The Billionaire’s Secret Bride

"Who—?"

Celia turned her head, only to meet Nathaniel Fu's sharp, stormy eyes.

He was here.

And she'd been caught red-handed—staring at his photo.

Panic flashed through her. She quickly hid her phone behind her back.

Nathaniel strode toward her with long, purposeful steps. His expression was dark as thunderclouds, his jaw tight with fury.

"Celia," he said coldly, "you actually let my niece sneak photos of me? Do you have any sense of decency?"

"I... If I say I didn't ask her to, you won't believe me anyway, will you?"

A dangerous scoff escaped his throat. "Still trying to deny it? Do you think I'm that gullible—or are you just that naive?"

Celia pulled out her phone and, under his gaze, deleted the photo. "There. It's gone."

"You think that's enough?"

"What else do you want me to do? It's not like you were naked or anything. I barely saw anything."

"..."

The implication made his brow twitch. Was she suggesting she'd rather seen more?

Nathaniel had never met a woman so shameless. He clenched his fist, the knuckles cracking ominously.

"You like me?" he suddenly asked.

Celia blinked, stunned. Her breath hitched.

He leaned in, towering over her, his shadow swallowing her whole. "Trying to be my niece's 'young aunt,' are you?"

Her back hit the cold wall. There was no escape. "Yingying's the one who took the picture—I had nothing to do with it!"

Nathaniel grabbed her chin, his fingers firm but not painful. His eyes were cold. "Celia, let me make one thing clear again: whether you like me or not, I'm not interested in you. I don't like you."

"I'm a married man. My wife is Sylvia. I love her. I have no intention of cheating—certainly not with you."

"So drop the games. I'm not some foolish nephew you can toy with. And not just any random woman gets to climb into my bed. Got it?"

The words hit Celia like cold steel. She had known he didn't care for her—but hearing it spelled out so plainly still hurt.

He was in love with Sylvia.

All the passion he showed each night—it was all for Sylvia.

And her? In his eyes, she was just some desperate little decoy trying to crawl into his bed.

"I understand, Mr. Fu," she said quietly. "Don't worry. It won't happen again."

Nathaniel's expression darkened. "But what about you ogling my photo? You think I'll just let that slide?"

Celia looked up at him, her eyes clear and calm. "Then what do you want, Mr. Fu?"

His response was razor-sharp.

"Take off your clothes."

Celia froze.

There was no lust in his eyes. Only cold humiliation. Punishment.

He wanted to use her embarrassment to get even—for seeing him shirtless?

Her face turned pale, then red. She stepped back, shaking her head, and tried to push past him.

But Nathaniel caught her by the shoulders, trapping her between the wall and his frame.

Celia's instincts kicked in—she lifted her knee and jabbed toward his thigh.

His brows shot down, expression hardening.

She had the audacity to fight back?

Nathaniel gritted his teeth. "Is this your way of teasing me? Are you hoping I'll do it myself?"

His hand dropped to the front of her cardigan, and with one sharp tug, two buttons popped loose.

The soft fabric slipped from her shoulders, landing silently on the wool carpet.