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Long seconds later, the doors rolled open to reveal the penthouse—a vast expanse of black granite, faintly lit and lavishly furnished. The walls, which could have been covered in crisp bills, screamed of an opulence as loud as the owner’s net worth. The walls were adorned with art that cost more than the apartment that Elizabeth currently shared with her brother. To a mortal, this place seemed as inaccessible in price as the man himself was claimed to be in character.

“How famous is your family?” Xavier’s brows rose, though there was no mockery in his expression. “That depends on who you ask.” Joe, who had returned with another pot of tea, looked as though he was trying not to smile. “I mean it,” I said. “I knew you were wealthy, but I did not know it was like this.” “That it was this much?” Xavier asked. I lowered my eyes. “Yes.” He leaned back in his chair. “The Combs name is old money, Sharon. My grandfather built the foundation, my father expanded it, and I run the business now. Technology is only one part of it.”

"This will be your room for the duration of your stay. I need to get back to work, but I'll be back after five tonight.” I nodded, watching as he turned and disappeared out of the room. He was probably headed back to his office. I found the bathroom and ran a steamy bath for myself, and only when I was settled into the bubbles did I finally feel safe. It was probably stupid. I knew Cassian even less than I'd known David and look how that had turned out. I had ended up married to the son of one of the biggest crime families in New York. And Cassian was their enemy. Why was I sure he was any better? I didn't have an answer why I felt safe in his bathtub, but as I washed my hair and relaxed int

Chapter Fourteen: The Billionaire's Fall A cold focus settled over Zhedya as he reviewed the file. The target: Nicholas Chan. A billionaire on the surface, a monster underneath. The man secretly funded a human trafficking ring that preyed on young girls. Zhedya felt no pity, only a dark, thrilling excitement. He loved taking out predators. He knew Chan’s schedule, his habits, his favorite hotel. The RuRohal skyscraper, where the billionaire was hosting a secret, after-hours gathering. Tonight, the party would end.

The Thorne penthouse wasn't a home; it was a testament to untouchable wealth. Blake, the driver, escorted me through a private elevator that bypassed every floor of the skyscraper, opening directly into an apartment that felt less like a living space and more like a museum. It was stark white marble, cold steel, and silent, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked down on the entire city. My small, cluttered apartment—filled with Lucas’s toys and the scent of Mia’s cooking—felt like it belonged to another universe entirely.

I asked, throat warm. He shrugged, cheeks flushing. “Not long. I started when you told me you wanted Tuesdays. I thought about the smallness of it. I thought about the little ways that keep people from disappearing in their own lives. That sketch? It’s a promise for all the tiny things I want to do with you.” My hands covered the page like a lover would cover a face. The ridiculousness of a billionaire drawing stick-figure children with a pencil pressed into his knuckles made my heart trip in a way that was both humiliating and delicious. I had been given a private catalog of his softest wishes.

I replied. She made a small "O" with her lips, though I saw the unsatisfied glint in her eyes. Was she expecting Dex to be a trillionaire? I laughed at the thought. We're both struggling—I guess that’s why we connected so fast. But the only difference is that he gets a monthly payment from his family. Well, they might not be rich, but at least they’re not poor, according to what he told me. "And he was able to give out $2000 just like that?"

But it worried him—it could cost her everything. Frustrated, Fabian pulled out another cigar and lit it right in front of the two men sitting across from him. Ronson and Odin quietly watched every move Fabian made. He wasn’t just any man—he was one of the youngest billionaires in the country. A self-made billionaire at that. The way he carried himself, he looked more like a mafia boss than a businessman, with shoulder-length hair and a thick beard lining his jaw. He looked dangerous... but classy. Frustration was written all over his face—his unshaven jaw and the dark circles under his eyes said it all.

“Did you see anything in the room at least, that could help you Identify him? I hesitated, the watch flashing in my mind. “I know he's rich, like filthy rich. He had a Patek Philippe Grandmaster chime on the nightstand.” Laura blinked, “I've heard that name before,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Isn't that Scott's dream watch?” She asked. I nodded, my chest tightening. “ It is.” “Oh Linda, I'm so sorry for bringing him up.” She apologized. “It's fine,” I said softly.