Snatched a Billionaire to Be My Husband — Episode 17
Cora looked down at Byron and understood that the question contained two different proposals. One belonged to their contract: six months of photographs, public appearances, and a convincing defense against Malcolm’s scandal. The other lived in Byron’s unguarded expression, asking for something no attorney had placed on paper.
“I will wear the ring,” she said carefully. “I will honor what we signed.” Byron rose without revealing whether the answer disappointed him. “That wasn’t what I asked.” Cora’s throat tightened. “It’s the only answer I can give tonight.”
He slid the emerald onto her finger anyway. The fit was perfect, a detail she chose not to question. “Then I’ll earn the rest,” he said. The quiet confidence of the promise followed her long after she left for the guest room and discovered that sleep had become impossible.
One week later, the engagement dominated every entertainment page in Los Angeles. Public opinion remained divided, but Byron’s board postponed its final vote while auditors examined Malcolm’s accounts. Cora spent her mornings with Evelyn and her evenings training at Nocturne, determined to prove she was more than a beautiful complication in Byron’s life.
The bar occupied the top floor of a restored downtown hotel, with amber light, dark wood, and windows that turned the city into jewelry. Its manager, Carter Reed, greeted Cora with a clipboard rather than deference. He had known her in college, before wealth and scandal reduced everyone around her to flatterers or enemies. Around him, she could remember being ordinary.
“I heard the fallen princess became a billionaire’s fiancée,” Carter said. His teasing lacked Mia’s cruelty, and Cora surprised herself by laughing. “I heard the boy who failed accounting now runs one of the most profitable bars in Los Angeles.” He placed a hand over his heart. “We both contain multitudes.”
Carter made it clear that Byron had forbidden special treatment. Cora learned reservations, private-event contracts, inventory systems, and the careful diplomacy required when a client with too much money believed rules were optional. By the end of her first shift, her feet hurt and her pride felt cleaner than it had in weeks.
“You were good,” Carter said as they closed. “Not heiress good. Actually good.” Cora threw a cocktail napkin at him, grateful for a compliment attached to work rather than survival. For several hours, she had been useful without being rescued.
Byron did not visit that night. He sent no flowers, no driver, and no message beyond a brief reminder that security waited downstairs. Cora had insisted on independence, yet his absence irritated her enough to expose how quickly she had grown accustomed to his attention.
On her third shift, a private party arrived without warning. The host demanded the rooftop room despite another reservation and offered Cora ten thousand dollars to make the conflict disappear. She refused, proposed an upgraded alternative, and persuaded both parties to remain without discounting either contract.
Carter lifted an approving glass from behind the bar. Before Cora could celebrate, conversation around the entrance quieted. Byron walked in with two executives trailing him, his expression severe and his tie loosened as though he had left somewhere important in a hurry.
“Mr. Hansen,” Carter greeted him. “I thought you had a board strategy meeting.” Byron’s gaze found Cora. “It ended early.” One executive behind him checked his watch with visible disbelief, telling Cora the meeting had ended only because Byron decided it had.
He took a seat at the bar and ordered water. Cora approached with professional composure, conscious of employees watching the owner visit his new fiancée. “Are you here to inspect my work?” she asked. “No. Carter’s reports already say you’re exceeding expectations.”
“Then why abandon an important meeting?” Byron’s eyes moved over her black uniform, lingering just long enough to warm her skin. “I wanted to see you.” The answer was too direct for the crowded room, and Cora nearly dropped the glass she was polishing.
Carter rescued her by announcing an issue upstairs. Cora followed him to the service hall, where the supposed emergency turned out to be a misplaced invoice. “Your billionaire looks at you like he wants to buy the building twice,” Carter observed.
“He already owns it,” Cora said. Carter grinned. “That wasn’t my point.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with the easy familiarity of an old friend. Cora stepped back, but not before Byron appeared at the end of the hall.
His gaze settled on Carter’s hand. The air changed so completely that Carter excused himself with a muttered comment about inventory. Cora crossed her arms. “The contract says you don’t control whom I see.”
“I have no intention of controlling you.” Byron’s jaw said otherwise. “But Carter wants more than friendship.” Cora almost smiled at the jealousy he was trying to disguise as analysis. “And that bothers you because our engagement needs to look convincing?”
Byron moved close enough to make the narrow hallway feel private. “It bothers me because he touched you.” His honesty stole her teasing response. “You don’t get to be jealous of a woman you only want for six months,” she whispered.
“Who told you I only wanted six months?” Byron asked. Before Cora could answer, Easton stepped from the stairwell, pale and unsteady. “Ask him how long he’s wanted you,” he said. “Ask my uncle why he tried to stop me from proposing two years ago.”
