The Billionaire I Married by Mistake

2. CALL

|Katherine|

Groaning in annoyance, I woke up to the loud, obnoxious ringtone of my phone. My hand fumbled blindly across the sheets in search of the phone, all while my brain refused to boot up. Last night’s events hadn’t even sunk in yet.

The dim light of the room stung my eyes. I instinctively squeezed them shut again, clinging to the warmth of the bed and hoping the call would end on its own. It didn’t. Whoever was calling was relentless, and as much as I wanted to throw the phone across the room, something about the ringtone made me pause.

A groggy sigh left my throat as I finally brought the phone to my ear, not bothering to open my eyes.

“Yes, Grandpa?” I mumbled, my voice hoarse and muffled against the pillow, still sprawled face-down on my mattress.

I drew in a sharp breath—and paused. My brows knitted together. Something smelled… different. I lifted my head slightly. The scent clinging to the linens wasn’t what I was used to. Did Nana Pasing switch our fabric softener again? This wasn’t the warm, comforting fragrance I’d grown up with. It was crisper, unfamiliar… expensive.

“Well, at least you still remember who I am, Katherine,” came the low rumble of my grandfather’s voice through the receiver. Despite the years in it, his baritone still held the unmistakable tone of command.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “What is it, Grandpa? Did you really have to interrupt my sleep this early?” I groaned, still not fully upright.

“Good heavens, Katherine! Do you even realize what time it is? And you’re still in bed?” he barked, his voice loud enough to make me flinch.

“So you called just to yell at me?” I muttered, already hovering my thumb over the red button to end the call. “Because if that’s all this is, I’m hanging up. I’m not feeling well.”

“Try hanging up on me, Katherine, and you can forget about your inheritance,” he shot back coldly.

That made me bolt upright.

My eyes flew open—and met darkness. A cold, creeping kind of darkness that didn’t belong in my bedroom. I blinked, struggling to adjust. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar, sleek and modern, with a lighting fixture I definitely didn’t install.

My heart skipped a beat. Wait. Where the hell was I?

“Come home,” Grandpa said, his voice oddly softer now. “There’s something you need to know.”

But I wasn’t listening anymore. I had already pushed the covers off—only to freeze.

I was stark naked.

“What the hell?!”

A bolt of panic tore through me as I clutched the blanket tighter. My whole body ached in places I didn’t even know could ache. And then it hit me.

Memories.

Hot, chaotic, disjointed flashes of the night before came crashing back. A man. The heat of his mouth against mine. His hands exploring me with a kind of desperate hunger. The two of us tumbling through a doorway, tearing at each other’s clothes. My hands yanking his shirt off. His fingers sliding under my dress. The way I had wanted him. No. The way I had taken him.

My breath caught in my throat.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the memories only came sharper. The press of his lips between my thighs. My fingers buried in his hair as I whispered things I couldn’t remember now but knew, without a doubt, had made him groan against my skin.

Oh, my God.

I clamped my legs together in reflex, trying to shove the image out of my mind. My face burned. Shame, disbelief, and something dangerously close to curiosity churned in my stomach.

“What did you just say, Katherine?!” Grandpa’s voice thundered from the phone still clutched in my hand.

I snapped back to the present, blinking hard.

“I’ll call you back, Grandpa,” I said quickly, my voice tight. Without waiting for a response, I ended the call.

I swung my legs off the bed and began scanning the room for my clothes—only to find them already folded neatly on a nearby chair. My purse rested on top, shoes placed precisely underneath. Like someone had taken great care… after what happened.

I dressed in silence, heart thudding in my chest. I grabbed my things, and walked out of that room with the same certainty I had walked into it.

A modern family area greeted me. To my left was an open space that overlooked the floor below, and just beyond that—an expansive, breathtaking view of the city.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and darted toward the staircase.

Panic throbbed in my chest like a second heartbeat. The man I’d spent the night with—God, what had I done?—could still be somewhere in this house, and the last thing I wanted was to bump into him in the morning light like some awkward post-one-night-stand cliché. Kicking off my heels, I crept barefoot down the steps, trying to soften every footfall like I was some amateur spy sneaking out of enemy territory.

But of course… just my damn luck.

With every step I descended, a warm, unmistakable scent of something cooking reached my nose—eggs, maybe toast, something sizzling in a pan. I prayed—really prayed—that it was just a housekeeper. Not him. Not the man who had seen every inch of me, who had touched and taken me in ways I never thought I’d let anyone do… especially not on a random Thursday night.

I froze as I reached the bottom of the stairs.

There he was.

