Page 47 of Beauty and the Billionaire

Zain

The rhythm establisheditself as days passed, each a little different than the one before it.

Mornings found me in Dominic’s bed rather than my own, and days passed in busy work. After Dominic had insisted on terminating the contract, I found myself missing it. We spoke about it at length until we agreed that simply helping him comb through the information on the men who had once bullied him didn’t need to constitute a working relationship. “Just a good guy helping his boyfriend,” I’d said, almost tripping over the word when a grin stretched my lips.

In the days that followed, I got used to it. We were a couple—an odd one, but a couple nonetheless.

There was more to Dominic than he had allowed me to see at the start. And as we navigated the strange new waters of something like a relationship, I discovered that he was a much more caring and attentive man. It had never been about his lack of kindness but the barriers he had placed between his caring nature and the world that looked down on things like that.

We had long conversations in the evenings, often about books in his library. He had been collecting rare editions, books banned at various points in history, and such rich and incredible queer reads that it felt like every time I browsed through his library, I discovered something new and unexpected.

We also talked about the future in a careful, noncommittal way. We talked about it vaguely, never imposing expectations.

“You’ll see just how thrilling it can be to hike through the forests in northern Sweden,” he would say. Or, “There are interesting estates closer to the city I noticed today.” Subtle hints or plain, they peppered our days. It was Dominic’s way of telling me he wouldn’t get bored of me. He saw a future in which I had a place, but he never pushed it hard. It was as though he feared sweeping me off my feet with the sweetness of his promises, so he kept it low and abstract and hypothetical. But the glimmers of hope were unmistakable in his eyes when he asked me if I liked dogs or if the city was the only place where I could see myself.

So we did our little dating act throughout the rainy days, sitting together near a fireplace, reading, and talking about the things that could happen if only we were brave enough to will them into existence. Then, we retreated to the bedroom and left all the conversations on the other side of the door.

Dominic taught me so much in so little time. He gave me the pleasures I hadn’t realized our bodies were capable of.

It wasn’t just about physical intimacy, though Dominic was more generous than I’d ever imagined possible. It was the way he made me feel seen, pulling back layer after layer of who I thought I was, exposing the pieces I’d buried for so long. He didn’t demand that I share myself; it just happened naturally, bit by bit, like a puzzle being assembled with time and care.

Sometimes, when I caught him staring at me—when he thought I wasn’t looking—it wasn’t the same hungry, dark gaze that once sent shivers down my spine. Now, it was somethingsofter, something vulnerable. I think he knew, just as much as I did, that I had become a part of him. It wasn’t just lust or infatuation. It was something more, something deeper.You’re not just a fling, it said.There’s so much more to us.

The fear of it lingered between us, though. It wasn’t the kind of fear that paralyzed—it was the kind that kept you cautious, as if at any moment, the ground might give way beneath your feet. Neither of us was willing to acknowledge it outright, but it was there, hovering in the quiet moments after our conversations fell away and we were left with just each other, tangled in sheets and silence.

One night, as the rain pattered softly against the windows, Dominic turned to me, his hand warm on my back. “You know this is different for me, right?” His voice was low, almost uncertain, and it surprised me. He wasn’t often unsure of himself, but something about our time together made him hesitate.

“I know,” I replied, running my fingers over the back of his hand. “It’s different for me, too.” And it was. I had never felt this kind of connection with anyone before. The weight of what we were becoming felt heavy but not unbearable. In fact, it was almost comforting, like the knowledge that despite everything—our history, our differences, our fears—we were still here, still choosing to be together.

“I don’t want to lose this,” he murmured.

“Then don’t,” I whispered back.

Everything he said to me found a way to make me happy. His feelings were far from the unpredictable sort I had expected from him early on. He was a steady force of nature, touching me in ways that changed and improved us both.

I threw myself to work to make him happy in turn. The more I scratched the surface, the more I had to follow. While the gambling issues that had made Dominic’s takeover possiblewere now fairly public knowledge, I still compiled travel logs for all three men. Julian Hale turned out to be the most interesting one to follow, as Maxwell had mostly gone to very private gambling clubs that indebted him enough to lose him the company he’d helped build. Nicholas, on the other hand, was a plain and uninteresting man on the surface, and nothing he did was particularly out of the ordinary for men like him. He spent money lavishly on impressing people, cared greatly about his appearance, and enjoyed expensive wines.

Julian Hale’s activity was all over the place. He traveled from state to state in corporate jets, visiting two homes several times every month and taking his family on impromptu holidays without a strict schedule or pattern.

It took me the better part of two weeks to sort through Julian’s flights from the last two and a half years and another week to realize that there was one pattern that never changed. Every third week, Julian was in Boulder, Colorado. There were times he went there more often, adding noise to the pattern, but he never missed every third weekend.

I racked my head for two days about this. Nothing I looked for in the city told me why he would be interested in Boulder. I couldn’t quite convince myself that he simply enjoyed the breathtaking views of the Rockies.

My frustration with the mystery blew up one sleepy afternoon. The light pouring into the office was pale from the heavy rain clouds above us, and my eyelids dragged down as I read through emails dated around the times Julian Hale was in Colorado. It was an email to his assistant and a rare slip for Julian, whose correspondence usually felt cold and clipped in these times. It said, “Please deal with it however you see fit. I do not want this intrusion in our personal time. And if they can’t work with you on this, let them look elsewhere.”

I brought this to Dominic and watched the wolf emerge from far beneath the mellowed expressions I was getting used to seeing on his face. “Ourpersonal time?”

I nodded.

“And every third weekend?” he asked, his voice electric and cold.

“Sometimes more,” I said. “But the flight records show him always going there alone.”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed, warmth slowly leaving them. He stared at the screen like it was showing something it had repeatedly refused to show me. And finally, Dominic looked at me. “He’s got a lover.”

I blinked.

“He sure as hell isn’t visiting some old lady to keep her company,” Dominic growled. “He has someone on the side.”

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