Taming the Billionaire

Caleb Prescott asked me out to spite Claire Kensington, the girl he could never have. I was the charity case he chose as his weapon.

I said yes.

Later, Claire cornered me, her eyes a mix of pity and contempt. Some friendly advice? Get a few designer bags out of it while he's still mad at me. Think of it as compensation.

I didn't care.

Whether he liked me or not was irrelevant. What mattered was that Caleb Prescott was handsome, rich, and now, he was mine. I was the one winning this game.

Years later, at my wedding to Caleb, Claire burst in, a desperate vision in a white dress that wasn't meant for her. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she begged him to leave with her.

"I was selfish, I didn't know how to appreciate you," she cried. "But it's not too late."

The man beside me didn't flinch. His expression was calm as he signaled for security to remove her. Then he turned to me, his voice low and sincere. "I'm so sorry, Ava. I should have handled that loose end. I promise, it will never happen again."

See? Taming a stray isn't so hard after all.

1

I knew from the very beginning that Caleb Prescott’s confession of love was all part of a game he was playing with Claire Kensington.

I was working a late shift at the campus Quick Mart, a temporary gig to make ends meet. The night had settled into a heavy stillness, the kind where the only sounds are the hum of the coolers and the frantic buzz of moths flinging themselves at the streetlights.

Their argument shattered the quiet, a sharp, angry blade slicing through the empty store. It was impossible not to notice.

My drowsiness vanished. I leaned forward, shamelessly listening.

And then I heard my name. A jolt went through me.

I looked up. Two figures stood just outside the glass doors, silhouetted against the night. Even in the gloom, they were unmistakable. Caleb Prescott and Claire Kensington. Northwood University's golden couple, the permanent residents of the campus gossip pages.

Caleb’s face was a mask of fury, but his eyes—those handsome, dark eyes—were clouded with a deep, wounded disappointment. "So you really want me to be with someone else?" he demanded, his voice tight.

Claire stood with her arms crossed, her delicate features unreadable. "Ava Monroe is the campus queen, top three in her major, she's gorgeous and sharp. What, are you losing out by being with her?"

I stroked my chin. Can't argue with that.

Caleb's eyes were turning red. "Claire, you know damn well…" he started, his voice trembling.

She pressed her hands over her ears, a theatrical gesture of refusal. La la la, I can't hear you.

Even without the rest of the sentence, the meaning was clear. Caleb was in love with her. It made sense. They'd grown up together, one of those picture-perfect childhoods that bleed into an inevitable, complicated adulthood.

Defeated, Caleb’s shoulders slumped. "Fine," he bit out. "You'll get what you want."

Claire turned and walked away without a backward glance.

Caleb stood there for a long moment, a solitary figure drowning in the pale glow of the streetlight. Then he pushed his way into the store, wandering the aisles with no direction.

I was grateful for the cheap paper mask I was wearing. It hid my face, saving us both the excruciating awkwardness.

He eventually settled on a single can of beer and a few skewers from the sad-looking hot dog roller. He took a seat at the small counter by the window, a lonely silhouette against the dark glass.

Pretending to restock a shelf of chips, I watched him. His long lashes trembled, the tip of his nose was pink, and from the side, he looked like he was about to shatter.

I'm the one who's about to be used as a pawn, I thought wryly, so what are you falling apart for?

The reality of the situation settled in. I was about to be asked out by Caleb Prescott. My mind, always spinning, went into overdrive.

He was dressed in understated luxury from head to toe. Even his casual clothes had a tailored precision that made him stand out. A quiet flex. I'd heard the rumors when I first got to Northwood: the Prescott heir, incredibly wealthy but surprisingly low-key. No flashy cars, no ostentatious parties. Good grades, active in a few campus clubs. A model son.

Watching his ramrod-straight back, I noted that even when he was seething with anger, he didn't throw things or curse. He just sat there, quietly nursing his beer, trying to process it.

Good breeding on top of a great fortune. And easy on the eyes. All in all, a solid package.