Standing by the kitchen counter, shirtless, with his broad back turned toward me. The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, illuminating the sculpted lines of his back muscles, the casual grace of his movements as he cooked like this was the most normal thing in the world.

And then he turned.

Our eyes locked.

My breath caught.

God, that face. He was so unfairly attractive it almost felt like an insult to the rest of the male population. His messy hair, golden skin, those dark eyes that looked right through me—it was all too much. Of course he had to be my type. Tall, infuriatingly gorgeous, probably rich. Congratulations, Kat. Your libido really went for gold last night.

“Hungry?” His deep voice rolled through the air like silk dipped in sin, and I felt a shiver tickle down my spine before I could stop it.

I looked away, only to land on the towel slung dangerously low around his hips.

And that was it.

The memories came crashing back in full color: my legs around him, his hands on my waist, the water of the bathtub sloshing around us, my moans echoing against marble tiles.

Shit.

I ran a trembling hand through my tangled hair, still tingling where he had kissed me, touched me—where he had been inside me.

“I made breakfast,” he said casually, like we hadn’t just had the most reckless night of my life. He plated the food and set it on the counter, still cool and composed.

“I—no… thank you,” I stammered, my voice brittle. My stomach, the traitor, growled at the smell of eggs and butter. “I should go. Really. Thanks for the night.”

I ignored him and headed for the exit with as much dignity as I could gather from the tattered pieces of my pride.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lean against the kitchen island, arms folded, a teasing glint in his gaze.

“That’s it?” he said with a c****d brow. “You’re just going to leave? It was your… first time.”

The word hung in the air, laced with mockery and something else—curiosity, maybe. Challenge.

I froze, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.

So what if he was my first?

I turned sharply on my heel and met his gaze dead-on, lifting my chin.

“Well, I’m a modern woman,” I said, my voice icy. “I don’t attach feelings to a few orgasms. Let’s call it what it was—my grand entrance into the s****l world. You were just the guy lucky enough to be chosen for the job. You should feel honored.”

And without waiting for another word from his annoyingly perfect mouth, I strode out of his penthouse.

Honestly, why did he even bring me to his place last night? A hotel would’ve been so much simpler. Less personal. Fewer reminders.

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I caught sight of myself in the mirrored walls of the elevator.

My eyes widened.

Hickeys.

“Oh, hell no,” I muttered, frantically sweeping my hair forward to hide the angry red bruises blooming along my neck. The elevator dinged, and I bolted out like I was escaping a crime scene.

The second I stepped outside, my phone rang.

Not now.

I ignored the call and looked around, desperately searching for a cab. I needed to go home. Shower. Bury myself under the covers. Preferably never speak of this night again.

The phone kept buzzing. And buzzing.

I finally answered when I got into the back of a cab.

“Katherine!” my grandfather’s voice exploded through the speaker, sharp and unmistakably furious. “How rude of you to hang up on me earlier! And now you’re ignoring all my calls—”

I let out a slow, tired breath and looked out the cab window at the morning chaos of Manila traffic.

“You already know my answer, Grandpa,” I replied flatly. “I’m not going back to Iloilo. Don’t you want me here in the city?”

“What—for you to waste more of our money pretending you’re working? How many times have I told you—our company is failing—”

“Yeah, yeah. And pigs can fly,” I muttered under my breath.

“Katherine! This isn’t a joke! We’re not in the same position we were years ago. The company is barely holding on—we’re struggling to stay afloat—”

I tuned him out for a second. I’d heard this speech before.

Our company? Failing?

No way. Lopez Inc. was one of the biggest construction firms in Iloilo. Hell, we were expanding to Metro Manila. Grandpa loved drama, but this was a new level of theatrics.

Then I heard it—the change in his tone. A weariness, an edge of vulnerability.

“Please, Katherine. Just come home. There’s something I need to tell you. In person.”

I blinked. That was new.

“You can’t just say it over the phone?”

“No. This is too important for that.”

“I’m sorry, Grandpa. I can’t. I have a wedding to attend.”

“A wedding? Another excuse?” he snapped. “How many events do you have this month? How many birthdays, how many weddings, how many beach trips—can’t you spare a little time for your family?”

I closed my eyes.

He wasn’t completely wrong. I had used every excuse in the book to avoid going back home. But this time, the wedding was real.

Okay… it was a wedding of a friend of a friend. But still.

It was at the beach. That counted.

“Relax, Grandpa,” I said softly. “But no matter how many times you ask, I’m not going back to Iloilo. I’m staying here. In Manila.”

And before he could say another word, I ended the call.