The Billionaire And His Son Want Me Back (Paisley)

The Golden Dome was the crown jewel of Harrowfell's fine dining scene-a restaurant where understated luxury met impeccable taste. Every corner radiated elegance, from the soft, golden lighting to the discreet hum of classical music.

Inside one of the private rooms, Gary raised his glass, his expression brimming with guilt. "Ms. Vaire, I owe you an apology regarding the lead actress role. I promised you but couldn't deliver. I'm deeply sorry." Paisley knew Gary well enough. This wasn't their first collaboration, and she understood his character. To Gary, the sanctity of art outweighed everything. If it hadn't been unavoidable, he would never have agreed to let Brittany into the project.

"Mr. Anderson, there's no need for apologies. I understand your hands were tied. It's not your fault," Paisley replied calmly, her tone devoid of blame. After all, even the most resolute director couldn't stand firm under the crushing weight of capital and influence.

Gary sighed with relief, but his guilt lingered. Without waiting for a response, he downed another glass of wine, the flush of alcohol creeping across his face. "Ms. Vaire, thank you for your understanding," he murmured, almost to himself.

In the industry, Paisley worked under the pseudonym Nion Vaire-a name that had garnered respect for her compelling scripts.

Gary had always admired her and hoped to collaborate with her again. His regret over breaking their agreement gnawed at him, and it showed in the way he nervously nursed his drink.

As a man in his fifties with a low tolerance for alcohol, Gary quickly began showing the telltale signs of intoxication.

His face turned beet red, and his words grew slightly slurred. "Ms. Vaire, I swear to you, I'll give this my all. I won't let your work be tarnished."

Paisley offered him a faint, polite smile, but her thoughts remained elsewhere. This situation had long outgrown Gary's control.

"Mr. Anderson, do you have any idea who's behind Brittany's sudden rise?" she asked after a pause. Her voice was calm but deliberate, her sharp intuition zeroing in on the real key-the mysterious figure behind Brittany.

Gary's face scrunched with uncertainty. "I don't know," he admitted as he shook his head.

Paisley wasn't surprised. She figured that whoever was backing Brittany was someone powerful enough

to keep their involvement concealed. They didn't step into the spotlight-they merely issued orders and had others execute their will.

Paisley nodded slightly, choosing not to press further.

The conversation was momentarily interrupted as the door slid open, revealing a waiter carrying artfully plated dishes. As the door moved, a figure passed outside, briefly glancing into the room.

Elsewhere, Marissa stepped into another private room, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Dominick was already there, lounging with an air of unbothered elegance.

His tall frame was angled toward the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights glimmering faintly beyond the glass. One long, slender finger tapped idly against the table, a rhythm that betrayed his distracted mind. Marissa snapped out of her daze. Her lips curved into a smile as she approached, her voice warm and slightly playful. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

Interrupted, Dominick glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "I haven't been waiting long," he replied, his tone distant, almost detached.

Marissa slid into the chair across from him, motioning for a waiter to bring the menu.

"Anything you'd like to eat? Or any preferences I should know about?" she asked with a practiced ease, her smile remaining bright and unwavering.

Dominick, clearly absent-minded, didn't immediately respond. His gaze drifted for a few moments as if her question had only just registered. "Anything's fine," he said eventually, his voice indifferent.

If Marissa was bothered by his lack of enthusiasm, she didn't show it. Her smile only seemed to brighten. "Alright then, I'll take care of it," she said cheerfully.

"Sure," Dominick replied with a slight nod, his attention already slipping back to whatever thoughts had occupied him before she arrived.

After placing their orders, Marissa handed the menu back to the waiter. Only when the door closed behind him did she allow herself a playful sigh. "Honestly, Kayla's something else. She's the one inviting us and the one bailing on us."

"It's fine. Without her, it's quieter," Dominick remarked calmly, his tone betraying no annoyance. Kayla Vanderbilt, Dominick's younger sister, had been coddled her entire life, which made her a spoiled, headstrong woman with little sense of boundaries and a penchant for making noise wherever she went. Marissa chuckled softly, covering her mouth in a polished manner, "Careful, Dom. If she hears that, she'll throw a tantrum."

She leaned in slightly, her tone casual, but her sharp eyes carefully studied Dominick's expression, trying to catch any flicker of reaction. "By the way, Dom, have you seen the entertainment headlines these past few days?"

A subtle shift crossed Dominick's features, a flicker of something unreadable. "Yes, I've seen them." "And?" Marissa prodded gently, clearly fishing for his reaction.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that gossip. I've already instructed Julian to handle it. By now, it should be scrubbed clean," Dominick replied, lifting his glass of sparkling water and sipping it with unhurried grace.

