My Billionaire Boss Dared Me To Make Her Jealous, But Her Secret Revealed Who Really Owned My Heart

Three months later.

The lights of Manhattan twinkled outside the tall arched windows of Le Bernardin. The dining room was the epitome of Michelin-starred elegance: white tablecloths, soft chamber music, and impeccable waitstaff gliding between tables.

Camila sat across from me, looking breathtaking in a backless emerald-silk dress—a deliberate homage to the night our seven-day bet had started. Her dark hair was swept up in loose curls, her eyes sparkling with happiness and relief.

The past ninety days had been a whirlwind of triumph. Daniel Mercer had accepted a plea deal, surrendering all his equity shares in Northline at a steep discount, which the board promptly redistributed—including a three-percent equity grant given directly to me for saving the firm.

More importantly, the board had officially updated our corporate policies: as equal executive partners and co-owners, our romantic relationship was not only fully disclosed, but celebrated across the entire industry.

""You realize,"" I said, taking a sip of vintage Pinot Noir and looking across the candlelit table at my gorgeous partner, ""that according to the official terms of our wager, you owe me this dinner.""

Camila raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk dancing on her lips. ""Excuse me? If my memory serves me correctly, Wesley, you were the one who yelled into the wind that you were madly, hopelessly in love with me first. On a freezing terrace, in front of a telephoto lens.""

""Ah, but technicalities matter, Ms. Rhodes,"" I countered, leaning forward over the table. ""You admitted that you lost the bet five minutes after making it at the Marlowe Hotel. That means you cracked on Monday night. I held out until Friday.""

Camila laughed—a rich, full, unrestrained sound that filled my heart with overwhelming warmth. She reached across the white linen, sliding her slender, warm hand into mine, letting our fingers interlock over the table.

""Fine,"" she murmured softly, her brown eyes glowing with fierce devotion. ""I'll gladly pay for dinner tonight. And tomorrow night. And every night for the next fifty years.""

""Fifty years?"" I asked, my thumb tracing the delicate curve of her knuckles. ""Is that a proposal, boss?""

""No,"" Camila said softly, her breath catching as I slipped my other hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box, setting it gently on the table between us.

Her eyes widened in stunning shock. Tears immediately welled in her eyes as she looked from the box to my face.

""That,"" I said softly, my voice trembling with raw, undeniable emotion, ""is my proposal.""

I opened the box, revealing a flawless emerald-cut diamond ring that caught the candlelight in blinding flashes of green and gold.

""Three years ago, you were my untouchable CEO,"" I whispered, holding her hand tightly. ""Today, you're my partner, my equal, and the only woman who will ever own my heart. Will you marry me, Camila?""

Camila couldn't speak. She covered her mouth with her trembling hand, crying tears of pure, unadulterated joy. Around us, nearby diners began to notice, murmuring in delighted anticipation.

She dropped her hand, leaned across the table, and pulled my face to hers, kissing me with all the warmth, passion, and certainty in the world.

""Yes,"" she whispered against my lips, her voice breaking with happiness. ""A thousand times, yes.""

When we finally broke apart, she wiped a tear from her cheek and looked down at the glittering ring on her finger, then looked up at me with that signature, brilliant smirk I loved more than life itself.

""So,"" she whispered, leaning in close, ""do you think you'll ever need another woman's phone number in your pocket again?""