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A Week Away, A Past Too Close

Author: Krystal Bahmz
last update publish date: 2026-02-08 23:28:15

The restaurant chose soft lighting instead of dramatic darkness. Thank God. I’d had enough drama for one night.

We sat on a small terrace facing the sea; the wind carried salt and a hint of overexcited tourist perfume. The lights in the port shimmered below, boats swaying lazily. Our table was small, white tablecloth, a tiny candle in the middle. The perfect date-night setting if my brain wasn’t packed with TNT.

“This is really good,” Adrian said, setting down the menu. “Thanks for kidnapping m
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  • The Billionaire's Regret   Does Adrian Know?

    I didn’t look back when I left the meeting room.That mattered. It mattered very much. There were small things a woman had to preserve when her life was trying to fold itself into humiliating origami. Not looking back was one of them. Not speeding up her steps, either. Not touching her own chest to make sure her heart was still in place. Not thinking about the palm of my hand that had just pressed against Sebastian’s shirt and discovered, with spectacular biological insult, that the man’s body was still warm.Daniella attached herself to my side the second I reached the end of the corridor. “Boss?” she asked quietly.“I’m fine.”“I haven’t asked yet.”“You were going to.”She pressed her lips together, holding back what was most likely an unhealthy comment for office hours.“The car?” I asked.“Ready. But what about Mr. Romano?”“I left him in his natural habitat.”“An expensive room with white flowers and emotional pressure?”“Exactly.”Daniella looked down at her tablet, but I saw h

  • The Billionaire's Regret   Him or Him

    I walked ahead of Sebastian because if he walked in front of me, I would feel escorted, and if he walked beside me, I would remember our knees in the car. Two bad options. I chose the third: pretending I had control.Daniella was standing in front of the salon door with a tablet in her hand and the face of someone who had just been asked to save the company, the reputation, and possibly her boss’s life within one work hour.Her eyes dropped to me, then lifted to Sebastian.Only for a fraction of a second.Long enough to ask silently: Why is this expensive man here?I answered with a look: Don’t ask if you still value your life.“The buyer is already inside,” she said quietly. “Luc arrived five minutes ago. There are two representatives from the buyer’s side, one legal advisor, and one... I don’t know. They said family office.”“I don’t know?” I repeated.“A man in a dark blue suit who hasn’t touched his mineral water. So clearly he’s either dangerous or dehydrated.”I almost smiled. A

  • The Billionaire's Regret   Conflict of Interest

    I walked ahead of Sebastian because if he walked in front of me, I would feel escorted, and if he walked beside me, I would remember our knees in the car. Two bad options. I chose the third: pretending I had control.Daniella was standing in front of the salon door with a tablet in her hand and the face of someone who had just been asked to save the company, the reputation, and possibly her boss’s life within one work hour.Her eyes dropped to me, then lifted to Sebastian.Only for a fraction of a second.Long enough to ask silently: Why is this expensive man here?I answered with a look: Don’t ask if you still value your life.“The buyer is already inside,” she said quietly. “Luc arrived five minutes ago. There are two representatives from the buyer’s side, one legal advisor, and one... I don’t know. They said family office.”“I don’t know?” I repeated.“A man in a dark blue suit who hasn’t touched his mineral water. So clearly he’s either dangerous or dehydrated.”I almost smiled. A

  • The Billionaire's Regret   Be Quiet and Useful

    A few hours later, Poppy had been moved to the family room sofa with a light blanket, Bunny tucked under one arm, and an iPad playing cartoons at a lowered volume after Salma threatened to send the cartoon characters to boarding school. She was still complaining about gelato every twenty minutes, but her tone had gone lazier. A good sign.I had shifted into the mood of a woman who had to face a private Montreux buyer without killing anyone.The meeting was being held at a boutique hotel near Carré d’Or. Not the project site, just neutral ground with a private salon discreet enough for big-money conversations and pretty enough to make people forget everyone inside was assessing one another like expensive fish in an aquarium.I stood in the foyer, sliding my tablet, a slim folder, lipstick, and a charger into my black leather bag. Daniella had already texted three times.[Daniella: Buyer confirmed. They’re already at the hotel.][Daniella: Luc isn’t there yet, but his assistant is.][Da

  • The Billionaire's Regret   The Cologne Villain

    I’m wearing a champagne-colored silk shirt, too delicate for a day that had already been ruined, tucked carelessly into black wide-leg pants. My hair was pulled into a messy bun, a few strands falling at the nape of my neck.“I said I don’t want oatmeal!”I heard her before I saw her.Her little voice echoed from the dining room, still a little raspy because her throat was recovering, but sharp enough to crack glass if aimed with intent.I stopped on the last step, hand on the railing, and closed my eyes for a moment.God gave humans mornings so they could start their lives over. God gave me Poppy Belsky so I would never get too confident about that concept.“I need gelato,” she continued from the dining room. “For recovery.”“Gelato is not medicine.” Salma’s voice came through, patient, but already standing at the edge of the bridge.“That’s because you’re not a doctor, Salma.”“I’ve lived longer than all the little doctors who like glitter.”“I’m not a little doctor. I’m a patient.”

  • The Billionaire's Regret   Not Too Close

    I watched his hand.Again.The hand that had just made investors go quiet. The hand now tucking the blanket beneath my daughter’s chin.Ridiculous, the things that could break a person a little.Not the big sentences. Not the apologies. Not dark eyes and a low voice that had once made me forget logic had practical uses. Not even the fact that Sebastian Romano had just defended my design better than most of the people I paid to defend project timelines.But a hand.One hand under Poppy’s chin, making sure the blanket didn’t touch her nose.As if the world could be rearranged from that one small movement.I stood where I was, my iPad pressed to my chest like a very expensive and completely useless shield.Sebastian didn’t step back from the sofa right away. He stayed bent slightly, his eyes on Poppy’s face. Her bangs had fallen over her forehead again, and he brushed them aside gently. Very gently. As if Poppy’s hair was made of something that could keep the memory of touch.“She’ll be

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