The Billionaire's Secret: Eight Years in the Shadows

On the day Carter Hayes got engaged, reporters shoved microphones in my face, asking how I felt.

Carter Hayes. He was the untouchable, blue-blooded prince of the Upper East Side.

No one approved of the eight years I spent with him.

His mother would refer to me simply as the actress, spitting the word out like a slur.

His inner circle of friends would warn him behind his back, "Shes just a little starlet. Play with her for a bit and let it go."

And Carter? Hed just flip his expensive lighter open and shut, joking carelessly, "What are you scared of? It's not like I'm actually going to marry her."

I looked right into the interview cameras and said slowly, "Although we aren't close, it's a good thing. I wish them a happy engagement."

The video went viral across the internet. Carter took his private jet, flying overnight from New York to L.A.

The news of Carters engagement completely overshadowed the headlines of my Best Actress win.

Looking at the news on my phone, you could only read his name, never see his face. Carters photos were strictly kept out of the press.

But facts and rumors alike couldn't stop the publics insatiable appetite for gossip.

Because for the past eight years, thanks to me, he had lingered in the public eye like a ghost. His moniker in the tabloids was simply: "Serena Vances Sugar Daddy."

Everyone found amusement in their disdain for me, waiting eagerly for the moment I would fall from grace.

"Serena, we heard you met Mr. Hayes when you were eighteen, is that true?"

"Serena, youve been with him for so many years, why didn't you end up together? Did his family reject you?"

"Mr. Hayes chose today of all days to announce his engagement. Was he intentionally trying to humiliate you?"

"Were you ever really together? Did Mr. Hayes dump you?"

"Did you split up with this billionaire because of the hand-holding scandal half a month ago?"

My eyes slowly swept over their frantic faces. Their gazes felt like they were trying to skin me alive, desperate to dig out an even more explosive headline.

Carter Hayes...

Got engaged today?

I plastered a flawless, graceful smile on my face and looked back at them.

"I am not very close with the Mr. Hayes you are referring to.

"However, an engagement is a joyous milestone in life... I wish him a happy engagement."

Looking directly into the lens, I said it slowly, one more time: "Happy engagement, Mr. Hayes."

They excitedly analyzed my words layer by layer, acting like detectives searching for hidden clues.

I handed my phone back to my manager, Chloe, who looked at me with deep concern.

"The internet is saying Mr. Hayes dumped you. Your endorsements and casting offers are probably going to plummet. You know I dont fully understand his background, but I know hes someone nobody messes with.

"If a man like that puts out a word against you, even a fresh Best Actress award won't save you."

I felt incredibly drained. "Chloe, don't worry too much. I won't let it drag you down..."

She offered an awkward smile, her lips moving, but she didn't say anything else.

No one believed that for those eight years, we were just like any ordinary couple. We went from flirtation to deep affection, from a passionately inseparable romance to a heartbreaking, tear-you-apart ending.

Carter had a pair of chilling, desolate eyes. When those eyes locked onto you, you instantly felt like you were nothing but dust.

It wasn't intentional on his part; he was simply born that way. He possessed an innate, apathetic indifference toward everything in the world.

The first time I looked into those eyes, I subconsciously wondered: in a world this loud and crowded, how much love could a man who stood so far removed from it all truly give?

It was 2012. The Mayan doomsday prophecies were everywhere, Taylor Swift was blasting on every radio station, and The Perks of Being a Wallflower was making waves on campus.

I was eighteen. My eighteen was fiery, impulsive, and fearlessthe age of ignorance where you truly believe love conquers all. That was the year I met Carter Hayes.

At the time, I was juggling classes, working part-time jobs, and desperately running around trying to audition for various indie films.

When a so-called "investor" placed his rough palm on my thigh during a casting call, I instinctively stood up and smashed my bag over his head.

As I ripped the door open and bolted, I heard him scream from behind, "You little bitch! Someone stop her!"

I was screaming and struggling, looking like an absolute wreck, when a slightly raspy voice echoed through the hall.

"Hey. The girl said no. Didn't you hear her?"

