THE BILLIONAIRE'S MERMAID

Chapter Two: The Cold Billionaire's Secret

Psyche's POV:

There's an irony in being at the top of the world, surrounded by power, wealth, and admiration, but feeling utterly hollow. The media paints me as Psyche Zypheria, the cold, ruthless CEO who clawed her way to the top of the business world and never looked back. But beneath the sleek designer clothes, the impenetrable aura, and the carefully curated image, I am nothing more than a hopeless romantic, nursing a secret that could ruin me.

I've built an empire, one that rivals the greatest names in the world, and yet it's not enough. It's never been enough because all of it, every dollar, every deal, every sacrifice I've made, has been for her. Venus.

Venus has been the center of my universe since we met in college, though she has no idea. Her laughter, her bright eyes, the effortless beauty she carries like she's made of stardust—it's all intoxicating. I'm not the type to get swept up in fantasies, but she's different. She always has been.

She's everything I'm not. I'm the cold, calculating woman who built an empire with sheer determination and grit. Venus? She's carefree, spontaneous, a beacon of light. She has a way of drawing people in, like they can't help but love her. I certainly couldn't. Even when I didn't want to.

It's funny, though. For all my power, for all the control I have over others, when it comes to her, I'm helpless. Pathetic, really. I could have anyone I want, but I can't have her. Not Venus.

The worst part? I've never had the guts to tell her.

Instead, I've spent years watching her from a distance, pretending to be her best friend, acting like I'm happy for her when she talks about her relationships. Like I wasn't slowly dying inside every time she laughed about something Jennie did. Jennie—the woman who stole her from me.

Well, stole isn't the right word, I guess. You can't steal something you never had, and I've never had Venus. She's with Jennie now, and I'm just the friend she calls to vent to when things go wrong. Jennie's a parasite, a gold-digging leech who clings to Venus because she sees her as a ticket to a glamorous life. I can see right through her. But Venus... Venus is too sweet, too good, too blind to see what's really happening.

And me? I'm too much of a coward to tell her.

I'm Psyche Zypheria—billionaire, powerhouse, master of the business world—and I'm scared to death of the one thing that really matters.

I can't tell Venus the truth. If I do, I might lose her forever, and I can't risk that. Even if it means enduring the heartbreak of seeing her with someone else, I'd rather have her as my best friend than not have her at all.

So, I keep my secret. I keep it locked away behind walls of steel, and I pretend. I pretend I'm not in love with her. I pretend I'm not falling apart every time she smiles at me. And when the loneliness gets too much, I distract myself with work, with parties, with flings.

The flings are just that—distractions. Women throw themselves at me. Some want my money, others want the thrill of being with someone who's always in the headlines. They never last. I don't let them. I always find something wrong, some excuse to end things before they get too close. None of them satisfy me. How could they when they aren't her?

But this emptiness... it's unbearable.

I was reminded of that five years ago, on a trip that should have been fun. It was just after our graduation, a group of us went to the coast for a vacation. Venus, of course, was the star of the trip. I should have been having the time of my life, surrounded by friends, celebrating the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. Instead, I was stuck in my own personal hell.

Venus, in a two-piece swimsuit, laughing and sunbathing on the beach, was the most stunning sight I'd ever seen. She was lying there, her skin glistening in the sun, her carefree laugh filling the air. It took everything in me not to stare at her, not to give myself away. I was supposed to be her best friend, not the lovesick fool who couldn't tear her eyes away.

But I wasn't the only one watching.

That was the first time I saw her—that girl with the blue eyes. She was hiding in the shadows, watching Venus just like I was. At first, I didn't think much of it. People were always drawn to Venus. But then I noticed the look in her eyes—the same look I had. A look of pure longing.

That's when I felt it. Jealousy. Not just jealousy—rage. Who the hell was she? What right did she have to look at Venus like that?

I hated her in that instant. I didn't even know her name, and I hated her.

She didn't approach Venus. She didn't even make herself known. She just watched, like she was mesmerized by her. And Venus, completely oblivious, laughed with our friends, unaware of the storm brewing inside me. I wanted to scream, to tell that girl to get lost, to stay away from what was mine.

But Venus wasn't mine.

She never was.

And I've never been able to forget that girl. I don't know why. It's not like she was anything special. But the way she looked at Venus? It was too familiar. It was like looking in a mirror and seeing my own desires reflected back at me. Maybe that's why I hated her so much—because she reminded me of everything I'm too afraid to admit.

A lot has happened since that trip. Jennie came into the picture not long after, and Venus fell for her hard. It killed me to see it, but I couldn't say anything. I had no right. So, I did what I always do—I focused on my work. I built my empire, expanded my business, made my name even bigger. Psyche Zypheria, the cold-hearted queen of the corporate world.

People think I have it all. They see the money, the power, the fame, and they assume I must be the happiest woman alive. But none of that means anything without her. Without Venus.

I don't know why I can't just let go. I've tried. God knows I've tried. But she's always there, in the back of my mind, no matter how hard I work or how many women I date. She's always there, and I can't escape her.

And now, Jennie's still in the picture. Jennie, with her fake smiles and her greedy hands. I've watched her worm her way into Venus' life, pretending to care while taking everything she can. And Venus, sweet, naïve Venus, still can't see it.

I hate Jennie. I hate everything about her. But most of all, I hate that I'm too afraid to do anything about it.

I've had other flings since Jennie showed up. Women who throw themselves at me, thinking they can tame the Ice Queen. But none of them can even touch me. They want something from me, something I can never give them. Because the truth is, the only person I've ever wanted has been Venus.

The others—they're just temporary distractions. They don't make my heart race. They don't make me lose sleep. They don't make me feel anything, really. It's not their fault. I'm broken, and they can't fix me.

No one can.

There's something deeply wrong with me. I've built walls so high that no one can get through. I push people away because it's easier than letting them in. But the truth is, I'm scared. I'm terrified of being vulnerable. Of letting someone see the real me. The me that's been in love with her best friend for years and can't admit it. The me that's hiding behind this cold, untouchable facade because the alternative is too painful to face.

Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I told Venus. If I confessed everything. Would she laugh? Would she be horrified? Or worse, would she pity me?

I can't stand the thought of her pity. I'd rather she hate me than feel sorry for me.

So, I stay quiet. I keep my secret buried deep, and I pretend everything's fine. I pretend I'm fine. But the truth is, I'm not. I'm not fine, and I haven't been for a long time.

I think about that girl from five years ago sometimes. The one who watched Venus from the shadows. I wonder if she ever did something about it, if she ever tried to find her, to be with her. Maybe she was braver than me. Maybe she went after what she wanted instead of hiding behind her fear.

But I guess I'll never know.

Because I'm Psyche Zypheria, and I don't get happy endings.