Billionaire's Prisoner

18. Shopping Center

Emma woke to the sound of her bedroom door slamming open.

Oliver stood in the doorway, already dressed in a sharp navy suit, his expression cold.

"Get dressed. We're going shopping."

Emma blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "What?"

"You heard me," Oliver snapped. "Shelby wants to go, and after that damn news article, I can't be seen alone with her. So you're coming."

Emma sat up, the silk sheets pooling around her waist. This man had nerves.

"No." She barked.

Oliver's jaw tightened. "This isn't a request."

Emma scoffed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "And since when do I care what you demand? Besides, the contract just says about keeping grandpa happy."

Oliver stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You care about your mother's hospital bills, don't you? If you don’t come, this month’s allowance disappears. And good luck explaining to her doctors why the payments stopped."

Emma’s fingers clenched around the sheets.

Bastard. Why did he always find a way to control her?

She stood, brushing past him. "Give me twenty minutes."

Emma changed into a simple floral dress. She never had anything fancy. The only time Oliver brought him something was when Grandpa William used to host dinner and Emma knew those dresses were just cheap knockoffs. She never complained either way. It didn't matter to her.

The Grandeur Galleria was the most luxurious shopping mall in the city, a glittering monument to excess. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, and marble floors gleamed underfoot.

Shelby clung to Oliver’s arm, her manicured nails digging into his sleeve as she shot Emma a venomous smile.

"Oliver spoils me so much," she cooed, loud enough for nearby shoppers to hear. "He says I can have anything I want today."

Emma ignored her, focusing instead on the store displays. She had no intention of playing Shelby’s games.

"Oh, Emma," Shelby sighed dramatically, "it must be so hard for you, watching Oliver buy me things while you get nothing."

Oliver smirked, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Emma clenched her fists but said nothing. There was nothing new in it. She was used to these taunts and over time she learned to ignore them.

She wandered around the store when she heard…

"Madame!"

A man in a tailored suit hurried toward them, the store manager’s badge glinting on his lapel. He bowed slightly to Emma. "Congratulations! You’ve been selected as today’s lucky customer at La Bijoux. Everything in the store is yours— free of charge. Anything you want."

Shelby’s smile froze. "What?"

Emma’s eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

The manager beamed. "Yes! A random draw. You may select any piece— or all pieces— you desire."

Oliver’s face darkened. "That’s impossible. There must be a mistake."

The manager shook his head. "No mistake, sir. Madame, if you’ll follow me?"

Shelby’s face twisted in outrage. "Oliver! Do something!"

But Oliver could only stare, his mind racing. How?

Emma, still stunned, allowed the manager to guide her into the store. The moment she stepped inside, her breath caught.

The display cases glittered with diamond necklaces, emerald bracelets, ruby earrings— each piece more breathtaking than the last.

"This… this is too much," Emma whispered.

The manager leaned in conspiratorially. "Our boss insisted."

Emma’s pulse skipped. "The boss?"

“Yes, Madame,” he nodded.

She turned back to the display, her fingers hovering over a set of emerald-and-diamond earrings. The ones Shelby looked at a moment ago.

“Can I have this?” Emma asked intentionally and that ticked Shelby off even more.

“Sure,” The manager smiled. "Excellent choices," the manager praised, boxing them with care.

Shelby’s face was purple. "I want those!"

"Sorry, madame," the manager said, not sounding sorry at all. "They are sold already."

Emma laughed out loud seeing Shelby’s red face.

She stormed in, her heels clicking furiously. "This is bullshit! I want that. Oliver, tell them—" She turned to the manager and repeated, “do you even know who he is? He is the CEO of Jones corporation.”

"Actually," the manager interjected smoothly, "the promotion is exclusive to Madame Emma. No exceptions."

Shelby looked ready to explode.

Oliver, meanwhile, was staring at Emma with something akin to suspicion. "Who the hell did this?"

Emma lifted her chin. "Luck, I suppose."

She selected the emerald earrings, and then she walked to the counter to get the papers.

As Emma accepted the velvet boxes, she caught Oliver’s glare.

This was unexpected! I never really had such luxury jewelry! Was it just luck? Maybe the god was even with me somehow.

Emma stepped out of La Bijoux, the weight of the velvet box in her purse sending a thrill through her. The emerald earrings glinted under the mall’s golden lights as she examined them one last time—each facet catching the light like tiny, trapped stars.

Across the atrium, hidden behind a marble pillar, Damien watched her. His fingers twitched with the urge to cross the distance, to slide his hand around her waist and claim her lips right there—in front of Oliver, in front of everyone.

But not yet.

Patience.

Davis materialized beside him, arms crossed. "You could’ve just handed her the damn jewelry. Why the whole ‘lucky customer’ act?"

Damien’s gaze never left Emma. "Because she wouldn’t have accepted it if she knew it was from me."

"Bullshit," Davis scoffed. "She’s paying you to sleep with her. She’s clearly not above transactions."

A muscle in Damien’s jaw ticked. "Watch your mouth."

Davis blinked. Since when did Damien give a damn about a woman’s honor?

On the other side of the mall, Shelby’s shrill voice pierced the air as she berated Oliver, her finger jabbing toward Emma. Damien’s lips curled.

Good. Let him suffer.

Davis followed his gaze. "You’re playing a dangerous game, Damien. Oliver Jones might be an i***t, but his grandfather—"

"Owns thirty percent of the jewelry brand we just walked out of," Damien finished smoothly. "I know."

Davis paled. "You what? Then why the hell—"

"Because William Jones is about to get a very interesting invoice." Damien’s smile was razor-sharp. "And I want to see his face when he realizes his grandson’s mistress threw a tantrum over my gifts to his wife."

Davis stared at him. "You’re not just f*****g with Emma. You’re f*****g with the Jones empire."

Damien finally turned, his eyes glinting with something feral. "Now you’re catching on."

The moment Damien slid into the driver’s seat, his phone buzzed.

Emma sent him a photo, with a message, “look what the luck got me today!”

He could hear her smile through the text.

Davis, buckling his seatbelt, groaned. "Christ. You’re smirking. On the phone."

Damien ignored him, sending back a message, “they are beautiful. Wear them tonight. I want to see how they look on you. Off you.”

“You are getting bold,” Emma typed back.

Damien chuckled, “and you like that, don't you Bella.”

Davis muttered a prayer under his breath.

As the car pulled away, Davis couldn’t hold back any longer. "Okay, seriously— what the hell is this? You don’t do relationships. You don’t do gifts. You certainly don’t wage war over some woman you just met!"

Damien’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. "She’s not some woman."

"Then what is she?"

The question hung in the air.

Damien exhaled, the truth slipping out before he could stop it:

"Mine."

Davis froze.

Oh s**t.