My fingers tapped out a silent calculation on the counter. If he wanted to invite me into his drama, well, either way, I came out ahead.

2

The next time I saw Caleb was a few days later in the campus dining hall.

I was working a part-time shift at the build-your-own-bowl noodle bar. The lunch rush had died down, and he strolled in, looking completely out of place. He stood before the vast array of vegetables and proteins, holding his brand-new student ID card like it was a foreign object.

Clearly, the silver-spoon set didn't frequent this establishment.

I handed him a bowl and a pair of tongs. "You pick what you want, then they'll cook it and you pay at the end," I explained, my voice friendly and helpful.

After he fumbled through his selections, he handed the bowl to me with a polite smile. "No spice, please. Thank you."

I beamed back at him, then turned to the cook behind the counter. "Extra spicy," I whispered.

The result was a masterpiece of petty revenge. Caleb, sitting alone, took one bite and his face erupted in a blotchy, red sweat. His eyes watered, he coughed, he looked utterly miserable.

He eventually came back to the counter, his pride visibly wounded. "Excuse me," he said, his voice hoarse. "I think there was a mistake with my order. It's way too spicy, I can't eat it."

I feigned shock, my face a perfect mask of apology. "Oh my god, I am so sorry! I must have mixed up the orders. Let me get you a new one, on me."

Before he could protest, I swiped my own ID card to pay for a new, spice-free bowl. To complete the performance, I bought him an iced matcha latte from the cafe next door as a peace offering.

His embarrassment quickly turned into gratitude. "You really don't have to do that. I'm sorry to have caused you trouble."

I just smiled and shook my head, insisting it was my mistake and my responsibility. Inside, I was thinking, It's fine. You'll pay me back with something much more expensive soon enough.

The ice was broken. He was surprised to learn I was an economics major.

"Does that mean you're in Professor Miller's Linear Algebra class this semester?" he asked. He was a business management major.

I put on my most delighted expression. "Wow, what a coincidence. Maybe I could ask you for help if I get stuck on a problem?"

A genuine smile finally lit up his face, like the first hint of spring. "Of course. And I have to take Macroeconomics this semester. How about we trade numbers? That way I can ask you for help, to pay you back for lunch."

He was smooth. He didn't brag about his own skills, and he knew how to show a little vulnerability to close the distance. He knew how to play people.

Once we'd added each other, I casually scrolled through his Instagram feed. It was public. The content was wholesome and aspirational: photos with his family, gourmet food, books he was reading, scenic travel shots. Not a single trace of ostentatious wealth, no idiotic captions. It was a perfectly curated image of a grounded, wealthy young man. He was showing me exactly the person he wanted me to see.

I glanced up and saw a flicker of frustration cross his face. A small smile touched my lips.

My own profile was a blank slate. My username was simply "A," and my profile picture was a generic photo of a misty forest. There was nothing for him to analyze.

If he wanted to know who I was, he would have to put in the work.

3

I have to admit, Caleb’s methods of pursuit were perfectly suited to my temperament. And to his own image as a gentle, refined man.

He wasn't like other rich kids who relied on grand, public gestures—bouquets of roses delivered to my dorm, ostentatious gifts designed to announce their shallow affection to the world.

Instead, Caleb engineered reasons to be near me. He’d show up at the dining hall when he knew I was working, we’d arrange to study together at the library, and when my late-night shifts ended, he’d be waiting outside to walk me back to my dorm.

He was smart about the gifts. Knowing my financial situation, he started small. A fifty-dollar gift card to a nice cafe, then a few hundred for a new pair of headphones, eventually escalating to a tablet that cost a couple thousand. He never crossed the five-figure threshold, a calculated move to keep me from feeling overwhelmed or like I was from a different universe. He didn’t want to create a rift. Each gift was thoughtful, chosen with care, designed to slowly, methodically recalibrate my sense of what was normal.

