The Billionaire's Sunshine

Lillium RooseveltIt had been a week since my mother passed, and the weight of her absence clung to my heart like a heavy shroud. I lay in the same worn-out bed in our small apartment, the familiar space echoing every memory of her. Sunlight streamed through the frayed curtains, casting a warm glow against the peeling walls that witnessed our joys and sorrows. My mother was my confidant, my sunshine, and my life. Without her, I felt adrift, grappling with grief while buried under piles of bills and debts that seemed insurmountable. The moment I lost her, I lost everything.I glanced around the room, cluttered with remnants of our life together. A dust-covered guitar that she used to strum softly in the evenings; photographs of birthdays and holidays that hung askew on the wall. Each memento tugged at my heart, a reminder of the love and laughter that had once filled the space. I had dropped out of college, feeling the crushing weight of responsibility as I took a job at this diner. My

Lillium Roosevelt “Lu,” Dominus said, his tone darkening. It wasn’t a request. It was a command, laced with a threat so potent it made my bones ache. "I said run."Something in me snapped. I turned on my heel and bolted—down the sidewalk, past the rusted fence, across the wet asphalt that shimmered under the streetlights. I didn’t care that he and his men watched me flee. I didn’t care that it made me look weak. I just ran. I could practically feel Dominus’s eyes boring into my back, the weight of his disappointment, or maybe it was anger, a heavy cloak around my shoulders. about him.Each step echoed in my ears like gunshots, my breath clouding in the freezing air. I didn’t stop until I was blocks away, lungs burning, the weight of his voice still coiled around my spine.I stumbled into a side street, leaned against a cold brick wall, and doubled over, trying to steady my breath. My hands were still trembling. The lunch box Tom gave me was crushed against my chest, the warmth from i

Adam LewistonAs the morning sun poured its golden rays through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, the light spilled across the silk sheets tangled at my waist. I stirred, the remnants of sleep still clinging to me, only to feel the weight of an arm draped possessively over my hip. My eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the soft brightness, and there he was—his bare chest rising and falling with the rhythm of untroubled sleep.The scent of sweat, sex, and something faintly expensive lingered in the air—perfume, maybe, or regret. The mingling of his cheaper cologne and my own, much more potent, signature scent created an unsettling cocktail.We were both naked. Of course we were. The sheets were a landscape of rumpled linen, a testament to the frantic energy that had pulsed through the penthouse only hours before.I turned my head, studied his face—boyishly handsome, jaw bruised from where I’d bitten him, hair tousled from the night’s exert

Adam LewistonThe night was cold, and the dimness of my office mirrored the stormy clouds swirling angrily outside my glass wall. I stared into the tempest, watching the relentless rain cascade from the sky, accompanied by the loud reverberations of thunder and the ominous flashes of lightning that painted the dark landscape. It was a night that beckoned for warmth, yet instead, I took a long, measured sip of my whiskey, its amber liquid calming my thoughts as I glanced at my gold wristwatch.The night was still young, ripe with possibility, and I found myself drawn to the idea of visiting an old friend. I smoothed my tailored blood red tie, adjusted my cufflinks, and stepped out into the opulent hallway of my office floor. As I walked, I was greeted by the bright smiles of my employees—beautiful women who worked under me. Their expressions, at once friendly and flirtatious, ignited a familiar thrill within me. It was a fact I could no longer deny: despite the prof

Adam Lewiston The rest of the drive was quiet, the air cleared now, but I could still feel the lingering weight of what just happened. My hand, resting on my thighs, remained unnervingly still, as though restraining something unspoken. Lu, he didn’t say a word the entire ride. "Good," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else. I watched him in silence, not directly—never directly—but through the reflection in the dark-tinted partition. He kept stealing glances at me. He looked disoriented, eyes raw from the allergic reaction, chest rising a little too fast. He was trying not to make it obvious. That was interesting. Most people complain. Most people whine about discomfort, ask for water, need reassurance. He just sat there, coughing once into his sleeve, blinking hard, but otherwise composed. It wasn't a stoicism born of strength; it was a practiced mask, honed by… what? That was a file to be opened later.