Marissa's fingers twitched ever so slightly, though her expression remained composed. She picked up her phone and opened a few apps, only to confirm his words. The scandalous stories about her and Dominick had indeed vanished without a trace.

Her smile faltered momentarily but quickly returned. "It doesn't bother me. As long as it doesn't cause you any trouble, that's what matters.'

Dominick's tone stayed even, though there was a faint undertone of dismissal and rejection. "I've already spoken to the PR team. Such incidents won't happen again."

Marissa's sharp instincts picked up on the subtle rebuff hidden in his words. Her smile stiffened at the edges, but she masked it well.

A quiet unease settled over the private room, the atmosphere growing heavy. It was a relief when the waiter knocked and entered with their meals, breaking the silence.

Marissa glanced up at the intrusion, and as the waiter set down the plates, she spoke in a casual, almost offhand manner, "Oh, that reminds me. I think I saw Ms. Sutton earlier."

Dominick's face remained as composed as ever, betraying no reaction.

Marissa observed him closely before continuing, her tone light and conversational. "She seems to have a new boyfriend. This one is a bit older-unlike that young guy picking her up from the hospital last time." She paused to delicately cut into her steak, savoring a bite before adding, "Well, it makes sense. A woman as beautiful as Ms. Sutton is bound to have men vying for her attention. It's only natural for her to have a few admirers."

"I'm going to the restroom. Take your time," Dominick said abruptly, rising from his seat. His face remained impassive, offering no clues to his thoughts as he left the room.

The moment the door closed behind him, Marissa's elegant facade crumbled. She put down her knife and fork, her smile fading into a blank stare. Any trace of her earlier nonchalance was gone, replaced by a shadowed intensity in her eyes.

She signaled the waiter. "Pack me a dessert to go," she ordered, her tone clipped yet restrained.

*****

Gary, like many middle-aged men, had a predictable flaw. Once the alcohol kicked in, he became a relentless talker.

His gripes were typical, a litany of woes about how the entertainment industry had become a playground for capitalists, making it increasingly difficult to create good films.

He lamented having to grovel before investors at his age, complained about younger actors who couldn't handle hard work, and grumbled about older ones who rested on their laurels. Audiences, he said, were impossibly picky these days, ready to pounce on even the tiniest mistake.

"Mr. Anderson, Lucy's been in the restroom for ages. I'd better check on her to make sure everything is okay," Paisley said, cutting him off as politely as she could. Her head was pounding from his drunken monologue, and she desperately needed an excuse to escape.

As soon as she stepped out of the private room, however, she found herself locking eyes with someone she hadn't expected to see-Dominick.

Her breath caught. His soulful, fathomless gaze still carried that magnetic pull, the same one that could unravel her composure in a heartbeat.

No matter how much time passed, Dominick remained the kind of man whose mere presence could command her full attention, leaving her teetering on the edge of her self-control.

Behind her, Gary's drunken voice bellowed through the door, loud and unfiltered, "Don't take too long. I've got so much more to say to you. I'll wait for you to come back. You're the only one who gets me." The timing couldn't have been worse. With that kind of line hanging in the air, anyone would misinterpret the situation.

Dominick's lips curled into a cold, disdainful smirk. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, swept over Paisley like she was something unpleasant stuck to his shoe. "So this is what you've sunk to?" he sneered with contempt. "Not picky at all, are you? Is money really that important to you?"

Paisley stiffened, her fists clenching at her sides. This wasn't the time or place for an argument-too many people were milling about. Deciding it was better to avoid the confrontation, she turned to leave, but before she could take a step, Dominick's hand shot out, grabbing her arm.

Before she could protest, she found herself yanked forward, colliding with his solid chest. The impact was sharp enough to sting her nose, leaving her momentarily dazed by the mixture of pain and his intoxicating scent, a mix of cedarwood and something unmistakably Dominick.

As he leaned in, his breath brushed against her ear, his voice filled with disdain and venom. "How much does it pay to be an old man's sugar baby? 200 grand? 300 grand?" His tone was laced with scorn, every word designed to sting.

Paisley's voice was icy. "Let go of me, Dominick. And stop projecting your filthy thoughts onto me." "Filthy thoughts?" he shot back, his grip tightening on her shoulders. A mocking glint flickered in his eyes, cutting through her like a blade. "Why don't we talk about your filthy actions?

"If it's money you want, just ask. Beg me properly, and who knows-I might even be more generous." The slap came swiftly, her hand connecting with his cheek in a sharp, resounding crack that seemed to echo in the corridor. "What the hell is wrong with you, Dominick?" she spat, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and disbelief.