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Nine: The Value of Stray Things
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2025-06-07 08:30:06Adam 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.
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The Billionaire's Sunshine Ten: A Seat at His Table
Lillium Roosevelt I hesitated at the threshold of the dining room, the soft glow of the sconces casting flickering light across the polished marble. The space smelled like something expensive—seared meat, truffle, and a wine I didn’t recognize but somehow knew I couldn’t afford to breathe too heavily near. Each inhalation felt like an accusation, a confirmation that I didn't belong. This wasn't my world. My world was takeout and flickering fluorescent lights, not hushed grandeur and the phantom weight of centuries of wealth. Then I saw him. Adam Lewiston was already seated at the head of the table, motionless, precise. He wore a sleeveless black shirt that exposed his sculpted shoulders and arms—every movement of muscle beneath his skin deliberate, efficient. His black drawstring pants hung low on his hips, casual in a way that was clearly intentional. There was nothing relaxed about him. Even seated, he commanded the en
The Billionaire's Sunshine Nine: The Value of Stray Things
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.
The Billionaire's Sunshine Eight: Ash In The Throat
Lillium Roosevelt The name felt foreign on my lips, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions churning inside me. Just as I stood right in front of the red door, waiting for it to open, I couldn't help but feel nervous. My hands were shaking, fidgeting, a desperate attempt to control the tremors of fear that coursed through me. I felt cold, and utterly exposed. The cropped V-neck top with delicate lace detailing, the high-waisted embroidered trousers, and the long, sheer lace robe felt like a costume, a garish disguise highlighting my vulnerability. I looked terrible, and I felt even worse. Suddenly, the door swung open with a silent precision that only amplified my anxiety. A man, built like a brick wall and radiating an aura of impenetrable seriousness, greeted me with a poker face. "Come in, Conrad's waiting for you," the guard said, his voice a low rumble that did nothing to soothe my frayed nerves. It took me a second, a stolen breath of air, before I could manage a wea
The Billionaire's Sunshine Seven: Temptation in Velvet Shadows
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
The Billionaire's Sunshine Six: The Price of Velvet Promises
Lillium RooseveltAs night deepened, thunder rolled across the heavens like a warning, the storm clouds overhead pulsing with energy. Lightning flashed, harsh and fast—like the snap of a camera shutter—casting eerie silhouettes across the city skyline. Shadows danced across wet pavement, distorted and trembling.I sat silently in the passenger seat of the taxi, clutching the edges of my jacket, my nerves crawling beneath my skin. Raindrops streamed down the window in thin, weeping trails, each one catching the flashes of lightning as if the sky itself were crying. My reflection in the glass looked pale, lost, and hollow.I don’t want to do this.But the image of Tom—motionless in that hospital bed, tubes snaking out of his body, machines beeping steadily in a rhythm that mocked life—haunted me like a ghost. Then there was Rosetta, Donny… I couldn’t shake the gnawing fear that they might be next. Dominus Vane had made his message clear, and he didn’t deal in mercy.He’d crippled Tom fi
The Billionaire's Sunshine Five: Silk, Steel, and Smoke
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
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