From Hidden Lover To His Boss: The Billionaire's Ultimate Regret

Rain lashed against the penthouse windows, blurring the city skyline into a smear of cold, distant light. Inside the bedroom, the air was still warm, heavy with the lingering friction of their encounter. Bailey lay against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as she waited for her heart rate to settle.

Beside her, Dorr was already out of bed. He buttoned his crisp dress shirt with practiced efficiency, his broad shoulders stiff, his profile indifferent. It was a familiar, clinical routine. For three years, they had been nothing more than exclusive friends with benefits—a purely physical arrangement operating under the cover of darkness, completely devoid of promises or tenderness.

"I'm getting married," Dorr said.

His voice was flat, dropping into the quiet room without a hint of warning or remorse.

Bailey froze. A dull, heavy ache settled in her chest, but she forced her expression to remain entirely blank. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

Three years. Her mind involuntarily pulled her back to how this twisted dynamic had started. It all traced back to that disastrous night at the Morrow estate. She had just been brought back to her biological family, having discovered she was switched at birth with her foster sister, Jordin. But there had been no tearful, fairy-tale reunion. At her own welcome-home banquet, her biological mother had looked at Bailey with blatant disdain, clearly preferring the polished, perfect Jordin over the stranger who shared her blood.

Suffocating under the weight of her mother's rejection, Bailey had hidden in a quiet corner of the estate and drank until the edges of her reality blurred.

Dorr had been there, too. He was notoriously ruthless in business, but that night, he was just a man nursing a broken heart, drinking himself into oblivion over a woman he supposedly loved deeply. To this day, Bailey still didn't know who the mystery woman was. They had collided in their mutual misery. Two broken people seeking a temporary escape. It was a drunken mistake that should have ended by morning.

Instead, Dorr had refused to let it go. Using his overwhelming influence and her vulnerable position within the Morrow family, he had forcefully tethered her to him, turning a one-night stand into a three-year secret arrangement.

And now, he was getting married. Probably to the very woman he had been pining for all along.

Bailey swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. Fine, she told herself, feeling a sudden, clarifying wave of resolve wash over her. If he treats the last three years as nothing more than a game to pass the time, then I won't waste another second mourning it. She refused to be the tragic, discarded casualty in his grand love story. She had survived the Morrows; she would survive Dorr Randall.

She leaned back against the headboard, offering a lazy, careless smile. "So, was tonight a farewell performance?" she asked, keeping her tone light and conversational.

Dorr paused, his gaze darkening as he looked down at her. "Think what you want. Our arrangement ends tonight."

He picked up a leather folder from the nightstand and tossed a property deed onto the tangled sheets. "The penthouse is yours. Consider it compensation for the last three years."

Bailey glanced at the paper resting on the duvet. He was looking at her like a CEO liquidating a minor asset, fully expecting her to either cry or gratefully accept his generous payoff.

She let out a dry chuckle. "Compensation?"

Pushing the covers aside, Bailey stood up. She didn't bother reaching for a robe. She stood tall, refusing to let her nakedness make her feel vulnerable. "Dorr, don't flatter yourself. We were using each other. If you got off, so did I. Why would I need a severance package for mutual pleasure?"

Dorr's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Bailey, don't be difficult. This place is worth eight figures."

"Exactly," she said. She picked up the deed with two fingers and dropped it squarely onto his chest. It fluttered to the floor between them. "Keep it. Consider it my wedding gift to you. Though I hope when you bring your new bride to this bed, you perform a little better than you did tonight. It would be a shame to disappoint her on the honeymoon."