He was a hunter, hiding silently in the jungle, patiently studying his prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

But who was holding the gun in the end? That was still up for debate.

After a month of this, with me deliberately letting my guard down, we had grown incredibly close. Yet there was still an invisible barrier between us, a line neither of us had crossed.

Our classmates watched us with knowing, curious eyes, but I remained unbothered, juggling my studies and my part-time jobs as usual. Caleb, on the other hand, was starting to get antsy.

Claire seemed to be intentionally avoiding him, a cold war that, ironically, gave us more time together. I never lost sight of the truth: he was doing all this to make Claire jealous.

Even my roommate, Maya, was caught up in the drama. "Ava, when are you two going to make it official?" she asked, her eyes wide with gossip. "I'm ready for my congratulatory dinner."

I pinched her cheek. "Patience, you little glutton. When it happens, I'll treat you to the best steak and sushi in town."

I glanced at the calendar. The time was right.

The next time Caleb saw me, my eyes were red and swollen, my hair was a mess, and I looked like I'd been emotionally destroyed.

He rushed to my side, pulling a tissue from his pocket and crouching down beside me. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

I just shook my head, letting the tears fall without a word. He didn't push, just gently rubbed my back, a comforting, steady presence.

When my sobs subsided, I told him the story I had carefully constructed: my application for the university’s student aid grant had been rejected. The spots had gone to a few wealthy students who were close friends with the student council president and secretary. When I tried to complain to the dean's office, I found out they were all in on it together. They had even threatened to mess with my graduation credits if I made a scene.

I offered a bitter, broken smile. "It's fine. It doesn't matter. I can just work more hours to support myself."

Caleb was silent for a long time. He reached out and smoothed my hair back from my face. "No," he said, his voice firm. "It's not fine. Let me handle this. Don't be sad anymore."

I shook my head, playing the part of the frightened victim. "Don't. I don't want you to risk your academic record for me."

He took my shoulders in his hands, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were intense. "The Ava I know wouldn't just give up," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "My parents taught me that when something belongs to you, you fight for it. You use any means necessary to get it back. Even if it means burning everything to the ground. Even if you can't have it, you make damn sure no one else gets it either. So I'm asking you again. If you had another chance, would you fight or would you give up?"

I stared back at him, my expression hardening into one of resolve. "I'd fight," I said, my voice clear and steady. "And if I couldn't have it, I'd grind it to dust. I'd burn it to ash. No one else would ever get their hands on it."

A slow smile spread across Caleb's face. It was a look of pure admiration, the look of a lone wanderer who has finally found another of his kind in the vast, empty wilderness.

"Leave it to me," he said. Then, after a pause, he added quietly, "Ava, I'm one of your weapons too."

4

"So you got together with Caleb to use him? Not because you actually like him?" Maya shrieked.

I calmly applied a sheet mask to my face and glanced over at her. Her jaw was practically on the floor. I reached out and playfully pushed it shut.

"What's the alternative?" I asked. "Find a guy to struggle with?"

If Caleb couldn't even handle something this simple, he would be useless to me, and not worth another minute of my time.

Maya nodded slowly, processing it. "I thought he was the perfect boyfriend. Turns out he's just another asshole, playing with a girl's feelings."

"We're using each other," I corrected her. "It's a transaction. We both get what we want. Feelings don't have much utility in my life."

Even if there were no Claire, even if Caleb's feelings for me were genuine, I would never let myself fall into the trap of love.

This seemed to worry Maya. "But if you agree to be with him, it's going to end the second Claire snaps her fingers. She's his great unresolved love story. You'll be the one who loses."

I shrugged. "If you want to get technical about it, I'm his first love. First girlfriend, anyway. According to the law of diminishing returns, that makes me just as significant."

Less than two days later, the dean of the business school called me into his office. The pale, panicked faces of my academic advisor and the student council leaders told me everything I needed to know. The matter had been settled.

The only surprising thing was that Caleb wasn't there.

