Dirty Billionaire: Own Me

Chapter 3: Idea

|Grace|

From my peripheral vision, I saw Silvester sliding onto the stool beside me. I shifted on my seat, his presence is an unwanted intrusion for me. And I hope he will take the hint that I don’t want him around.

"Rough night?" he casually asked, his voice deep yet gentle. I gritted my teeth and suddenly wanted to correct his behavior and actions.

Why is he suddenly acting as if we’re close friends? I heaved a deep breath. I have no desire to be impolite, particularly to those who bear no ill will towards me.

"You could say that," I replied, not bothering to look at him.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked, his gaze lingering on me.

"No," I replied sharply, taking another sip of my drink. I fixed my eyes on the rows of liquor bottles lined up on the shelves, pretending they held some fascinating secret.

The last thing I wanted was to pour my heart out to someone who barely knew me.

Thankfully, Silvester didn’t push the topic. Instead, he enjoyed his own drink and sat quietly beside me. His silence was both comforting and irritating.

The night wore on, and I drank my way through my problems, barely acknowledging Silvester’s presence. I just wanted to drown in the oblivion of alcohol. Silvester remained silent by my side though. But then I felt a strange sense of calm settle over me. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Silvester’s quiet presence, but for the first time that night, I didn’t feel completely overwhelmed.

However, each time Keith's face surfaced in my thoughts, a surge of anger and frustration erupted within me.

Fvcking d-mnit.

I reached for the alcohol to dull the sharp sting of my heartache, but why did my chest still tighten at the thought of Keith’s betrayal? Tears welled up, threatening to spill. I bit my lower lip, forcing them back.

Gazing at the freshly poured drink in front of me, I realized I needed more than just a numbing agent. The whiskey wasn't enough to wash away the pain; I needed a stronger distraction.

The electric music and cheers of the crowd grew louder with each passing minute, drawing my attention to the dance floor. It was packed with people, all jumping and reveling in the music, and suddenly, I felt an urge to join them. Maybe, just maybe, dancing could help me shake off these problems.

I downed my drink in one swift motion and rose from my seat. My sudden movement caught the curiosity of the man beside me, who glanced over with a questioning look.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice cutting through the pulsating beat. I raised an eyebrow, slowly shifting my gaze to meet his. Why does he care?

Instead of replying, I offered him a fleeting smile, then turned on my heel and made my way to the dance floor. Familiar faces greeted me almost instantly. I caught the glimmer of pity and sadness in their eyes, but no one dared to mention the headline-worthy drama that had become my life.

In the wake of the scandal that erupted last month, I've been thrust into a whirlwind of media frenzy. The whispers and judgments swirl around me like a storm, but I've grown deaf to the noise of their pity and scorn. Let them talk; they're mere spectators to a story they know nothing about. My truth remains untold, and until then, their opinions hold no weight in my world.

The DJ dropped the beat. It was a futile attempt to lose myself in the music, to let the rhythm drown out the echoes of the scenes that still haunted me. And with the bodies swaying around effortlessly, I closed my eyes, letting the music wash over me. I slowly lifted my hands, my hips swaying.

For a fleeting second, I felt a spark of something—joy, maybe, or defiance. I clung to that moment, determined to make it last, to let it be the foundation upon which I could rebuild. But then I got distracted when I felt a hand snaking on my waist.

Though I seldom frequented this place, the scene wasn't entirely foreign to me. Ignoring the rarity of the situation, I continued dancing as the pounding music became a temporary remedy for my troubles. Sensing the warmth of a man behind me, his presence hinted at familiarity through his expensive cologne and his sturdy frame.

I danced on, pretending his proximity didn't affect me. His firm hold on my waist and the synchronized rhythm of our movements ignited a fire within me. My heart raced, and a flush of warmth spread across my skin. Curiosity tugged at me, prompting me to turn around, surprised that someone could stir such anticipation within me.

But when Silvester's steely gaze locked onto mine, a wave of disappointment crashed over me, causing my shoulders to slump. His furrowed brow mirrored my own inner turmoil as he registered my dismay. With a heavy sigh, I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Instead of retreating, I chose to remain on the dance floor, moving in tandem with Silvester, despite the ache in my heart.

I needed this distraction anyway, however imperfect it is.

"Men are all the same," I muttered, enough to be heard by Silvester. “Selfish, deceitful, and completely untrustworthy."

A subtle smirk played at the edge of his mouth, a silent invitation that drew me in closer. With a graceful crouch, he lowered himself, his warm breath grazing my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. In that fleeting moment, time stood still as I caught my breath, captivated by his every move.

"I can understand why you’d feel that way," he said mockingly. "But not all men are like that."

I gritted my teeth as I inhaled a sharp breath. "Oh, really? Then what are you, Silvester? One of the good ones?"

He straightened his back as he brought back his attention to me. "I’d like to think so," he replied, meeting my gaze steadily. I couldn’t help but scoff.

