Page 2 of Her Naughty Billionaire

The man shrinks back, clearly not expecting the united front. He mutters something unintelligible, casting one last greedy glance toward the vase before scurrying away.

Breathing deeply, I mutter, "The audacity of some people."

Ava shakes her head, her eyes darkening. "Don't worry, Soph, I've got your back.”

“Thanks, Ava.” Then, in a quieter voice, I ask, “Do you think you could stay with Mom for a bit? I need a break.”

“Of course,” Ava agrees readily, looping her arm through my mother’s and turning her toward the kitchen.

Walking in from the garden, I head straight for the piano room. It's familiar, always a quiet place for me in this vast house. As I close the door, the distant chatter becomes a murmur. The room's simple lighting and the sight of the piano in the corner give me a sense of comfort.

The bench creaks slightly as I sit, my fingers hovering over the ivory keys. This piano has been an old friend—afternoons spent under the strict tutelage of Mrs. Langley, laughing duets with Dad, the nights alone on this bench, playing to a quiet house.

Taking a deep breath, I allow my fingers to glide across the keys, playing from memory. The tune is melancholic, a wistful piece. Each note rises and falls, echoing the highs and lows, the love and loss. The music envelops me, acting as a temporary shield against the reality awaiting beyond these walls.

For those fleeting moments, I'm not Sophia Carter, heiress to a crumbling legacy; I'm just a daughter missing her father.

As the final notes fade, the unexpected sound of applause pierces the cocoon I'd wrapped myself in. Jerking upright, I’m met with the piercing blue eyes of none other than Victor Thorn. Leaning nonchalantly against the wall, his tall, tailored silhouette seems out of place in this intimate setting.

“That was lovely, Ms. Carter.”

There’s an ease in his voice, a familiarity that catches me off guard. Victor Thorn is the epitome of new money—ambitious, ruthless, and unapologetically crass. While my father made no secret of his disdain for the man, I'd always found myself sneaking glances his way during the few events we’d both attended, though our paths rarely crossed. I can't deny it; he's devastatingly handsome, with a magnetic pull that's hard to resist.

But he's the antithesis of everything the Carters stand for. He’s wild, unrefined. Not for me... or so I keep telling myself.

“Mr. Thorn, isn’t it?” I stand and face him. “Can I help you with something?”

He takes a few strides into the room, and before I can move, he’s leaning against the piano just a foot from me. “I believe you can, yes. It’s concerning your father," he starts, watching me with those intense blue eyes, seeking a reaction.

A shiver races down my spine, but it's not solely from his words. It’s from his proximity. Every part of me becomes acutely aware of Victor Thorn: the scent of his cologne, the slight rasp in his voice, the way the light shadows the chiseled line of his jaw.

"My father had many acquaintances. I wasn't aware you were one of them," I reply evenly, not knowing where he’s going with this and not liking the feeling that I’m about to be caught by surprise.

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, we were more than acquaintances, Ms. Carter. Your father owed me a significant sum of money."

I school my face to hide any trace of shock. But inside? Panic wrestles with disbelief. My father must have been truly desperate to do business with this man. “This is hardly the time or place to discuss business, Mr. Thorn. I don’t know how they do things in your circles—”

“I have no circles,” he interrupts me. “Only interests. And currently, you’re at the center of one.” His gaze doesn’t waver, holding mine with a challenging intensity.

I straighten up, pushing every ounce of Carter pride to the forefront. "Look, Mr. Thorn, whatever business you had with my father, I will handle it. We can discuss it at another time, not in the middle of his memorial."

His smile is a dangerous curve, both enticing and intimidating. "I admire your spirit, Ms. Carter. But don't think for a second that his death will deter me from what's owed."

The insolence of the man leaves me momentarily breathless. Swallowing hard, I try to regain my composure. "Give me a figure. Let’s settle this now. I won't have the Carter name tarnished."

Victor pauses for a moment, letting the weight of the situation hang in the air. He taps a rhythmical beat on the side of the piano with his fingers—a slow, methodical dance that seems to mirror the pace of my racing heart.

“The debt, Ms. Carter, is fifteen million dollars.”

The air in the room grows thin, and my vision blurs momentarily as the magnitude of that number sinks in. Fifteen million? What had my father done?

I cross my arms, attempting to put on a defiant front when all I really want is to crumple to the ground. "There must be some mistake."

"No mistake," he replies coolly, that predatory gleam growing brighter in his eyes. "You asked for the figure. Now you have it."

I'm trapped in a suffocating silence, thoughts whirling. We don't have that kind of liquid cash. Carter Manor, the family businesses—all would be at risk. The legacy my ancestors built reduced to rubble.

Reading my turmoil with an unsettling precision, Victor continues, "But, as with most things in life, there's always another way. A solution that can be mutually beneficial."

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