The Billionaire’s Secret Bride

He was angry at her—but even more furious at himself. Because... maybe she was right. He had been seduced. His body's reaction didn't lie.

That girl—Celia—infuriated him.

A clown girl, allegedly disfigured. And yet, for reasons beyond his understanding, his eyes always seemed to find her.

Nathaniel Fu stepped out of the shower, his frustration barely cooled, and changed into a set of black silk pajamas. The moment he lay down, her soft fragrance wafted up from the pillow beside him, tugging at his already frayed nerves.

He turned and looked at the slender figure sleeping quietly beside him. On impulse, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

"Mmm…"

The girl stirred in his embrace, slowly blinking awake.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, voice low and husky.

Celia blinked again, her voice soft and sleepy. "You're back?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

She looked up and noticed the faint crease between his brows. Her eyes softened. "What's wrong? Did something upset you today?" A pause, then playfully, "Was it… that pesky maid again?"

"Don't mention her," he snapped.

So it really was about her. He hated her that much?

Sensing he might have scared her, Nathaniel gently lifted her chin, studying her face. "Sorry. I just didn't want to talk about it. I didn't mean to be harsh."

Celia shook her head and reached up to smooth the furrow between his brows with her fingertips. "You shouldn't frown like that," she whispered.

Earlier, he hadn't wanted to even look at her. Just the thought of Sylvia—the woman pretending to be his wife during the day—made him recoil. If it weren't for her comforting presence at night, he might have ended this farce long ago.

But now, her soft gestures, her gentle eyes… they pulled him in again.

As her fingers brushed his skin, the tension in his face melted. He took her hand and gazed down at her rosy lips—those lips that looked disturbingly similar to the maid's.

A flicker of memory flashed in his mind. The way that maid had kissed him, light and hesitant.

Nathaniel's eyes darkened. He brushed his callused thumb over Celia's lips, tracing their shape.

Celia's breath hitched. What… what was he doing?

A spark ignited deep inside her, starting from his touch and spreading like wildfire. She reached out, pressing lightly against his chest. "It's getting late," she said softly. "You should rest."

"I'm not tired yet."

"Then what… what do you want to do?"

"Why don't you tell me what I want to do?"

He leaned in before she could answer and captured her lips in a deep, lingering kiss.

Time seemed to freeze.

Celia's mind went blank. She could barely hear her heartbeat, drowned out by the echo of one overwhelming thought—Nathaniel Fu is kissing me.

His hand cupped her cheek, fingers threading through her hair as he deepened the kiss. Her lips tasted just like the maid's.

That fleeting kiss from earlier in the day had left a mark, one even a cold shower couldn't erase. And now, with her so close again, the restraint he'd built up cracked wide open.

He wanted more.

But Celia's head was spinning. Her thoughts tangled in panic. She hadn't expected this—not really. She told Sylvia she'd "sleep" with Nathaniel, but in her mind, that had only meant lying beside him, not this.

She wasn't ready. She hadn't even thought about what came next.