"I’ve heard that before. Keith drained my bank accounts, sold everything I owned, and now he’s acting like I’m the crazy one for calling him out."

Silvester’s jaw moved. He looked at me with critical eyes. And a tinge of electric sensation creeps into the tip of my fingers and spreads into my entire body. And I don’t even know if it’s because of the alcohol or the fact that I’m… restless whenever Silvester looks at me with his hooded eyes.

"I’m sorry you had to go through that," he said when I paused.

“I don’t need your pity.” I let out a bitter laugh.

“It’s not a pity. I know what it’s like to have your life torn apart by lies. And no one deserves that kind of betrayal."

I looked at him and saw a sincerity that took me by surprise. But the walls I had built around myself were too high to be dismantled by a few kind words.

Wait. Was he also…betrayed from the past? I stared directly into his eyes. I couldn’t help but suddenly feel curious. I have the urge to do it but thankfully I was able to stop myself.

I was about to push him away when I noticed movement above the second floor. Two men with cameras slung around their necks were loitering, their lenses trained on us. My heart sank. Paparazzi. Of course, they’d find me here. They always seemed to know where to look, ready to capture my lowest moments.

But an idea began to form in my mind, especially when I remember the headline of tabloids that ruined my reputation months ago.

‘Grace Collins Caught in Cheating Scandal!”

Would you believe that it was Silvester whom the media painted as the other man in my marriage? The pictures of our interaction in some charity parties became the proof!

So now, if the public was so eager to believe that narrative, why not give them what they wanted?

“Silvester, do you want to spend the night with me?”

He looked taken aback. “What the fvck, Grace?”

“You heard me,” I said, my voice steady despite the chaos in my mind. “If everyone already thinks you’re the reason for my so-called infidelity, why not make it real?”

His brows furrowed as if he heard something forbidden. I saw how his jaw moved despite the dim surroundings. His half hidden eyes were critical and dark as he stared at me.

He probably thinks I'm losing it. Maybe I am, if I were sober. But now, with the alcohol blurring the edges of my reality, my anger and frustration overshadow any embarrassment. Seeing those paparazzi and Keith's betrayal, my tipsy state numbs the shame, leaving only the raw intensity of my emotions.

If my crazy idea would be a help to numb the pain, to forget about the betrayal, the heartbreak, and the unrelenting glare of the paparazzi’s camera, then… why not?

But…would I really stoop that low as my bastard ex-husband?

“I don’t think that this is a good idea, Grace.”

Silvester's deep, raspy voice jolted me back to reality. Abruptly, he stopped dancing and stepped away, creating a space between us. With a swift motion, he unfastened three buttons of his white dress shirt, the sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, as if the heat of the crowded room was too much to bear. My gaze instinctively dropped to the glimpse of his sculpted chest, and I swallowed hard, feeling a sudden flush spread across my neck and cheeks.

I have to admit, Silvester Vasquez stands out as a paragon of physical allure. He's magnetic, dripping with s*x appeal that’s impossible to ignore. His thick brows frame hooded gray eyes that draw you in, while his luscious, soft-looking lips tempt you further. Add his impressive build and towering height, and it’s no wonder people—men and women alike—find themselves weak in the knees around him. I’d be lying if I said his looks and touch didn’t affect me. That’s precisely why I’ve done everything in my power to keep my distance. Even before the rumor between us started to spread in the country like wildfire.

"I'm not asking for your opinion, Silver. I'm asking if you'll help me," I said, fixing my gaze firmly on his face. His eyes met mine, flickering with hesitation. I held his gaze, hoping he could see the earnestness in my offer, the urgency behind my words.

Silvester shifted uncomfortably, his eyes wandering around the room. They eventually landed in the direction where the paparazzi lurked. He stared at them for a moment, as if weighing his options, before slowly turning his attention back to me.

The intensity in his gaze revealed he understood my sudden invitation to spend the night. His next words confirmed my suspicion.

"Alright," he murmured gently. "I'll help you put on a show for those damned paparazzi, but that's the only reason."

A faint smile crept across my lips. It felt like he knew that my offer wasn’t about wanting him. It was about reclaiming a shred of power in a world that seemed determined to tear me down.

Silvester leaned in, and my heart hammered wildly in my chest. I couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol, the adrenaline, or the sheer absurdity of the moment making my head spin. As his face drew nearer, I held my breath, anticipation tightening every nerve. My eyes fluttered shut, bracing for the kiss.

But it never came.

When I reopened my eyes, Silvester’s face was still inches from mine, but his gaze was locked intensely with mine, searching, questioning.

"Are you absolutely sure about this?" he asked once more, his voice tinged with uncertainty. I met his gaze, my resolve unshakable.

"Yes," I affirmed. "It's just for the show, Silvester. Besides, I'm used to it."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Silver," he whispered, his voice softening.

"What?" I asked, my brows knitting together in puzzlement.

"I want you to call me Silver," he repeated, and with those words, he leaned in and captured my lips with his, sealing our unspoken promise with a kiss.