I Became the Billionaire's Fake Lover to Get My Revenge

Just hearing Susanne’s name made Anna’s blood run cold. So much time had passed, yet the wounds of humiliation still festered beneath the surface, bleeding anew at the mere thought of her. And now, faced with the prospect of seeing her again, the old ache threatened to burst open, raw and unforgiving.

But she had to brace herself. She was no longer the weak-hearted Anna Hyde.

"I’m sorry," William’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, pulling her back to the present. "My assistant is calling me. I’m afraid it’s urgent—I have to take this."

"Of course, go ahead," Mrs. Bastien said with a dismissive wave, as if giving him permission to slip away.

Anna turned to him, her gaze betraying a flicker of unease. Sensing her rising panic, William gave her arm a reassuring squeeze, his silent message clear: You’ve got this.

She nodded, barely mouthing a quiet thank you before watching him disappear into the crowd.

Anna knew the call was fake. It was a test—a deliberate push to see how well she could stand on her own. Like a child learning to swim by being tossed into deep water, or a patient urged to confront their worst fear in exposure therapy.

And now, standing there, her pulse hammering against her ribs, she heard it. The sharp, deliberate click of Susanne’s designer heels against the marble floor. Each step rang out like a warning, a countdown to an encounter she had long dreaded.

Then, finally, Susanne stood before her.