📖 The Story Continues
The story doesn't end here.Continue reading the full story adaptation below and discover what happens next.
Snatched a Billionaire to Be My Husband — Episode 3
Morning arrived with merciless clarity. Cora opened her eyes in an unfamiliar bed, and one look at the luxurious room brought every reckless choice rushing back. The discarded clothes, the warmth beside her, and the faint ache in her body left no room for denial. “Fuck,” she whispered, then repeated it as panic seized her.
She had slept with Byron Hansen. Not merely a handsome stranger or an impulsive rebound, but Easton’s uncle—the wealthiest and most formidable man in Los Angeles. A single photograph of them leaving together could feed the city’s gossip pages for weeks. If Easton learned the truth, revenge would no longer feel like an abstract fantasy.
“What is wrong with me?” Cora muttered as she gathered her clothes. The answer was painfully obvious. Grief, humiliation, and anger had collided with too much alcohol and a man whose restraint had proven even more seductive than his reputation. Yet blaming the night would be dishonest. She had wanted Byron, and she had made sure he knew it.
Her gaze drifted to the sleeping man behind her. In daylight, Byron looked no less commanding, though the softened line of his mouth made him seem almost approachable. Memories of the tenderness beneath his intensity threatened to slow her hands. Cora looked away before regret became something far more dangerous.
She dressed quickly and tried to steady her breathing. “Get a hold of yourself,” she ordered under her breath. This did not have to mean anything. It had been one night, one terrible and thrilling decision made by a woman desperate to forget that her life had fallen apart.
“Good morning.” Byron’s voice stopped her halfway to the door. Cora turned and found him awake, watching her without embarrassment or surprise. He seemed entirely at ease, as if finding his nephew’s ex-fiancée in his bedroom were merely an unusual scheduling detail.
“Good morning,” she answered, clutching her bag more tightly. She searched his expression for regret and found none, but neither did she find the intimacy she secretly feared. His composure restored the distance between them with brutal efficiency. Perhaps this was exactly what she needed.
Byron glanced toward the window, where the city was already bright beneath the California sun. “Did you drive?” he asked. The practical question caught Cora off guard. She had expected a discussion about what happened, a warning about secrecy, or perhaps an acknowledgment that they had violated a boundary neither could pretend not to see.
“What?” Her confusion must have shown, because Byron rose and reached for his shirt with unhurried confidence. Cora tried not to stare as he buttoned it. The attempt failed, and she hated that even sober, even frightened, she still felt the same dangerous pull toward him.
“I have a meeting, so I won’t be able to drive you home,” he explained. His tone was courteous, almost businesslike. “If you didn’t drive last night, I can call you an Uber.” The offer was thoughtful, but its impersonality stung more than Cora wanted to admit.
Of course Byron had a meeting. Men like him did not allow a night of passion to interrupt the machinery of their lives. Cora, meanwhile, stood in his bedroom feeling as though she had detonated a bomb beneath what remained of hers. The difference in their experience seemed painfully vast.
“No, no. It’s okay,” she said too quickly. Accepting a ride he arranged would prolong the awkwardness, and she needed air before humiliation overwhelmed her. “I live close by. I can walk.” It was an obvious lie in a city built around cars, but Byron did not challenge it.
“Okay.” The single word closed the subject. Cora waited, though she could not have said what she expected him to add. He offered no promise to call and no demand that she stay. Last night’s unguarded intensity had disappeared behind the polished reserve of Byron Hansen.
His phone rang before the silence became unbearable. “Yes?” he answered, turning immediately toward the window. The change in him was striking. Warmth vanished from his voice, replaced by the clipped authority of a man accustomed to having every instruction followed the first time.
“Get the numbers ready,” he ordered. “Make sure everybody is in the room before I get there.” Cora watched him step seamlessly back into his world of executives, schedules, and high-stakes decisions. She was no longer the woman who had made him lose control, only an inconvenient guest preparing to slip out.
Byron checked his watch. “I’ll be there in twenty-three minutes.” The precision almost made her laugh. Even after an unpredictable night, every remaining minute of his morning had already been claimed and calculated. Cora could not decide whether his discipline impressed or infuriated her.
He ended the call and faced her again. For a heartbeat, something unreadable moved through his eyes. Cora wondered if he would stop her, if the mask would crack and reveal that the night had affected him too. Instead, the distance between them held.
“Goodbye, Miss Lane.” His formal tone reduced their intimacy to a secret neither of them intended to discuss. Cora forced a smile, refusing to let him see that the dismissal hurt. She had initiated this for revenge and escape; she had no right to expect tenderness in the morning.
“Goodbye, Mr. Hansen.” She opened the door without looking back. Each step down the hall restored a piece of her composure, but none erased the memory of his hands or the way he had looked at her before desire conquered caution.
Outside, Cora drew a sharp breath and told herself she would never see Byron again. Yet as the door closed behind her, she felt the certainty of a lie—and the unsettling suspicion that one reckless night had only begun to alter both their lives.
