Taming the billionaire's heart

The belt cracked against the doorframe inches from her head. "Get back here, you ungrateful little bitch!" Kyrie didn't look back. She couldn't. If she saw his face red, the same face that had promised her the world when she was six and destroyed it by the time she was sixteen, she might freeze. And freezing meant dying. Maybe not tonight. But someday. She flew down the stairs, her bare feet barely touching the worn carpet. Behind her, the door slammed open, and her father's voice chased her into the night. "You'll be back! You hear me? You'll crawl back!" The gravel driveway shredded her soles, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. The beat-up sedan was where she'd left it, keys hidden under the front tire like she'd planned for three months, seventeen days, and every sleepless night in between. The engine coughed to life. Her hands shook so badly she could barely shift into drive. In the rearview mirror, her father stood in the doorway, a silhouette backlit by the yellow por

she groaned, rolling over and stretching lazily until she smiled. For one perfect moment, she lay there, remembering yesterday. The café. David's hand shaking hers. She pressed her face into the pillow, breathing in the scent of Mandy's vanilla candles, and let the feeling settle into her. her eyes drifted to the clock.Her stomach plummeted, a freefall that seemed to last forever before slamming into something hard and cold. "oh, God!" She flung the blanket aside and bolted from the bed, bare feet skidding on the hardwood. The bathroom door slammed behind her. Water thundered. She scrubbed shampoo through her hair with shaking hands, watching the minutes bleed away in the fogged mirror. How? How had she slept through everything? Back in the bedroom, water dripping from her curls onto the floor, she yanked open her suitcase. Her hands hovered over the red dress. her gaze shifted.The vintage outfit lay folded beneath it, high-waisted trousers, crisp blouse, fitted blazer. The beret

The clock struck midnight. Its chime drifted through the Reynolds estate, splitting the silence open.. From his armchair, Cassian sat still, back stiff, a glass of whiskey in his hand untouched. He hated this room. The smell of old paper and polished wood.The air felt heavy with decisions made by men long dead, and every breath he took tasted like obedience he resented. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, untouched by time and untouched by wonder. His grandfather’s study stood like a shrine to legacy. One he never volunteered to kneel before. “Cass,” the old man said from across the room, voice slow and heavy. “You’ve been avoiding this long enough.”“I haven’t avoided anything,” he replied, eyes still on his glass. “I’ve simply been uninterested.”Grandfather grunted. “You’re thirty-two. It’s time you started acting like a Reynolds.”Cassian smirked into his drink. “And what exactly does that mean? Cold, brutal, and bored to death of life?”The silence that followed fe

The bar was quieter than it had been earlier. Low lights. Soft jazz humming like a heartbeat. Cassian Wycliffe Reynolds slid onto the stool at the end of the counter, loosening the top button of his shirt. He looked like he’d walked off a film set sharp jawline, undone tie, and eyes full of thoughts too raw for polite company. Leo the bartender, an older man with neat salt-and-pepper hair and a knack for reading moods, slid him a glass of scotch without being asked. “Found her, then?” he said, drying a tumbler. Cassian took a sip before answering. “Yeah.” Leo raised an eyebrow. “So? Is she the one?” Cassian’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Yes… and no.” Leo stilled. “What the hell does that mean?” Cassian leaned in, elbows on the bar, like he was finally admitting something to himself.“She’s the girl. The one who went head tohead with Lucian the other day.” That earned a pause. “The girl who told your cousin off? What about her?” “She works in the same building no

Sebastián stood in the kitchen, hands on his hips, scanning the small space like a soldier preparing for battle.“Okay…” he muttered. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”He opened the fridge, half-expecting it to be empty, but was pleasantly surprised to find a tray of beef strips, a few bell peppers, garlic, onions, a carton of eggs, and a container of leftover rice.“Bingo.”Without another thought, he rolled up his sleeves, tied on a faded apron hanging near the stove, he guessed it was Mandy’s and got to work. Within minutes, the kitchen filled with the savory aroma of garlic sizzling in oil. He tossed in the beef strips, then the peppers and onions, his movements showed someone who spent most of his time in the kitchen. A separate pan held the rice, sizzling with soy sauce, a bit of sugar, and scrambled egg mixed in. He tasted the sauce and smiled. “Still got it.”Just as he plated the food a hearty dish of stir-fried beef with egg rice and peppers a soft gasp came from behind.