It was a voice so light it barely carried weight, yet it worked instantly.

He just threw me a casual glance, as if he happened to see a stray dog getting kicked and, being in a decent mood, decided to intervene.

He was leaning against the hallway windowsill, propped up on his elbows. The breeze blew in from outside, ruffling his dark hair.

His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a luxury watch. The cigarette trapped between his fingers flickered faintly.

The men chasing me out of the room saw him and practically scrambled away with their tails between their legs.

Clutching my bag to my chest, I gave him a deep, ninety-degree bow and sincerely thanked him.

Suddenly, I heard him let out a soft chuckle.

He looked out the window, put out his cigarette, and asked lazily, "Acting major? Which school?"

"NYU Tisch."

He nodded, as if it were just a passing question. "They're gone. You can head back."

The first time I saw Carter Hayes, everything about him was so understated that I didn't even bother to think about who he might actually be.

It was only later I realized that when people reach a certain echelon of power, they no longer need outward extravagance to prove themselves. They are often more low-key than anyone else.

When we were together, we actively avoided talking about our family backgrounds.

To Carter, I was just someone to have fun with; there was no need for explanations.

To me, I was just enjoying the fleeting moments of pleasure.

It wasn't until one night at his friends private club. The only guy in his circle who was somewhat friendly to me got drunk and accidentally let slip a family name. I didn't catch it clearly, but I knew it was a name completely out of my reach.

Only later did I realize that wasn't friendliness at all. It was just a different kind of warning: I was completely out of his league.

Unfortunately, I was young and arrogant. I refused to listen to anyone's advice and wasted so many years entangled with him.

After the awards ceremony, the afterparties were inevitable. I walked out of the underground parking garage of The Plaza with a slight buzz, waving off my team, choosing to head upstairs alone.

As the elevator ascended, I looked at my reflection in the massive mirrored walls. Tonight was supposed to be the proudest moment of my life. I should be cheering and ecstatic.

I vaguely remembered a time when I missed out on a tiny, insignificant award and cried uncontrollably. Carter had sighed, pulling me into his arms, murmuring softly:

"Its just some garbage award from nowhere, you don't need it anyway. Someday you'll win Best Actress, and well slap it in the faces of everyone who was too blind to see your talent. Stop crying, okay?"

I cried even harder, asking uncertainly, "Can I really win Best Actress? I can't even get a supporting role. When will I ever win Best Actress? You're just humoring me..."

He laughed. "Our Serena is amazing. If you don't believe in yourself, at least believe in me. When has Carter Hayes ever lied to you?"

I wrapped my arms around his waist, wiping my tears all over his ridiculously expensive shirt, leaving him rubbing his temples, afraid to get mad but clearly exasperated.

After taking a shower, I threw myself onto the soft sofa, picking up my phone to reply to the flood of congratulatory messages.

My finger paused over one specific name. The last message was from half a month ago.

Back then, we had a massive blowout. Exhausted to my core, I sat in the passenger seat and said calmly, "Let's break up, Carter."

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel, the veins bulging on his forehead. Through gritted teeth, he spat, "Impossible. Don't even think about it."

I smiledwarmly, but cruelly. "Ive already humiliated you like this. Do you really want to keep going?"

He whipped his head to look at me, breathing heavily. It took him a few seconds to calm down. "Serena, what exactly are you throwing a tantrum about now? Ive been exhausted lately. Just give me some time..."

The argument ended in a bitter stalemate. Neither of us was willing to be the one to back down.

The doorbell and my ringtone went off at the exact same time. It was probably the same person.

I sat there coldly, letting the phone and doorbell ring for ages, ignoring them completely.

It wasn't until I heard the doorknob turn that I remembered I hadn't changed the keypad code yet.

I sat on the sofa, looking toward the entryway.

Covered in the dust of travel, Carter looked at me with dark, heavy eyes. The eyes are the organs of desire. His eyes used to hold nothing, caring for nothing. I was the one who dragged him down into the mortal realm, only to leave him to struggle bitterly in a sea of desire.

I was much calmer than I expected. Some things just needed to be resolved properly.

