Chapter 3 Billionaire Playboy

Serena's POV

I couldn't fucking believe it

Damian Ortiz... The Damian Ortiz! The billionaire playboy whose face was plastered on every business magazine and gossip blog from here to San Diego. The guy known for his insane parties and his even more insane roster of dates.

I knew he looked familiar last night! But between the booze, the rain and the general implosion of my life, my brain had just filed him under ‘Mysteriously Handsome Stranger’ instead of ‘Notoriously Handsome Billionaire.’

I was so busy staring at the ID with my mind doing backflips, that I didn’t hear the bathroom door open.

“Find what you were looking for?”

I jumped so high I nearly hit the ceiling, the ID card fluttering from my hand onto the bed. He was leaning against the doorframe, a towel slung low around his hips with his hair damp. He had that same slight amused smirk from the bar with one eyebrow raised.

My face flushed about sixteen shades of red.

“I… you… I know you!” I blurted out, sounding like an absolute lunatic. “You’re Damian Ortiz!”

He shrugged and walked over, casual as you please, like finding women rifling through his wallet was a totally normal morning for him.

“No shit, Sherlock. I am.” He plucked the wallet from my limp fingers and tucked the ID back inside. “Figured you knew. My mistake.”

“Knew? Knew?” I scrambled off the bed, clutching the sheet to my chest like a shield. “How would I know? You don’t lead with ‘Hi, I’m a ridiculously rich man-whore’ when you offer a dripping wet stranger a motel room!”

“Man-whore?” He actually had the nerve to laugh. “Ouch. Harsh.”

All the warmth from the night before evaporated, replaced by a cold hard ball of shame and anger.

I’d just become his latest weekend conquest.. another notch on the bedpost. I could see the tabloid headline already:

'Heartbroken Harlot Hooks Up With Hectic Heir!' Or something equally stupid.

“I have to go,” I said tightly. I spotted my dress, dry and folded neatly on a chair. I snatched it up and made a dash for the bathroom, desperate to get dressed and get out.

“Whoa, hold on,” he said, his tone shifting as he moved to block the door not aggressively but firmly. “Just… pump the brakes for a second.”

“Why? So you can offer to add me to your collection? No thanks. I’ve had enough humiliation to last a lifetime.” I tried to sidestep him but he didn’t budge.

“I like you,” he said simply and directly and it caught me off guard. “And I know a shitty situation when I see one. I heard you last night. Your husband is a git.”

“A git?” I repeated with the old-fashioned word sounding weird in this cheap motel room.

“A colossal jerkoff,” he clarified with a grin. “The biggest. And he’s parading his pregnant girlfriend around your house? That’s next-level messed up.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered, my fight fading a little.

“So let me help,” he said, his dark eyes serious for the first time. “You want revenge? Let’s give it to him. Properly.”

I stared at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“You. Me. We show up somewhere… high profile. A gallery opening. A charity thing. Somewhere your git-husband will definitely see the pictures.” He spread his hands. “You become my girlfriend. My fiancée even for all anyone knows. Let him see what he threw away. Let him see you with me.”

“Are you insane?” I gawked at him. “You want me to be your… your pretend trophy wife for revenge? Is this a new game for you? Because I am not playing.”

“It’s not a game,” he said but the smirk was back. “Think of it as… mutually assured destruction. You destroy his ego. I get a beautiful woman on my arm who isn’t impressed by my money. It’s a win-win.”

“It’s a win for you and a nervous breakdown for me. No. Absolutely not.” I shook my head, finally pushing past him into the bathroom. “I’m not trading one cage for another, even a pretend one.”

I slammed the door and got dressed in record time, my hands shaking. When I came out he was fully dressed, looking frustratingly perfect. He held out a simple black business card between two fingers.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said, his voice light again like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“I think I already made my one big mistake for the year last night,” I shot back, snatching the card. I didn’t even look at it. I just shoved it in my purse.

“You’ll call,” he said.

“I’d rather chew my own arm off,” I promised him and I walked out the door.

The drive home was a special kind of torture. Every mile was a replay of my own stupidity.. I’d slept with Damian Ortiz. The human equivalent of a private jet and a tax loophole and he thought we had some kind of thing going on now. I felt sick.

I pulled into the driveway of my stupid house, my stomach in knots.. the house that didn’t feel like mine anymore. I took a deep breath, trying to smooth my rumpled dress and prepared for battle.

I didn’t even make it three steps inside.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Adrian was right there in the middle of the living room and he looked like he’d been up all night and not in a fun way.

I forced myself to stay calm. De-escalate. Don’t give him ammunition.

“I went to get a drink,” I said, my voice surprisingly even. “The rain started. I couldn’t drive so I got a room at the motel down the street. I slept it off. End of story.”

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowed.

“A motel. You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth.” I tried to walk past him toward the kitchen, desperate for water and aspirin.

He grabbed my arm tightly.

“You’re a liar. You were with someone, weren’t you? Who is he, Serena? You’re nothing but a whore, you know.”

The calm shattered.

“A fucking whore?” I yanked my arm free. “You’re calling me a whore? You, who moved your pregnant mistress into our home? You’re the one who demanded an open marriage, you hypocrite!”

His face twisted in rage then his hand shot out and slip up my skirt. His fingers poked and prodded between my legs with a crude violating inspection.

I gasped, shoving him away with every ounce of strength I had.

“Get the hell off of me, you jerk!”

“You were fucked last night,” he snarled. “You think I can’t tell?”

It was then I saw her. Vanessa. Standing in the doorway to my kitchen eating a bowl of my cereal from my mom's bowl and watching us with a smug little smile.

That was it.. the last fucking straw!

“Get out of my kitchen!” I screamed at her. “Get your skanky, home-wrecking ass out of my house!”

Vanessa just rolled her eyes.

“Or what, you drunk hag? You’ll do what? It’s my house now. Adrian, control your wife before I get stressed. It’s not good for the baby.”

“You bitch!” I started toward her, blind with rage. I didn’t even know what I was going to do.. maybe just scream in her face.

I never got the chance.

Adrian grabbed me from behind, his arms locking around me. I struggled, kicking and twisting.

“Let me go, you bastard!”

And then it happened.. he spun me around with his own anger boiling over and his fist was pulled back.

The last thing I saw was his face twisted in hate and his knuckles flying toward my eye then everything exploded into blinding white pain and then nothing..