Chapter 9

"Are you serious? You look like you're about to cash in your chips! Did you hurt yourself when you were charging at me?"

He shook his head slowly, a grimace distorting his perfect features. "Top drawer."

I didn't hesitate. I dashed across the room to the massive dark-wood cabinet. I yanked the top drawer open and found a small, unmarked amber bottle. I grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table and rushed back to him.

"Here."

He took the bottle with a shaky hand and dry-swallowed a few tablets before taking a gulp of water. He leaned his head against the wall, eyes closed, focusing on his breathing. It took a full five minutes, but the tension slowly began to ease from his body.

I sat there on the floor next to him, utterly stunned. This wasn't the invincible CEO from the boardroom. This was just a man in pain. A man who had a massive, secret weakness.

"What... what was that?" I asked quietly when he seemed steady enough to talk.

He opened his eyes, and they were still guarded, but the anger was gone, replaced by exhaustion. He looked straight into my eyes and said in a low voice, "nothing."

I just stared at him. I had saved his life, or at least pulled him back from a serious panic. And now he refused to say anything. I have no doubt that he was pissed that I saw him like that

I was kneeling on the floor, still stunned, holding that bottle of anonymous pills. The look on his face when the  pain or whatever it was hit him was raw, terrifying, and completely unguarded. The most I’d ever seen him drop that mask. It was like seeing a massive,  skyscraper suddenly turn to dust.

He slowly pushed himself up, leaning against the wall, taking these  deep, silent breaths. The panic was fading, replaced by something even colder: pure, unadulterated fury that I had witnessed his weakness. The room was thick with it.

He finally looked at me. Not a word of thanks for the water, the pills, or the fact that I hadn't made a sound. That’s just who he is: a man who buries every problem and every secret deep inside. He wasn’t going to talk about whatever just happened to him. Ever.

"You saw nothing," he ground out, his voice a dry, rasping sound. It wasn't a request; it was an order. "You don't mention this. Not to my grandmother, not to anyone."

I stood up, crossing my arms. He was back to being the bastard. "Oh, I saw something, alright,"

His eyes narrowed, daring me. “You wouldn't want your mothers treatment to stop would you?” he said

"If you ever, ever use my mother as leverage again," I warned him, keeping my voice low and dangerous, "I will not only tell the world about what happened here, but I’ll make sure your rivals know you’re too fragile to run a multinational corporation. Your reputation? Finished. Your company? Exposed. You go near my mother's treatment, and I'll drop the bomb."

He stayed silent, but I could see the muscles tightening in his neck. He knew I meant it. He knew I was the one person not afraid of him, and now I had the leverage to prove it.

"And another thing," I continued, pressing the advantage. "All those 'rules' you gave me? They're out the window. My new rule is the only one that matters: you stay out of my way, and I stay out of yours. You're a ghost to me. Got it, ?"

He didn't move, just stared at me with that intense, silent scrutiny. It was his greatest trick, using silence to make you feel like you were the one losing the argument. But tonight, I wasn't buying it. I snatched the glass and the pill bottle and dropped them on the bedside table.

"I’m done," I said flatly, walking straight to the bed and climbing under the covers. I didn't care if he was still standing there, recovering from a literal collapse. I turned my back to him, shutting my eyes.

The rest of the night was pure misery. I couldn't sleep. Every shift he made in that chair, every quiet breath, kept me on edge. I knew I had just signed up for a much more dangerous game than a contract marriage. This was war now, and I had the master key to his entire arsenal.

The morning came , thank god. Before I even had a chance to get up, there was a quiet knock on the door. It was his Grandmother, her voice like a soft bell. "Killian, dear? Nova? You can come out now. I hope you've resolved your... differences."

He sat there looking like he'd slept for twelve hours on a silk pillow, his usual immaculate, emotionless self. He opened the door a crack, just enough to speak to his Grandmother without letting her see the mess we’d made.

"Good morning, Grandmother. We understand the terms," he said, his voice quiet. The nerve of him.

"Excellent. Killian, you must get Nova straight back to the house. You have a ten o'clock meeting, remember? No distractions," she instructed, her voice holding a subtle warning against going to check on the situation at the house.

I scrambled into my clothes. I made sure to walk past him on my way out, pointedly ignoring him, maintaining the "ghost" rule. He didn't even twitch.

The drive back was exactly what I expected: long, tense, and silent. He drove like a maniac, focused entirely on the road, not sparing me a single look. I spent the entire time watching the scenery, steeling myself. I had to remember why I was here: mother, mother, mother. One year of this bizarre life for her health.

As the gates of the mansion loomed into view, my stomach started to churn. I knew Tanya was there. She was the one he was constantly protecting, the one whose flimsy  drama had forced us into the locked room to begin with.

 It was bad enough being married to a cold idiot, but having the woman he clearly favoured camped out in my contractual home? That was going to test my patience.

The car pulled up to the front entrance, which was surprisingly busy. Standing by the door was: Pascal, the Head of Security. He was holding a folder and looking serious.

Killian didn't even wait for the car to stop. He was out and talking business before the doors were unlocked.

"Everything under control, Pascal?" he demanded, taking the folder. He kept his back to me, avoiding any chance of me or Pascal seeing an interaction.

"Yes, Mr. Ashford. Ms. Davis's plumbing issue is being resolved at her place. She is recovering comfortably in the guest room," Pascal reported, his voice low and professional.

So, Tanya was indeed in the house. And she wasn't just a visitor; she was recovering there. 

Pascal continued, "I also need to inform you of a situation, sir. The invitations for the Ellington Charity Gala have been prematurely leaked. You are listed as attending with a 'Mystery Companion,' which the press is already speculating about. Given the sensitive nature of your private affairs..."

He froze. I saw his shoulders stiffen under the expensive suit. That was his biggest concern. He couldn't be seen with me in public, or anyone, for that matter, because it would immediately raise questions about his supposed commitment to Tanya or expose the contract to the press, which was a clear violation of his rules. He hated public attention, hated being questioned.

He slowly turned, finally looking at me not with anger, but with an intense, calculated fear. He still hadn't said a word about Tanya, maintaining his silence.

I walked right past them , that had nothing to do with me, 

 "Cancel the Gala. Use the global crisis protocol. No details." I heard him say,  his voice a low grow

"Understood, sir," Pascal replied, 

I could feel his icy gaze boring into my back, but I didn't care. I headed straight for the staircase.

This house was now a battlefield, and I was armed. I was no longer just waiting out a contract; I was fighting to survive and protect my mother, and now I had a weapon Killian never saw coming. The whole year suddenly looked a lot less boring.

I headed straight up the stairs to my own territory at the far end of the hall. I needed to wash off the weird energy of the past 12 hours.

After a quick change just jeans and a simple t-shirt I realised my stomach was growling. I hadn't eaten properly since last night . I was hungry, and nothing, not a moody billionaire or his clingy friend, was going to stop me from getting breakfast.

I found the dining room, and yeah, there they were. The two of them.

He was already at the huge mahogany table, way down the far end. He wasn't even looking at his food, just hunched over a tablet, his eyes moving across some dense financial charts. He was completely shut off, just like always.