With the financial aid grant secured, the simmering tension between Caleb and me reached its boiling point.

It was a perfect evening. The sky was a wash of soft pinks and oranges, the air was warm. Caleb stood under the sycamore tree outside my dorm, holding a bouquet of cappuccino-colored roses, looking like a prince from a storybook.

It was dinnertime, and the courtyard was bustling with students. Phones were out, pictures were being taken, and a low murmur of excited chatter surrounded him. Everyone was wondering who the lucky girl was.

He had texted me before he came. Seeing that I hadn't come down yet, he showed no signs of impatience. He just stood there, tall and still as a statue, waiting.

Maya rushed over to my desk, practically vibrating with excitement. "He's downstairs! It's happening! Go, go!"

I remained seated, calmly eating the takeout I'd brought back from the dining hall.

She got desperate and tried to snatch my chopsticks. "You glutton, stop eating! Once you're with Caleb, he'll be taking you to fancy candlelit dinners."

I tossed my phone to her. "Check the campus confessions page."

Maya picked it up. Caleb had posted a long, anonymous-but-not-really confession, detailing every little moment of our "chance" encounters. It was dripping with sentiment, earnest and moving. At the end, he asked me to be his girlfriend. The comments were exploding with people swooning over how romantic it was.

"What kind of person writes a novel-length public confession?" I asked her.

Maya thought for a second. "A hopeless romantic? Or someone desperate. I wrote one for my ex when I was trying to get him back."

I gave her a look that said, Exactly. "So what's the rush?" The ball was in my court.

"Have you even read it?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Could you read it to me? It'll be awkward later if I don't know what it says."

She looked at me, bewildered. "Why?"

"It's too long," I said, taking a bite of a chicken leg. "I can't be bothered. Plus, you have a nice voice. It's good background noise while I eat."

5

In the end, Maya read me the entire post in exchange for the promise of five lavish meals.

By the time she finished, I had finished my dinner. I then took my time, showering and washing my hair. It was my first time being properly asked out. I had to look my best.

All told, an hour and a half had passed.

Maya peered out the window. "He's still there," she reported, a note of awe in her voice.

I glanced at my phone. No frantic calls or texts from Caleb. Instead, a single message sent every half hour, like clockwork:

[Ava, I'm outside your dorm. I'll wait for you.]

Patience and perseverance. A man like Caleb was destined to succeed at whatever he put his mind to. That was another reason I chose him.

As I finally walked towards him, his eyes lit up. A slow smile spread across his face, revealing a small dimple on his left cheek. He looked like a stray puppy, overjoyed to finally be claimed.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," I said with a small, apologetic smile.

I would never tell him why it took me so long.

And Caleb would never dare to ask. He was too close to his goal to risk rocking the boat.

When it came to the actual confession, he stumbled over his words. "Ava Monroe… I, uh… I like you. A lot."

I took the bouquet from his hands and tilted my head, offering him a radiant smile. "I'll be in your care, then… boyfriend."

His face instantly flushed a deep crimson, as if the sunset had decided to paint itself across his cheeks.

And just like that, Caleb and I were official.

I pulled him close, pressed my cheek against his, and snapped a selfie. I posted it immediately to my feed, a declaration. In the photo, Caleb's fair skin was still flushed, and he looked at the camera with a slightly dazed expression.

The likes and congratulatory comments started pouring in immediately.

All evening, Caleb’s phone buzzed incessantly. I watched him as he stared at the glowing screen, a flicker of something—disappointment?—in his eyes.

I stirred my coffee, my chin propped on my hand, patiently observing him.

He was waiting for a message from Claire. A message that would never come.

Because I had already checked. On my burner account, I could see Claire’s Instagram story. She was at a club, grinding against some new, handsome prey she'd just captured.

6

I was, of course, curious to see how Claire would react.

A week earlier, we’d had our second encounter at a burger joint where I was working. It was the six o’clock dinner rush, and I was juggling taking orders, running the register, and handing out food.

