Page 117 of Money Reigns
“Foster?” I whisper.
He nods.
“My parents fostered a lot of kids. Not for money. Not even because they cared. It was for optics. To look like good billionaires.” He scoffs. “As if any of us are.”
I stay quiet. I can tell he’s somewhere else now, eyes distant, mouth a hard line.
“That was my first taste of the media, sharp, bitter, and ruinous.” he murmurs. “My family’s faces plastered across every paper. Talk shows. Lawsuits. The whispers. My parents were livid, but I—“ His voice falters for the first time. “I was the disappointment. Out of control. The one who didn’t care about the family name.”
The wind rustles through the trees, scattering petals like a silent kind of mourning.
I don’t speak. I don’t know what I could say.
He turns to me slowly, the sadness still there, but something else building underneath.
“So the Parker Building? Renovating it?” He gives a small, sharp smile. “That’s my penance. A monument to my failure. It’s more than I deserve.”
He reaches for my hand. Gathers it carefully, like he’s holding something breakable. Then he leans down and presses a kiss to my knuckles.
Soft. Reverent.
“But you,” he says, eyes lifting to mine, “you’re the one who brought that renovation back.”
My breath stutters.
“You’re the hope in the ashes, Olivia Baker.”
And just like that, I forget how to breathe.
He straightens, stillholding my hand.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get lunch. Then we’ll head back, get ready for the exhibit tonight.”
I nod, wordless, and let him lead me through the garden.
Not because I’m his.
But because, for the first time, he feels like mine too.
Chapter twenty-four
War
The room buzzes quietly, low murmurs, the occasional click of heels, the clink of crystal against glass.
I should be paying attention to the art. The patrons. The artist.
But I’m not.
I’m watching Olivia.
She’s in the dress I picked.
Red.
I told her once brunettes look stunning in red.
And I was right.
