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Seventy-Seven: The Language of Lillies
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2025-08-02 08:30:50Lillium Roosevelt
The sun was just beginning to stretch across the morning sky, golden threads weaving through the gauze of drifting clouds. A quiet kind of joy hummed under my skin as I padded softly down the marble steps, the dew still fresh beneath my soles.My body ached—but it was the kind that made you smile, made you remember. I tugged my cardigan closer around my shoulders, unable to wipe the grin off my face, as I walked around the estate. Everything that happened last night still danced vividly behind my eyes—the way he touched me, the way he said my name like a promise, the way we moved like there was nothing else in the world but the two of us.It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just passion. It was something else entirely. Something real.The garden stretched wide before me like a painting brought to life—roses and tulips, all in bloom beneath the early light. It felt like stepping into a dream where nothing loud or cruel could reach us.
Latest chapter
The Billionaire's Sunshine Seventy-Eight: The Jar He'd Keep Me In
Lillium RooseveltThe city glowed like a dream dipped in gold. I sat still in the backseat of the car, my fingers tangled nervously in my lap as the tires hummed quietly along the cobbled roads. The window beside me framed London like a moving painting—lamplights casting halos on the wet pavement, buildings gleaming under the weight of history, and strangers walking beneath the kind of night sky that felt too beautiful to interrupt.I should’ve been excited. Maybe I was.But mostly?I was terrified.I adjusted the lapel of my coat and exhaled slowly, trying not to wrinkle the dark emerald shirt I’d carefully picked out for the night. It was buttoned all the way up, tucked neatly into tailored black slacks—simple, clean, and too carefully chosen to be casual. I hadn’t worn something this deliberately romantic in years.My reflection in the window barely looked like me.Adam was waiting.Somewhere ahead—wherever t
The Billionaire's Sunshine Seventy-Seven: The Language of Lillies
Lillium RooseveltThe sun was just beginning to stretch across the morning sky, golden threads weaving through the gauze of drifting clouds. A quiet kind of joy hummed under my skin as I padded softly down the marble steps, the dew still fresh beneath my soles.My body ached—but it was the kind that made you smile, made you remember. I tugged my cardigan closer around my shoulders, unable to wipe the grin off my face, as I walked around the estate. Everything that happened last night still danced vividly behind my eyes—the way he touched me, the way he said my name like a promise, the way we moved like there was nothing else in the world but the two of us.It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just passion. It was something else entirely. Something real.The garden stretched wide before me like a painting brought to life—roses and tulips, all in bloom beneath the early light. It felt like stepping into a dream where nothing loud or cruel could reach us.
The Billionaire's Sunshine Seventy-Six: Somewhere In The Haze
Adam LewistonThe fire had died down to embers by the time the room began to scatter. The last flickers of orange light danced like ghosts on the high ceilings, casting long, wavering shadows that swallowed the corners of the drawing-room. The air, crisp with the scent of oak smoke and faint clary sage from Mother’s perfume, settled into an almost palpable hush.Mother excused herself first, her fingers lingering at the rim of her teacup as she offered a final goodnight with that poised grace she wore like perfume, a silken whisper of assurance that all was right with the world. Elizabeth trailed after her, yawning dramatically and making some theatrical comment about her circadian rhythm being “Tokyo time-ruined,” her voice a fading echo down the hall. Christopher stayed behind a little longer, his gaze upon me a look—not quite worried, not quite dismissive—but layered, as if sifting through possibilities. Then he vanished too, murmuring something about horses nee
The Billionaire's Sunshine Seventy-Five: Soft as Thunder
Lillium RooseveltThe air still buzzed with the echo of that kiss. Not the kind of kiss that demanded fireworks or left your heart thudding against your ribs—but the kind that made everything quiet. The kind that held you still in your own body. The kind that made you listen.To the rustling of leaves, a soft murmur of the world continuing on, unnoticed until now. To the breath catching in your throat, a quiet, involuntary gasp that wasn’t for air, but for this. To the way someone says your name without saying it at all, simply by being present, by holding their gaze, by offering their stillness.Adam hadn’t moved far. His thumb still grazed the edge of my hand, a feather-light brush against my skin, like he wasn’t ready to let go. Like he didn’t want to.I didn’t either.For a moment, I just watched him—up close like this, I could see the exact curve of his lashes, the faint trace of a dimple that only showed when he smiled like that. Li
The Billionaire's Sunshine Seventy-Four: Tulips Don't Grow in Marble Halls
Lillium RooseveltThe rain started sometime around midnight—soft, barely there, like a hush falling over the estate. It wasn’t a storm, not a deluge, but a steady, patient whisper against the old world outside. By morning, the world beyond my window had turned to pearl. The sky was a vast, luminous canvas of white and grey, bleeding into the distant hills. Thin mist, cool and ethereal, clung to the emerald lawns, stretching across the jade surface of the lake like breath on glass. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty—not at all. It felt full, brimming with everything unspoken, a peace so profound it hummed beneath the skin.I stood there, one hand resting on the cool, smooth window frame, the other loosely cradling the ceramic cup of tea Bridgette had left at the bedside before sunrise. Jasmine, with a touch of honey, its fragile scent rising gently to meet me. Warmth curled from the rim, a steady, comforting presence, and found its way beneath my ribs,
The Billionaire's Sunshine Seventy-Three: A Garden In Winter
Lillium RooseveltWe kept walking—slow, deliberate—down the crushed-stone path that curved along the lake. The water mirrored the mauve of the late afternoon sky; ducks drifted in lazy arcs, unbothered by the quiet tension at the shoreline.Edward let the hush linger until only our footsteps filled it.Then, without preamble, he spoke again.“Adam was always… exceptional,” he said, eyes fixed ahead as though memory were projected on the far bank. “Composed by the age of five. Competitive by seven. Chess, fencing, languages—he mastered them because being second was never acceptable to him.”I glanced at him. The admission sounded matter-of-fact, but underneath it was something that felt almost like pride—and a trace of regret.“He hid it well,” Edward continued, “but he had softness, too—little things he never wanted anyone outside the family to notice.”He breathed out a half-laugh, the sound brittle with nostalgia. “He carried a battered gray teddy bear everywhere until he was nine.
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