Claire, wearing a simple white dress and subtle makeup, stood off to the side, watching me with a cool, detached curiosity.

When the line finally died down, she approached the counter to place her order. Then, ignoring a dozen clean, empty tables, she walked to the messiest one in the entire restaurant—a disaster zone of ketchup smears and leftover food—and called me over to clean it.

Maya, who was working with me, saw what was happening and bristled. "I'll get it," she muttered, grabbing a cloth, ready to fight my battle for me.

I stopped her. "She's here for me. You going won't solve anything. Go check on the fries."

To her credit, Claire didn't push it further. I knew her visit was born of curiosity, not malice. She was sizing me up. She probably assumed Caleb would never seriously consider someone like me, a girl from the bottom rung of the social ladder.

What a shame. She underestimated the stubborn streak running through Caleb’s core. And she drastically underestimated my own ambition.

The look of pure shock and fury on her face when Caleb and I walked into his friend's party, hand in hand, was a memory I would treasure for a long time.

A week into our relationship, it was Caleb’s birthday.

On the drive to his family's villa, he was completely distracted. I tried to make conversation, but he barely heard a word I said. I eventually gave up and sat in silence.

It wasn't until we pulled up to the massive front gates that he seemed to snap out of it, his hand tightening around mine.

I teased him gently. "Am I that embarrassing? Should I just call a taxi and go home now?"

He blinked, coming back to himself, and pulled me closer, his arm around my shoulders. "Ava, don't be silly. You look beautiful tonight."

Before we left, he had arranged for a stylist to do my hair and makeup and pick out a dress. He was trying to mold me.

"The people you'll meet tonight are just my closest friends," he reassured me. "Just stick by my side, and you'll be fine."

I nodded obediently.

The moment we stepped into the grand hall, the boisterous noise died. Every head turned. A hundred pairs of eyes landed on me—probing, judging, gossiping. One gaze, however, was sharper than the rest, a glare meant to pierce right through me.

Caleb, to his credit, confidently introduced me to his circle. They all stood up, greeting me with a practiced, superficial warmth. They were polite because Caleb’s family held more power than theirs.

All of them, except Claire.

Our eyes met across the room. I could see the rage simmering just beneath the surface. To her, Caleb was a toy. A toy she might have left in the attic to gather dust, but one she would never permit anyone else to play with. This was a betrayal.

She let out a cold little huff, turned without a word, and swept up the grand staircase.

I snuck a glance at Caleb. His face was a perfect, unreadable mask. But I knew. We always want what we can't have. The moon is beautiful because it hangs untouchable in the sky; you admire it from afar. But there's always a part of you that wants to pull it down from the heavens and claim it for yourself.

It didn't matter. After tonight, none of it would.

The party continued. I slipped away to the restroom, and when I came out, I found Claire leaning against the wall in the hallway, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. The tiny orange ember glowed in the dim light, illuminating her face, which was partially obscured by a haze of smoke. She looked like a femme fatale from an old movie.

As I walked past, she called my name. "Ava Monroe."

I stopped.

She looked me up and down, a slow, deliberate assessment, before letting out a short, sharp laugh. "You do know this whole thing is just a bet, right? He's never liked you. He's with you to piss me off, to get my attention. And look, I don't even like Caleb like that, but I'm telling you, don't get too invested."

My hands clenched the fabric of my dress. I let my face fall, my expression a carefully crafted picture of shock and hurt. "That's not possible. He told me… he told me I was the first person he ever really liked."

Claire took a long drag from her cigarette, then flicked the ash onto the marble floor. "Sweetie, if you want to survive in our world, here's a free lesson: never believe a word a man says."

She then proceeded to tell me, in excruciating detail, about the bet she and Caleb had made.

Seeing my stunned, heartbroken expression, her mood visibly brightened. She looked at me with that same pitying gaze from before. "My advice? Get a few nice bags out of it as compensation before he gets tired of this little game. You don't want to be the girl crying for breakup money when it's all over."

