Page 9 of Marked By the Billionaire
“You look gorgeous, but I could find you a leather corset and a pair of fishnets if you’d rather.”
“No.” She curls into the leather chair beside me, pulling her knees up like she’s protecting something. The rich fabric creaks softly beneath her, the room quiet enough to hear it. “I’m good.”
“You promised honesty, little lamb.” I take a sip of the bourbon, letting it burn. “What is it?”
Her gaze shifts to the fire reflecting something restless, as though she’s arguing with herself about something.
“Nothing. Thank you for the clothes.”
“This is going to get frustrating fast. I need you to be honest about your feelings the first time I ask. It’s part of the deal.” My tone is stiffer than I plan.
She bites the inside of her lip and stares at me. “It’s nothing. My sister texted. My dad… it’s a thing.” She lifts thehem of the sweater and bunches it in her fists, like she’s holding on to the softness with both hands.
My chest tightens. “What are you talking about?”
She drags in a heavy breath and lets it out slowly. “I don’t see how this is relevant.” Her throat tightens, and I watch a lump move slowly as she swallows.
“Tell me.” I press as though whatever’s on her mind is owed to me, though I’m not sure it actually is.
She leans forward, her gaze lambent with hesitation. “After my mom died, my dad went crazy. He started drinking all the time, and taking everything out on my sisters and I.” Her voice cracks, barely audible over the fire. “Everything was rules, consequences, expectations I didn’t understand. And when we failed to meet them, he’d remind us how worthless we are.”
I don’t interrupt. Instead, I let the weight of her confession thrum in the quiet.
“He once made me stay outside all night,” she says, “in the middle of winter because I forgot to feed the foals. It wasn’t intentional. I was sixteen. I’d had a hard day at school, our mom had passed away the year before, and I…” Her eyes meet mine, the sweater still clenched in her fists. “My sisters are still home getting terrorized. I’m using this money to move them out.”
I lean in, fingers curled tight around the glass as I study her expressions. There’s pain in her words, though she wears heavy emotional armor. I want to fix it for her, though I can’t figure why. I don’t usually involve myself in other people’s problems. But hers, I want to overhaul them.It has to be the moment.“So that’s why you have to stay available for your sisters?”
She stares toward me for a long moment, biting her lower lip. “Yeah… I need to get them out of there. It’s my number one plan. The moment we get out, we’re celebrating with a Morgan Waylon concert. Front row. His music really got us through thepast few years. My sisters are obsessed. They need something positive to hold on to.” Her lips move but I’m more focused on the tremble in her throat. The part she doesn’t show.
“I feel exposed.” She laughs nervously. “You have to tell me something now,” she says, still tugging on the hem of her sweater. “Something no one else knows.”
I lean back in the chair, melting ice in my glass still sharp enough to clink. “Well, now I want to hurt your dad. No one else knows that.”
“No, seriously. Tell me something about you. Something real.”
I groan. “For what it’s worth, I hated my father too. All his life, he never appreciated anything or anyone. Punched him square in the jaw when I was fifteen for talking shit to my mom. It was his favorite pastime. I thought it would fix him, that he’d see the hurt he was causing. It didn’t.” I pause and lock eyes with the girl in front of me. “It didn’t work last time, but I can offer your dad the same reminder, if you’re interested.”
She doesn’t speak right away. She just blinks, slow and deliberate, like she’s processing the weight of what I said. Then she exhales, and it’s shaky. “You’re not the first person to try,” she whispers, “but let’s do each other a favor and not sugarcoat things this weekend. I can play pretend with you, but I don’t need you getting all fake with me.”
“I’m not being fake. You’re so… sweet and… innocent. I don’t understand how anyone hurts you and sleeps at night.”
“No one should hurt anyone. Innocence has nothing to do with it.”
“You’re right, but in this situation, it does. I mean, you’re small and you’ve got some grown man taking advantage of you. It’s fucked up.” I shift in my seat, suddenly aware of how close we are and how quiet the room’s gotten. The air feels thick, like it’s holding its breath with us.
“I can take care of myself.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. Then I see the tear that slips past her defenses. She wipes it away fast, like it betrayed her. “Sorry, I don’t cry in front of people. I work. I work hard and I make money so I can get my sisters out of the mess we’re in. That’s why I’m here. Not for sweet nothings. I’m here for my family.”
I watch for a moment, memorizing her softness.
She wipes her eyes, pretends she’s fine, but I can see it. She’s unraveling.
“You’re allowed to fall apart,” I say quietly. “You don’t have to hold it together for me. I won’t pretend with you if it makes you uncomfortable.”
She shakes her head, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “It’s been so long since I’ve let go, I don’t even know how anymore. It’s like my fingers are bent around the rope so tight they’re fused in place.”
Her eyes meet mine with something raw I can’t explain. Something I’ve seen in people strung out with work, burnt out by responsibility, but never in this context.
I lean forward, my voice low as I ask, “Will you let me show you how to let go?”
