Semua Bab The Billionaire's Sunshine : Bab 21 - Bab 30

Lillium Roosevelt The click of the door echoed long after Adam had gone, a sharp, decisive sound that punctuated the silence of the apartment like a period at the end of a sentence. A sentence I wasn't sure I understood. I lay there for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling. The room was still drenched in that soft gold light, the kind that looked expensive even without trying. It bathed the minimalist furniture in a warm, flattering glow, highlighting the sharp angles and the meticulously curated artwork. But the sheets had cooled, and reality had begun to settle in like dust, a fine layer of something gritty and unwelcome. I exhaled and pulled the blanket aside. It was a silk duvet, heavy with a decadent warmth that now felt suffocating. The moment my feet touched the floor, I regretted it. The pain came sharp and immediate—not unbearable, but enough to make me stop breathing for half a second. A dull, br

Lillium RooseveltThe hum of the engine was steady beneath my hands. I kept both palms on the wheel, my shoulders stiff, eyes flicking from the road to the side mirrors as I made my way through the afternoon traffic. The city had always felt big—noisy, relentless, fast—but today it felt… distant. Like I wasn’t really part of it. Like I was driving through a memory.The silver Mercedes felt too clean beneath me. Too quiet. Even the leather seats didn’t creak. The car didn’t belong in my world. It wasn’t made for potholes or stoplights that barely worked. It didn’t know how to blend into cracked sidewalks or neighborhoods where time slowed down between paycheck and eviction notice. I didn’t belong in it either. But here I was. And I had to show my face somewhere that still felt like mine.Rosie’s Diner came into view as I turned the corner—a small corner joint with sun-bleached signage and windows that were always half-fogged from the grill. The green and wh

Lillium RooseveltThe city was quieter than usual. Or maybe it was just me. I drove through the streets with one hand on the wheel, the other resting over my chest where the tension hadn't eased since I left the diner. Rosetta’s words still echoed in the back of my mind like a storm building over water."Dominus isn’t the one searching for you anymore.""Someone worse is."I didn’t know what that meant—not yet—but it had hollowed out something in me. A sense of certainty. Safety. Control. Things I never really had, but liked to pretend I could hold onto.The sky was deep blue now, heading toward black. Streetlights flickered on one by one, splashing gold onto wet pavement. I recognized the buildings as I pulled into my block—cracked brick walls, chipped stair railings, the flicker of a TV behind a curtain in the second-floor window. Familiar.Home.But it didn’t feel like it tonight.I parked the silver Mercedes

Lillium RooseveltI sat at the dinner table, elbows on the edge, fingers loosely locked in front of me as I stared at it. The gift. The MacBook sat right where I left it—still in its box, ribbon slightly undone from when I opened it earlier. The silver casing gleamed faintly under the warm kitchen light, pristine and untouched.It was beautiful. Expensive. Completely surreal. And I didn’t know what to make of it.I’d never owned anything like this before. Not because I couldn’t appreciate it, but because people like me weren’t supposed to have things like this. Gifts like this had strings. Expectations. Contracts.And this one… came from him.Adam.I chewed at the inside of my cheek and leaned back in the chair, arms crossed now, trying to decipher the why. I had already thanked James. Profusely. I had already tried to move on from it, to rationalize it as a simple act of kindness. But I couldn’t stop looking at it like it might

Adam LewistonThe hot chocolate tasted like something from another life. Too sweet. Too simple. And yet, somehow… grounding. I didn’t speak at first. I just let the heat of the mug warm my fingers, let the cinnamon rest on the back of my tongue. Let the silence wrap around us like a blanket neither of us asked for but both of us needed.The couch creaked softly as he shifted beside me. He wasn’t close enough to touch—but he was there. Solid. Warm. Barefoot. Wrapped in a blanket and uncertainty.I didn’t look at him when he spoke. His voice was soft, almost too careful.“Are you staying the night?”I exhaled slowly, my eyes still trained on the chipped corner of the coffee table. The question wasn’t casual. It wasn’t a test. It was honest. And I wasn’t ready for it. Not because I didn’t know the answer. But because I did.My instinct was to say no. To stand. To button my coat and walk out without looking back. That was what I alwa