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Cocktails, Crystal, and a Last Name
Last Updated:
2026-02-13 23:34:14
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The Billionaire's Regret Blue Skies Lie
The Monte Carlo sky was way too blue for the amount of drama waiting underneath it.Our black car glided down the boulevard toward the French Academy. The street was still relatively quiet; just a few SUVs and sedans heading toward the preschool.I was driving, one hand on the wheel, the other wrapped around my coffee tumbler. Hazel sat in the passenger seat, oversized sunglasses covering half her face even though the sun wasn’t fully awake yet. In the backseat, the world was falling apart.“Too tight! Auntie, I’m not a chicken!” Poppy protested, voice climbing half an octave.Rhea groaned. “Hold still for two seconds, general, or your ponytail’s going to lean like my life.”I glanced at the rearview mirror.Poppy sat in her car seat, the straps already fastened, her little body tilted because Rhea was half-climbing over from the side, both hands buried in Poppy’s long hair. Her bangs fell over her eyes, blocking half her view, but doing absolutely nothing to reduce the number of comp
The Billionaire's Regret Someone Is Counting Years
I leaned back against the headboard, bare feet on the duvet, my thin cream silk pajamas already torn a little at the sleeve, no idea when that happened. The laptop sat closed beside me, Montreux documentation abandoned.Hazel and Rhea were now in their respective guest rooms. The last thing I’d heard was them debating whether eating cheese was healthier or if surrendering to a beautiful death was the better choice. Salma had left two hours ago, the house remaining in a status I’d call “relatively not on fire.”I took a long breath and closed my eyes for a moment. I could still smell the faint white-floral perfume drifting in from the kitchen, even though the flowers were already buried in the trash. A ghost of an expensive scent. Annoying.My phone vibrated against my chest. My eyes opened.The name on the screen: Adrian. His profile photo was a candid, Poppy on his shoulders with a serious face, and him looking resigned but happy. Hazel had taken that picture, and now it lived rent-f
The Billionaire's Regret Bouquet of Warnings
Night slipped down over a city too polished to have any real secrets. From the wide balcony on the top floor, the harbor lights scattered yellow streaks across the water. Yachts glowed like expensive toys on a rich kid’s shelf.The sliding doors had been left open. Salt air drifted in, mixing with the scent of wine, half-burned vanilla candles, and a thin curl of smoke from a cigarette in a glass ashtray.Poppy had passed out an hour ago after a long negotiation about how many bedtime stories were acceptable and whether a unicorn was allowed under the blanket. On a normal night, I’d be out too.Tonight wasn’t normal.Hazel lounged in a chair, her long legs propped on the armrest, one hand holding a wineglass, the other spinning an empty lighter between her fingers. Rhea sat on the floor with her back against the wall, her glass placed beside her knee, her hair tied up in a lazy knot.I stood near the railing, half leaning on it, one hand holding an unlit cigarette. The thing felt too
The Billionaire's Regret People Are Exhausting
I lean my head back against the seat and let out a long breath, like my lungs are finally remembering their job. Monaco slides past the window in its annoying postcard version. Clean sidewalks. Glittering storefronts. Beautiful people carrying expensive coffee and polite little problems.I close my eyes.Poppy’s face comes first.Messy bangs. Maple-syrup mouth, even though she hadn’t had any. “MOMMY SAID I WIN.”Then those cold blue eyes.Then the silence in the conference room.Shit.“If Sebastian asks a single question about my kid,” I say, still not opening my eyes, “I will burn Monaco to the ground and call it a yacht accident. I’m serious, Dan.”Daniella turns her head, studies me for two seconds, then nods with an expression so solemn it could be carved into stone. “Noted,” she says. “I’ll prep the alibi.”I open one eye and look at her.She gives a tiny shrug. “If we’re committing crimes, we still have to be organized.”A snort escapes me, something almost like a laugh, almost
The Billionaire's Regret No Place Left to Hide
“Mommyyyy—”Poppy’s voice is still loud, full of demands and imaginary maple syrup.I force my lungs to work, pull my smile back into place. “Just eat the waffle,” I say that too quickly. “Whatever you want. But brush your teeth first. Now.”Poppy beams at the camera like she’s won a constitutional battle. “I knew Mommy loves me the most,” she declares before yelling over her shoulder, “AUNTIE HAZEL, MOMMY SAID I WIN!”In the frame, Hazel raises her coffee mug with the expression of someone betrayed by her own country. Rhea appears from the other side, patting Poppy’s head gently while half-asleep.“Love you, Mommy,” Poppy says, pressing her nose too close to the camera.“Love you too.”Poppy hits something at random.The screen goes black.I place the phone on the table, face-down, moving slowly. My fingers are cold.Luc gives a warm smile, utterly unaware that he just witnessed a grenade go off. “Well,” he says with a shrug. “The most honest negotiation we’ve had this morning.”I le
The Billionaire's Regret The Slip
The door opens again, soft and controlled, and Luc walks back in. “Sorry,” he says, nudging the door shut with his hip. “Board call. They wanted to make sure we’re not turning Monaco into, quote, ‘a place where rich people learn how to be human.’”I lift a brow. “They’re late. That’s already the city’s unofficial slogan.”Luc laughs under his breath, then moves to the end of the conference table. He grabs a marker and writes two words on the whiteboard along the wall: Narrative and Numbers.“Next week’s presentation,” he says, slipping seamlessly back into work mode. “We have two types of investors. The ones who care about the story, and the ones who care about the math. I want our deck to speak to both without sounding bipolar.”I nod, already stepping into safer territory. This is mine while Sebastian is still in the room.He hasn’t said a word since that last sentence, but his attention clings to me anyway, a pressure along my skin like a touch that never quite lands. I try to shov
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