Taming The Billionaire

MAYA

The screeching alarm jolted me awake, its blaring tone a brutal reminder that sleep was a luxury I could no longer afford. I groaned, slapping at my phone to silence it, and sat up, staring at the peeling paint on my apartment ceiling. Another day, Another grinding.

My easel stood untouched in the corner of the room, a half-finished painting leaning against it. The swirls of vibrant blue and orange mocked me, a vivid reminder of the dreams I'd abandoned. Art used to be my world, the one place I could escape the chaos of life. Now, it was just another thing I couldn't afford to focus on.

The stack of unpaid bills on my kitchen counter seemed to grow taller daily, threatening to fall over. Rent, utilities, hospital debts from Mom's last days-they loomed over me like storm clouds. I grabbed a cold cup of coffee on the bedside table that I had been too lazy to throw out from yesterday, took a sip, and winced at the bitter taste.

"Let's do this, Maya," I muttered to myself.

I pulled my hair into a messy bun, threw on my worn sneakers, and headed out.

---

By the time I arrived at the venue, the magnificence hit me like a punch to the gut. The gleaming chandeliers, gold-trimmed walls, and polished marble floors all screamed money. The kind of money I couldn't even dream of having.

"Evans!" barked my manager as I stepped into the staff area. "You're late!"

"Sorry," I said, though I wasn't sure why I bothered. Apologies didn't mean much in this job.

He tossed me a tray of champagne flutes. "Get out there and don't embarrass me."

"Got it."

The event was some charity gala for the ultra-rich, but the irony wasn't lost on me. These people were here to "give back," yet most wouldn't blink at spending a fortune on designer clothes while others, like me, managed to live.

As I weaved through the crowd, offering drinks and dodging judgmental stares, I couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to belong to this world. To wear those shining gowns, sip expensive wine, and not have to count every penny.

I reached a table where an older man in a tuxedo gave me a disapproving once-over. "Watch your step, sweetheart," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "We wouldn't want you breaking anything important."

I couldn't afford to lose this Job, not when I had bills piling up, debt collectors calling me like clockwork, and a landlord who wouldn't stop banging on my door

I forced a smile, swallowing the retort that burned in my throat. Rule number two: don't let the rich jerks get to you.

The night I dragged on, my tray grew heavier with every step. My back ached, my feet throbbed in the stupid black flats we were asked to wear, and the bright and cheerful exterior I'd plastered on my face started to crack.

And then, it happened.

I wasn't even sure how. One moment, I was balancing the tray with practiced ease. The next, my foot snagged on something, the carpet, and I stumbled forward.

Time slowed as the tray tilted, the glasses staggering dangerously before tipping over. The shatter of glass hitting marble was deafening, and champagne sprayed in every direction.

This was it. I had broken rule number one.

The words of Mr. Elijah, the manager echoed in my head like a broken record. ''Never spill anything''

A collective gasp rippled through the room.

I could feel a hundred pairs of eyes boring into my back

I froze, dread pooling in my stomach as I turned to see the damage.

And there he was.

The man I'd just soaked in champagne glared at me, his gray eyes sharp enough to cut steel. His tailored suit clung to him, dripping with the champagne.

In that moment, I knew my career was over. That one mistake would define me. To someone like Damian Greyson, people like me were nothing but errors to be erased. I hadn't even heard him approach, but before I could open my mouth to explain myself, his voice cut through the room's tension like a whip.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, brushing at his ruined outfit with an air of disgust.

I could see the contempt in his eyes

I flinched at the sound of his voice, my knuckles whitening as I gripped the tray., holding it to my chest like some makeshift shield. "I-I'm so sorry," I stammered.

I don't know what had come over me if it was all the pair of eyes now staring at me or the old gaze of the man standing in front of me that made me so nervous, that I stammered

"Sorry?" His voice was low, but the sharp edge in it silenced the murmurs around us. He stepped closer, fixing me with a cold stare he said "Do you even realize what you've done?"

"I" She looked down, my shoulders hunched involuntarily. I hated the effect this man had on me, the fact he could make everyone around him bend to his will and I mean even literally too, even me. "It was an accident" I murmured.

"I don't care if it was an accident," he snapped, cutting me off. "You've made me a spectacle in front of the most important people in this city. Do you understand how damaging that can be?"

Get her out of here," he said, the command icy and final. His gaze met mine briefly, and I could see the contempt in his eyes.

My manager, who had been standing nearby, didn't even hesitate. His face turned pale as he approached me, whispering urgently, "Maya, you're done. Mr Greyson wants you out. Now."

The words felt like a slap, but there was no time to process it. Before I could respond or even defend myself, I was ushered out of the room, my heart racing, and my mind spinning. The other guests barely noticed as I was led out, their conversations flowing effortlessly around me. But I couldn't focus on anything except the burning humiliation in my chest.

I had always kept my head down, but now it felt like the whole world was watching as I was discarded, just like that. A small, insignificant mistake-one that I could have easily fixed-had cost me everything.

________________________________________

I walked the streets after being escorted out, the reality of the situation setting in like a weight on my chest. The job. Gone. Just like that. I didn't even have the chance to explain myself.

As I entered my cramped apartment later that night, I threw my keys onto the counter, my hands trembling as I looked at the stack of bills sitting there, waiting for my next paycheck. The rent was due. Utilities were overdue. And now, with no job, I could not pay for any of it.

I sank into a chair, staring at the floor as anger and frustration swirled. Damian Greyson. How could someone like him wield so much power over my life? One small mistake and I was nothing. I wasn't even allowed the dignity of an explanation.

The thought of my mounting bills, `1of the rent that would soon be overdue pushed me to the edge. I couldn't just let this go. I wouldn't. I had worked too hard to let one man, one terrible night, ruin everything.

I had to confront him. I didn't know how, but I had to.