Fortunately, during these two years I had focused on my studies and broadened my horizons. My feelings for Damian had long since completely died.

I ordered another drink and moved to an empty table near the bar, drinking while waiting for Amelia.

Amelia was probably busy working overtime again. She hadn't replied to my message or rushed to the bar.

Perhaps because of my mood, after three drinks, my head felt dizzier than I'd expected.

But my mind remained clear. I didn't want to return to that place that no longer felt like home.

The night had grown late. I raised my hand to call a server over to settle the bill.

The bar was crowded tonight, and the music was loud.

I called out several times for a server, but they were all too busy to stop. One nodded at me, then was immediately called away by another customer.

Forget it.

I shook my dizzy head and stood up, planning to go to the front desk to pay myself.

But as soon as I stood, the world spun. My high heel twisted, and I fell sideways.

Oh no.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the fall.

However, the expected pain never came. A strong arm reached out and steadily caught me around the waist.

"Careful."

A low voice, unhurried, his clean scent brushing past my ear.

I looked up and met a pair of light blue eyes.

In that instant, my mind went blank for two seconds.

He had golden hair and blue eyes, deep features, his brow bone and jawline as sharp as if carved by a knife.

He wore a black shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up, revealing a section of his forearm. His tall figure blocked the harsh lights before my eyes.

More handsome than Damian, not inferior to any Hollywood A-list star.

Though his expression was gentle, his entire being emanated a subtle sense of distance.

I felt my heart pounding hard.

If my marriage was going to become a transaction, why not choose a transaction partner I liked?

I grabbed his sleeve in return, lifted my head, and stared directly into those blue eyes.

"Would you be willing to sleep with me?"

His eyebrow arched slightly. He didn't answer immediately.

"I'll pay. You won't need to take responsibility."

My voice was firm, and I tried to steady myself, not wanting him to think I was a drunk.