Oops! My Kept Boy Is the Billionaire Heir

Camille Garner had three hours to end a discreet arrangement before her unfaithful husband landed at JFK with the woman who had betrayed her.

Frank Walters, her husband, was flying back to New York with April Mercado, the woman who had once been Camille's closest friend. Three years ago, Camille had discovered their affair in a moment that left no room for misunderstanding.

That same night, humiliated and furious, Camille had found Cody. Young. Handsome. Attentive. If Frank wanted to make a fool of her, then she would hire someone to stand at her side and prove she was done waiting for him.

Cody was never meant to be love. He was retaliation dressed in a perfect smile, bound by carefully defined terms and supported by an account Camille quietly kept full.

She had maintained the arrangement with Cody for three years, but now, it was time to bring it all to an end.

The check sat on the polished surface of the table.

Seven figures. A clean break.

Camille watched the late afternoon traffic crawl along the Manhattan street, her reflection stretched thin across the café window by the fading gold of the day. Her fingers, of their own accord, found a loose strand of chestnut hair and began to twist it. A nervous habit she despised.

She glanced at her watch. Frank Walters's flight would land in three hours. Plenty of time.

The bell above the café door chimed, a delicate sound in the quiet space.

A man walked in. He wore a simple black t-shirt and worn jeans, a stark contrast to the Upper East Side clientele. Yet he carried the plain clothes with understated confidence, moving with a contained energy that made heads turn. He commanded space without trying.

His deep gray eyes found her instantly.

He strode to her table and sat down opposite her, the force of his presence sucking the air from around them.

Camille slid the check across the table. The paper whispered against the wood. Her movements were fluid, practiced, betraying none of the tension coiling in her stomach.

"Cody, this is the last time."

Her voice was calm. A placid lake over a dark depth.

His gaze dropped to the check, lingered on the amount for a beat, then slowly lifted back to her face. The warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by something cold. Glacial.

He didn't touch the check. Instead, he leaned forward, planting his hands flat on the table. The posture was predatory. It boxed her in.

"Because your husband is coming back?" His voice was a low rumble, laced with a mockery that scraped against her nerves.

Camille picked up her coffee cup, the porcelain cool against her fingertips. She took a small sip, the bitter liquid a welcome distraction.

"That has nothing to do with you."

A humorless smile touched his lips. It didn't reach his eyes. He slammed his hand down, covering the check. The veins on the back of his hand stood out in sharp relief.

"Three years, Camille." The whisper was more menacing than a shout. "You think you can just pay me off with this?"

The paper crinkled under his palm, a faint, tortured sound.

Her amber eyes narrowed slightly. "The terms were clear from the beginning. Public companionship, financial support, and no promises."

His eyes roamed her face, taking in the perfect makeup, the carefully composed expression. They darkened.

"And if I say no?"

The tips of his ears turned a faint, dusky red.

Camille set her cup down. The clatter of porcelain against saucer was sharp, decisive. It cut through the dangerous tension he was weaving.

"Don't make me look down on you, Cody."

She stood, her chair making no sound on the floor. She was already dismissing him, moving on.

She pulled a few bills from her handbag and tucked them under her cup. For the coffee. Another transaction closed.

He rose with her, his tall frame eclipsing the light from the window, casting her in his shadow.

His hand shot out, clamping around her wrist.

"You're going to regret this, Camille," he said, each word a clipped, hard stone.

She yanked her arm free.

"Goodbye."

The word was ice. She turned and walked away without looking back.

He didn't follow. He stood motionless, his gray eyes boring into her back, a tangible weight.

Camille pushed through the café door and out onto the bustling sidewalk. The city noise was a relief, washing away the suffocating silence of that final confrontation.

She slid into the driver's seat of her car, the leather cool against her skin. She locked the doors. A breath she hadn't realized she was holding escaped her lips in a shaky sigh.

In the rearview mirror, she saw him still standing at the café window. He picked up the check. Slowly, deliberately, he ripped it into small, precise pieces. The white scraps fluttered from his fingers like dead confetti.

Camille met her own eyes in the mirror. She smoothed a stray piece of hair, her expression settling back into its usual mask of languid indifference.

She started the engine. In her mind, the chapter titled "Cody" was already closed, filed away, and forgotten.

The car merged seamlessly into the river of traffic, heading east. Towards JFK.