Tilly Tallo with a Billionaire

My Mia, you look rather exceptional tonight.” Mr Denzo’s voice rang through the room, his voice whipped with mischief.

Aveline forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes, mocking her father's excitement. “Surely, it's been a while. I wouldn't want Xavier to think less of me.”

“Aveline, Xavier is a good man.” He placed an arm over her shoulder, glancing at her reflection in the mirror with a wide smile.

“Yeah, good for whatever you have up your sleeve.” She nudged him off, adjusting the strap of her dress.

Mr. Denzo’s laughter filled the air “You’ll thank me one day, Mia.”

Her lips pursed as she slipped on her earrings. “Or curse you,” she muttered incoherently. He waved her off, pretending not to hear. That was his way of ignoring what didn’t suit him.

she couldn’t mess the night with the Lorenzos. With the room full of eyes waiting to judge, not with and certainly not with Xavier himself, the boy turned billionaire, waiting at the other end.

“And what's my end of the deal? What do I gain from this?” She blurted out, heat rising up her chest. The truth was: she had tried. She had tried to maneuver out of this strange entanglement and toxic infatuation her father had with explosive wealth. As if the millions they had were a penny compared to the Lorenzos’. So what if the Lorenzos had more? What about being a millionaire was her father thought disdainful enough to sell out his daughter. He didn't have to stress it, she knew her father wanted money and he wanted enough to make her bleed for it. Xavier was just part of his little plan, and she, his chess board.

“You become a wife to a billionaire. What more do you want?” He filled his cup with wine, pouring more than the decent amount for a glass.

“Was that why Mother married you? Because you were a millionaire?” Aveline’s gaze settled on him, slowly.

Denzo’s expression dropped. Aveline had long suspected the truth about her parents' marriage. Her father must have married her mother for her wealth, and her mother, perhaps, for love or lust. He got everything he wanted, except for her commitment.

“Oh, is she off again? On another trip with her obscene celebrity?” She tipped the wine toward her own glass, filling it halfway. “Sinatra? No… Mario. Redue.”

“Your mother is a foolish woman.” His grip tightened around the wine glass as he swallowed in a quick gulp.

“Very foolish,” Aveline laughed. “Yet she married you. Tell me. What could you have possibly had to seduce her?” She rested against the wine gallery.

Anger surged through her veins, spilling over after years of having her life traded for worksheets. Denzo always had a taste for pity. He thrived on sad stories, on tears, and on weaknesses. But one thing he could never stand was mockery against his identity.

“Enough!” He threw his glass across the room.

“Enough of what?!” She closed up their distance in a few strides. “Be grateful I have a fragile ego to protect. I know the costs that come with backing out. Shame on you and shame on this family. I surely wouldn't want to be in the mud, now do I?”

Aveline fluttered her eyes shut, sweeping her hands through her hair in a swift motion. She stared into the mirror, blinking back tears as her father walked out.

I don't want to marry him. I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I don’t—

Her breath caught as her fingers swept through the curls she had spent hours perfecting, betraying her effort.

She smeared her lipstick across her face, her body trembling. The Lorenzos were not a family anyone dared to fumble with. She was frightened by the thought. Once the engagement reached the world, her father would make sure she was branded as distasteful, ungrateful black sheep.

And then, there was Mr. Lorenzo. He didn’t know her, yet he wanted this union. Why? Because it was easy? Because to men like him, loyalty never mattered? Because she was nothing more than another asset on the balance sheet?

She had prayed he might stop it, prayed he might have a moment of conscience. But all she had received was silence.

She wiped down her mascara. A knock echoed through the room. She jerked back, putting herself together for appearances even though she looked like a clown with her makeup undone and her face colored with red and black.

“Miss Rivas—” Marigold stopped, placing her hand over her mouth in distraught.

Aveline deflated, staring unfazed at the attendants reaction.

“Mr Lorenzo will be here soon.” She hurried over to her side, trying to comb her curls with her hands in panic. “And you look—”

“A mess.” She completed, sighing. The attendant wasn't oblivious about her distress, Mr billionaire. Denzo never shut up about it ever since she came back from Paris after her 24th birthday. He boasted to every visitor, and sang about it. Everyone knew.

“I'll fix my makeup. You don't have to do it. You've done enough.”

Aveline hurried back into her room, leaving Marigold behind with a face drawn in worry.

She sank into the chair before her dresser, fumbling through the scattered items with trembling hands. The tears kept coming uncontrollably. When she was done, Aveline hurried out to her room. Marigold stood back, her face twisting into a worried expression.

At the end of the stairs, Denzo waited, putting out his cigar. “Get your act together. The Lorenzos are here.”

“I think you should be the one getting your act together, Father.” Aveline descended the stairs. “Your future doesn’t depend only on me. It depends on you. And you reek.”

Denzo scoffed, straightening his posture..“The cigars are for the rich. Stay out of my business.”

“Don't embarrass us.” She slid her arm, tangling with his arm. “Shall we, father?”