I shifted into a righteous fury. "How can you be so cruel? How can you just trample on someone's feelings like that? You don't deserve anyone's affection."

She just shook her head, as if lamenting my stupidity. "Well, I guess you can feel sorry for him on my behalf."

With that, she pressed the glowing tip of her cigarette into the bodice of my dress, right over my heart. It sizzled for a second, leaving an ugly, brown-ringed hole.

My heart bled. Not for myself, but for the dress. I could’ve flipped that on Poshmark for a year’s worth of tuition. Now I'd be lucky to get twenty bucks for it.

7

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow lurking in the darkness down the hall. Caleb. My part in this little drama was over.

I stumbled away, playing the part of the broken-hearted girl, leaving the two of them to their confrontation.

From what I understood of men like Caleb, their pride was like fine crystal: beautiful, fragile, and easily shattered. He would never tolerate being trampled on like this.

After tonight, they would be fractured beyond repair.

But it still needed one more push. A more potent dose of poison.

I sat on a plush sofa, idly picking at one of the gleaming gold pillars next to me. It looked like it was covered in 24-karat gold leaf. My fingers itched. If I could just peel off a little bit every day, it would add up. I tried scraping it with my nail, but nothing came off. On closer inspection, I saw a thin, hard, transparent protective layer.

Probably to keep people like me from getting any ideas, I sighed.

My thoughts drifted back to the party. No one was talking to me. They were all taking their cues from Caleb, and he hadn't officially stamped me with his approval. They all knew this was a performance for Claire's benefit.

Just as I was plotting my next move, an opportunity presented itself.

A group of shadows fell over me. I looked up to see a few of Claire's friends, led by Caleb's cousin, Bryce Prescott. Bryce was the alpha sycophant in Claire's orbit. I'd heard he wasn't born a Prescott, but had changed his name to curry favor with the family, whose business propped up his own. With the Prescott name behind him, he acted with an unearned arrogance.

He smiled down at me, a slimy, predatory grin. "Ava, right? We're playing a game over there, kind of a truth-or-dare spin. We're short one player. Do me a favor and join us?"

I meekly agreed.

And, what a surprise, I lost the first round.

Amid boisterous laughter, several of them lifted me up and, before I knew what was happening, tossed me into the deep end of the swimming pool.

As I hit the cold water, I saw the triumphant look on Bryce's face. He was getting revenge on Claire's behalf.

I flailed, sputtering, trying to get to the side. But every time I got close, someone, acting on Bryce's silent command, would push me back under.

Again and again. Water flooded my throat, and my cries for help were swallowed by the pool. The other partygoers just stood around the edge, watching as if it were entertainment. Aside from Caleb, Bryce held the most power here.

Finally, my strength gave out. I sank towards the bottom, the lights of the party blurring above me. Then, a loud splash.

Arms wrapped around me, pulling me towards the surface. I broke through, gasping for air, lungs burning. I opened my eyes. It was Caleb.

He held me as hands reached down to pull us both out. I collapsed against his chest, weak and shivering, and shot a look at Claire over his shoulder. Her face was a thundercloud of fury. A tiny, imperceptible smile played on my lips.

Caleb’s gaze swept over the guilty parties, cold and murderous. A hush fell over the crowd.

Before he could even speak, his friends, eager to please, started kicking the culprits into the pool, one by one.

All except Bryce.

He tried to play the family card, a pathetic, wheedling tone in his voice. "Caleb, buddy, we were just kidding around!"

Caleb didn't hesitate. A powerful kick sent Bryce stumbling backward into the water.

"Nobody pulls them out until I say so," he commanded, his voice deadly quiet.

The others, now soaked and humiliated, didn't dare try to climb out.

Caleb scooped me into his arms and started carrying me back into the house.

"Caleb!"

Claire's voice cut through the air, sharp and frayed with disbelief.

He paused, turned his head, and looked back at her with eyes like chips of ice. He uttered a single word.

"Leave."

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