"Its so late. You flew all the way from New York?"

He stopped right in front of me, blocking most of the light. His dress shirt was slightly wrinkled, the sleeves still rolled up.

After a moment, he sat down and rested his head heavily on my shoulder. He seemed exhausted as he sighed, "What are you throwing a tantrum for?"

How much of this was real, how much of it was love? It was impossible to say.

Carter, can you really not see that this game is finally reaching its end?

I asked him calmly, "Are you thinking that after you get married, Ill just be your mistress?

"Carter, don't degrade me like that.

"Please."

He froze, eventually murmuring, "Just give me some time..."

I cut him off. "We tried, didn't we? Carter, I tried. But all it gave me was a broken, bleeding head. Do you really have to drag me down to crash into a brick wall one more time before you let it go?"

I looked down at his ring finger and said sincerely, "Your new ring is beautiful."

Carters hand instantly went completely rigid.

I tilted my head back, smiling at him exactly like I did when we first met. "So, can I have the ring I gave you back?"

What a tragedy. A passionate, all-consuming teenage romance, ending in such mutual disappointment.

When I saw Carter again at eighteen, it was at a college gala. I had been pulled in last minute as a backup dancer.

I thought our first meeting was just a passing coincidence, but it was actually the beginning of a long, messy entanglement.

I was wearing a pure white ballet dress, waiting off to the side.

I didn't know if he had been there all along or had just arrived. He held his cigarette out the window and called out lazily, "Little Swan?"

I turned my head. The moment I saw it was him, a spark of light flared in my eyes.

He let out a low chuckle. "Didn't mistake you. It really is you."

I walked over, asking curiously, "What are you doing here?"

He looked down, the wind carrying the clean, intoxicating scent of him.

"I was bored. Took a walk, ended up here."

He spoke to me like he was humoring a child, but I didn't care enough to argue.

He continued to tease me, saying I owed him a meal as repayment for saving me.

I came fully prepared, pulling out all my part-time job savings to take him out. He looked so incredibly expensive that I couldn't even imagine him sitting in a greasy, rundown diner. The contrast was too jarring.

But he just navigated his way through the campus and sat down at the college dining hall for a late-night snack.

He barely ate. After a few bites, he put his chopsticks down, explaining to me that he had a bad stomach and couldn't eat much.

At first, I thought he was just being polite, but after we got together, I realized he had actually destroyed his own stomach.

When we were together, I learned how to cook all sorts of comforting soups and porridges just to take care of his stomach issues. Whenever his pain flared up, I stayed by his side day and night, treating him like he might shatter.

He would lie half-propped up in bed, his face pale, pinching my cheek with a faint smile.

"Look at how tense you are. Anyone would think I had terminal cancer."

I slapped his hand away in anger, grabbing the empty bowl and storming downstairs without looking back.

Carter owned several startups at the time. During the early days, like most founders, he was working himself to the bone.

For a while, I genuinely believed he was just a self-made guy who started out with a little seed money from his family. I secretly rejoiced, thinking that if I just worked hard enough, the gap between us wouldn't be that wide.

After several back-and-forths, we always found an excuse to talk. By the time I realized what was happening, Carter had already embedded himself in my life.

The first time I met his friends was at a notorious, exclusive club in New York.

I had dressed up meticulously, wanting to leave a good impression. When Carter saw me, he looked surprised for a moment.

Once we got there, I understood why.

The room was divided: the men were his friends, and the women were just arm candy brought along by them.

His friends treated my presence next to Carter as totally unremarkable. They threw me a single glance and went straight back to greeting him.

A lot of times, making someone feel painfully insecure in a crowd doesn't require active bullying or insults. Neglect and indifference are the sharpest weapons. A simple, dismissive glance from someone born in a different social stratosphere is enough to make your skin crawl.

Clearly, Carter had no intention of introducing me. Both to his friends and to him, my role that night was probably just entertainment.

When you're young, you have too much pride. If he wasn't going to take me seriously, I was going to make damn sure he noticed me.

His friends were playing high-stakes games. I casually swirled my cocktail. "One drink, call. Show them."