My Billionaire First Love

CHAPTER FIVE: THE HIDDEN NOTE

Whitney’s POV

The car ride to my new home was completely silent. Charles sat on one side of the big,

black leather seat, and I sat on the other, pressed against the door, as far away from

him as I could get. He spent the whole time staring at his phone. The glow from the

screen lit up his sharp face in the darkness of the car. He was probably making a

million-dollar deal or firing someone. He didn’t look at me once.

I stared out the window, watching the colorful lights of New York City blur past. It was so

beautiful, like a galaxy of stars had fallen to earth. But the beauty felt like a TV show I

was watching, something I couldn’t really touch or be a part of. I was just a spectator. I

was leaving my whole life behind.My room, my friends, my town, my freedom and

driving toward a future that felt as dark and unknown as a deep cave.

The car finally stopped in front of a skyscraper that was so tall I had to crane my neck

all the way back to see the top. It was all shiny black glass and steel, reflecting the other

buildings around it. It looked powerful and cold, just like Charles. The driver opened the

door, and Charles got out without a word, striding toward the entrance. I scrambled out

after him.

We didn’t go through a lobby. We walked straight to a set of golden elevator doors.

Charles pressed his thumb against a shiny panel, and the doors slid open without a

sound. This was his private elevator. We stepped inside, and he pressed the only

button: PH. Penthouse.

The elevator moved so fast my ears popped. It didn’t ding when it stopped. The doors

just slid open again, directly into the living room.

My mouth fell open.

I had never seen a place like this. The room was enormous, bigger than my entire

house back home. The floor was a shiny, dark wood, and the walls were pure white.

One entire wall was a giant window, showing a breathtaking view of the entire city laid

out like a sparkling carpet below us. Everything was neat and perfect and clean. There

were no pictures on the walls, no books on the table, no blankets thrown over the

couch. It didn’t look like a place where people lived and laughed. It looked like a

museum, or one of those fancy furniture stores where you’re not allowed to sit on the

chairs.

“This is it,” Charles said. He pointed down a long, wide hallway. “Your bedroom is the

last door on the right. Mine is on the left.” He turned and looked right at me,with

seriousness in his eyes. “Do not enter my room. Ever. For any reason.”

I just nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

He started walking toward his bedroom. “The housekeeper comes on Tuesdays. There

is food in the kitchen if you get hungry. Don’t bother me unless the building is on fire.”

Then, he walked into his room and closed the door firmly behind him. A second later, I

heard the sharp click of a lock turning.

The sound echoed in the silent penthouse. I was alone.

I stood frozen in the middle of the giant living room, hugging my arms around myself.

The silence was the loudest thing I had ever heard. It was a heavy, screaming silence

that pressed in on my ears. I could hear my own heart beating. I felt like if I took a step,

my footsteps would sound like thunder.

This was my life now. This cold, beautiful, lonely prison.

I tiptoed down the hall, my suitcase making a soft rolling sound. I found the last door on

the right and pushed it open. My room. It was big, with its own bathroom, and it had the

same amazing city view. But it was just as plain and impersonal as the living room. A

large bed with a plain white cover. A tall, empty dresser. A mirror. No color. No

personality. It was a hotel room. A very fancy, very temporary hotel room.

I was so tired and so scared and so completely alone. A sob built in my chest, and this

time, I didn’t try to stop it. I let the tears come, hot and silent, streaming down my face

as I sank onto the edge of the perfectly made bed. I cried for the girl I used to be. I cried

for the life I had lost.

After a while, I had no tears left. I went into the connected bathroom to splash cold

water on my face. The bathroom was all white marble and shiny chrome. Everythingwas spotless. I bent over the sink, the cold water feeling good on my skin.

As I straightened up, my foot accidentally bumped against the corner of the fluffy white

bathroom rug. The corner flipped up.

And that’s when I saw it.

There was a small, folded square of white paper hidden underneath the rug.

My heart did a funny little jump-skip. What was that? Did the housekeeper leave a note?

A cleaning schedule? Or… was it a trap? Did Charles put it there to see if I would

snoop? My blood ran cold at the thought.

But my curiosity was too strong. I knelt down, my heart pounding. I looked toward the

bathroom door, half-expecting Charles to be standing there. The hall was silent. With a

trembling hand, I reached out and picked up the paper. It felt warm, like it had been

waiting for me.

I slowly, unfolded it.

The handwriting was familiar. It was a little messy, a little slanted, but kind. I hadn’t seen

it in years. Not since high school. Not since he used to pass me notes in math class.

It was from Tommy. Tommy Blackwood. My first love.

The note was short, just a few lines.

“Whitney, I heard what happened. I’m back in the city. I’m so sorry. This isn’t you. This

isn’t your life. Find me. Please. Tommy.”

I read the words once, twice, three times. A real tear, a warm one full of a feeling I

thought was dead welled up in my eye and fell onto the paper. Tommy was here. In

New York. He knew I was trapped. He knew this cold, perfect prison wasn’t me. He

thought I could still be saved.

For the first time all day, I didn’t feel completely alone.

But as I held the note, my precious, dangerous secret, I heard the unmistakable sound I

had been dreading.

Down the hall, a door unlocked. Then, the firm, heavy sound of footsteps started walking toward my room.