The Billionaire

Chapter 5: Pushing Boundaries

I wake up restless.

Three days.

Three long, quiet, electric days since I walked into this house and turned Elara’s perfectly structured world upside down. She still pretends she can’t stand me. Avoids me like I’m a contagious disease. But I see it.

The way her fingers freeze when I brush too close. The flick of her eyes when she thinks I’m not looking. The way her lips part like she wants to say something—maybe something sharp, maybe something else—but catches herself just in time.

She’s trying hard to look unaffected.

It’s adorable.

And irresistible.

So today? I’m done playing nice.

I throw back the covers, swing my legs out of bed, and rub a hand over my face. The morning light seeps through the curtains, soft and gold. A glance at the grandfather clock tells me it’s early, but I know her routine now. She slips away every morning like clockwork—before I can find her, corner her, press just hard enough to make her crack.

Not today.

I shower fast. Toss on a fitted black sweater and jeans. Not an accident. I’ve seen her eyes flick down when I wear this—just for a split second. Then she scowls, like she’s punishing herself for noticing. Like attraction is something she doesn’t allow herself to feel.

I plan on changing that.

The house is still as I head downstairs. The kind of quiet that hums under your skin. No staff. No footsteps. No distractions.

Just the faintest thread of sound.

Piano.

Soft. Slow. Melancholy.

I freeze in the hallway, head tilting. That’s new.

Curious, I follow it, careful not to make a sound.

And then I see her.

Standing barefoot at the grand piano, her fingers dancing across the keys with effortless grace. She’s in a loose tank and black leggings, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail, a few strands falling loose, curling around her face.

And she’s not tense.

Not frowning. Not scowling.

She’s… somewhere else. Somewhere deep.

There’s a softness to her I haven’t seen before—like the armor’s off and she forgot to rebuild it. Her lips are parted slightly, brows drawn together in concentration. It’s the first time I’ve seen her this unguarded.

And she’s stunning.

I could watch her forever.

But of course, I don’t keep my mouth shut.

“Didn’t know you played.”

She jolts. The music shatters. Her fingers freeze on the keys like they’ve betrayed her.

She spins around, eyes wide for a split second before she slams the door on whatever that was. The mask falls back into place like it was never gone.

“I don’t,” she says quickly.

I raise a brow, stepping into the room. “Right. That explains the whole concert just now.”

“It’s just a hobby,” she mutters, rising from the bench, suddenly stiff.

“Interesting.” I take a few steps closer. “What else don’t I know about you?”

Her jaw tightens. “A lot. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

I grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

She exhales, clearly exhausted by my presence. “Do you ever stop pushing?”

“Nope.” I circle to the other side of the piano, eyes locked on hers. “Especially not when someone’s hiding.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

I give her a look. “Come on, Elara. You flinch like I’m going to bite.”

She swallows, doesn’t move.

I lower my voice. “You tense every time I walk in the room. And just now, when you thought you were alone? You looked… peaceful. Like someone else. And that? That’s what you’re afraid I’ll see, isn’t it?”

She stiffens.

Doesn’t speak.

But her silence tells me everything.

I step close—close enough to make her shift her weight but not back down.

“I don’t scare you, do I?” I ask, voice soft. “It’s not me.”

She doesn’t answer.

I watch her for a long moment. Her gaze flickers—just for a second—down to my chest, where my sweater clings to the curve of muscle. Her eyes dart back up immediately, like she caught herself looking.

But I caught it too.

And still, I don’t touch her. I don’t have to.

The tension crackles between us like a live wire.

Then she turns sharply and walks away.

But not before she hesitates.

It’s small—barely there. A flicker of something that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with whatever’s clawing at the inside of her ribs. Her hand grips the doorframe like it’s the only thing holding her upright.

Then she’s gone.

Vanished down the hall, swallowed by the silence of this massive, haunted house.

I don’t follow.

I just stand there.

Staring at the place she left behind.

What the hell was that?

She’s beautiful, yeah. Fierce. Sharp-tongued and impossible. That much I figured out the moment I met her.

But this?

That hesitation. That crack in her perfectly built armor?

She wasn’t just running from me.

She was running from something else.

Something bigger.

Something she doesn’t want me to find.

And now?

Now I have to.

Because if there’s one thing I know about people who run—it’s that they’re always hiding something worth chasing.

And I’ve always been very, very good at chasing.