Renting Billionaire Boyfriend

Author Note:

Hey readers,

This book delves into the darker side of romance, featuring explicit language, scenes, and a fast pace romance intertwined with a stalker trope. Please be aware that the content is intense and may not be suitable for everyone. If you enjoy dark romance novels and want to stay updated, follow me to my Facebook group, Tracy Readrats, for more insights and discussions.

Happy reading!

Tracy

Raisel - POV

My eyes fixate on the phone screen, my fingers trembling above the display, waiting—desperately hoping—for a message from Alaric. But the screen remains hauntingly silent, the absence of his name like a knife twisting deeper with every passing second. Maybe he’s just busy at work, I tell myself, my chest tightening as dread curls around my ribs like a vise. The lie barely holds together.

Needing a distraction, I turn to the charity event I’m dressing for, pulling a white, sleeveless dress from the wardrobe. The cream hue feels like a bitter joke—pure, simple, like the trust I foolishly thought we shared. I slip into it, the square neckline framing my collarbones, where the delicate pearl necklace Alaric gifted me on our last anniversary now rests. Even dressed, my gaze flickers back to the phone. Still nothing.

I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts any longer. Dialing Hazel, my best friend, I wait as the line rings, her voice eventually breaking through the static in my head.

“Hey,” I ask, forcing a brightness I don’t feel into my voice. “Are you bringing a plus one tonight?”

“Not this time. Stag, as usual,” she answers lightly, but I can’t bring myself to laugh at her usual banter. “Wait… don’t tell me. Did Alaric bail on you again?” Her tone shifts, cautious but probing, and her words hit me like blows I’m too tired to dodge.

The truth is lodged in my throat, but I force it out. “Yeah,” I admit, my voice breaking under the weight of the disappointment.

“I’ll pick you up,” she offers immediately. No pity, no questions—just action. That’s Hazel. She doesn’t say anything about the rumors either. The whispers about Davina, his new secretary—the same Davina who used to be his flame. I tell myself the stories can’t be true. Alaric wouldn’t betray me. He loves me. We’ve built too much together. Haven’t we?

Hazel arrives, and together we head to the event.

“I swear, I hate these charity things,” she mutters as we step out of the car, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement.

I force a laugh. “You hate them because there’s never anyone cute enough to hold your attention.”

She rolls her eyes, pouting. “Guilty. My mom’s still convinced I’ll meet Prince Charming at one of these. She doesn’t get that book boyfriends are the only men who meet my standards.”

Her dramatics are a welcome distraction, and I laugh again—this time, it feels a little more real. “Book husbands don’t leave the toilet seat up or forget anniversaries. I get it.”

Her eyebrow arches skeptically. “Anniversaries, huh? You sure about that?”

I don’t answer. Hazel’s always been suspicious of Alaric. She’s never trusted him, and I’ve never understood why.

The ballroom hums with chatter and the clinking of glasses. Gowns sparkle under chandeliers, and I try to steady my nerves as I hand Hazel a drink. My phone buzzes as I make my way toward the restroom. Relief floods through me—it has to be him. But when I glance at the screen, the air is punched from my lungs.

An unknown number. A message. Attached are pictures.

I open them, my heart plummeting into freefall as the images load. Alaric. His hands on Davina’s naked body. Their limbs tangled. Intimate. Raw. Unforgivable.

My chest heaves. My vision blurs.

“Who are you?” I text back, my fingers shaking violently.

“Your well-wisher,” the reply comes almost instantly.

“This is fake,” I write. “It’s photoshopped.”

“You can believe what you want, sweetheart,” the next text reads. “But if I were you, I’d leave the event now. You’re about to face public humiliation.”

My breath comes in short, panicked gasps. My hands tremble, clutching my phone like a lifeline. Tears well up, spilling over as the weight of betrayal crushes me. I manage a final reply, the words trembling on the screen: “Whoever you are, this is a sick joke.”

I try to compose myself, grabbing a drink to steady my nerves. When I return to Hazel, she frowns, her concern evident.

“Everything okay? You look…” Her voice trails off as her eyes widen. She’s looking past me.

I turn.

And my world ends.

There he is. Alaric. Not alone.

Davina clings to his arm, draped in the crimson gown I’d ordered for myself—for our anniversary. Her lips are close to his ear, whispering something that makes him smile, and it hits me like a thunderclap: the photos were real. The texts were right.

His gaze locks onto mine, and the shock on his face is unmistakable. He didn’t expect me to be here. He thought I’d stay home, blind and oblivious.

The pain morphs into fury, white-hot and all-consuming. My voice shakes as I confront him. “What is this?”

The room falls silent. All eyes turn toward us. Cameras flash.

Alaric steps forward, his expression unnervingly calm. “Isn’t it obvious?” His voice is low, cold. Detached. “I’m with the woman I love.”

The words strike like knives, each one driving deeper into my chest.

“I want a divorce,” he says, blunt as a hammer. “I’ve been hiding this relationship long enough. I’m done pretending.”

Tears burn down my face, and my rage boils over. I slap him, hard, the sound cracking like a whip in the stunned silence.

“You bastard,” I hiss, venom lacing every word.

Davina gasps, stepping forward, but I throw my drink at her, the liquid splashing across her perfect, smug face. “Stay out of this, whore,” I snap, my voice shaking with fury.

“Enough!” Alaric growls, stepping between us. “Don’t you dare disrespect her. Davina has done more for me than you ever could. You’re just dead weight. A freeloader. A nothing.”

The humiliation is unbearable. The crowd watches, their pity cutting deeper than Alaric’s words. My chest heaves, my throat tight. Without another word, I turn and run, blinded by tears.

I trip on my heels, barely catching myself before I hit the ground—except I don’t. Strong arms steady me, and I glance up, dazed.

“Soren?” I whisper.

He looks down at me, his hazel eyes sharp and unreadable. His suit is immaculate, his dark hair slicked back. He’s changed so much, but I’d recognize him anywhere.

My best friend. The boy who disappeared from college five years ago without a trace. And now, here he is, like a ghost from my past, standing in front of me when my world is collapsing.

His bodyguard leans in, murmuring something in his ear, but Soren’s gaze remains locked on mine. His attention shifts briefly to the entrance, where Alaric and Davina stand, smug and triumphant.

Soren leans closer, his voice a quiet anchor in my storm. “Remember when I used to pretend to be your boyfriend to keep the guys at bay for you in college?”

I nod, too broken to speak.

He smirks, the gesture both comforting and dangerous. “Let’s do it again. Only this time, I don’t need a lunch for repaying me for my kindness.”

My shattered heart aches, torn between despair and the flicker of something else. Something I haven’t felt in years.

Hope.