Page 1 of Her Naughty Billionaire

Chapter 1

Sophia

TheCarterManorisa sprawling estate, its impressive walls catching the last golden rays of the setting sun. Today, though, its majestic gardens are filled with people in somber tones, speaking in hushed voices, offering condolences. I make my way through my father’s memorial, each step firm and determined. My black dress is more statement than mourning attire, its form-fitting design a testament to my refusal to be seen as a grieving, weakened heiress.

"Ah, Sophia," Mrs. Harrington says as she sidles up to me, her heavy fur coat entirely inappropriate for the weather. Her voice is soft, but her eyes, calculating and curious, dart all over me, as if trying to gauge the extent of my devastation. "So tragic," she continues, but it's obvious she's more interested in the latest gossip than offering genuine sympathy.

“Thank you,” I reply, touching my necklace out of habit. The locket—Dad’s last gift to me—rests cold against my skin, grounding me.

Yet, as I move on, the comforting memories of my father are tainted by the jarring reality of the financial statements I'd recently pored over. Since his unexpected death, the legacy he left behind is teetering on the brink of ruin, and it seems everyone knows it.

Whispers reach my ears, and I catch snippets of hushed conversations. "Such a shame," one woman tuts, a gleam in her eye that belies her words. Another man casts a lingering gaze on an old portrait, lips curled in pity and disdain.

The house may be the same, but its foundations feel shaken, and I can't help but wonder if everyone senses the cracks forming beneath us.

I see my mother near a garden window. She's in a black dress, looking as put-together as ever, but when I get closer, I can hear her trying to muffle her crying. The weight of the day is clearly hitting her hard.

"Mom," I murmur, wrapping an arm around her waist.

She leans into me, her tears staining my shoulder. "It's just so unreal, Sophia. One moment, he was here, laughing about some silly thing, and then... gone. Just like that." She shakes her head, a wisp of her silver hair falling over her eyes.

I tighten my grip around her. "I know. It's unfair."

She looks up at me, her mascara smeared. "Do you think we'll get through this? Not just today, but everything?"

"We have to," I reply. "We'll find a way. We always do."

She nods, sniffling and wiping her tears. "Your father would've been so proud of you, Sophia. The way you've handled everything, the strength you've shown."

I bite back a response, thinking of how Dad always acted strong for everyone, like everything was fine. A part of me can't help but feel betrayed. It's frustrating that he didn't let me in on what was really going on. Now, it's like I'm stepping into his shoes, keeping up appearances just like he did.

"Let's get through today first,” I finally say. “And remember, Mom, you're not alone. You've got me."

“And me,” chimes in a familiar voice nearby.

Turning, I find my best friend’s warm brown eyes fixed on us, her auburn hair falling in waves around her shoulders. She’s dressed in an understated black dress, always the master of elegance.

“Ava,” I exhale, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly.

She steps closer, offering my mother a tender hug. "Mrs. Carter, I'm so, so sorry."

"Thank you, dear." My mother's voice breaks, but she manages a genuine smile for Ava.

Ava turns her attention back to me, squeezing my arm in silent support. "How are you holding up?"

"Barely," I admit, the rawness in my voice belying my earlier composure. "It's a lot."

She nods, understanding without me having to say more.

A voice dripping with faux sympathy interrupts our moment. "Sophia, tragic about your father.”

I turn this time to face Gregory Danforth, a notorious social climber with a reputation for circling the vulnerable like a vulture. His slicked-back hair and too-tight suit scream desperation, a stark contrast to the genuine mourners.

“And speaking of tragedy, that vase in the east wing," he motions vaguely with his hand, "from the Ming Dynasty, isn't it? I heard it's worth a fortune. Do you think, perhaps—"

"This isn't an estate auction, Mr. Danforth," I snap.

Ava jumps in, her voice icy. "Have some respect. It's a memorial, not a marketplace."

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