The Billionaire’s Game Of Hearts

Chapter 4

Zylara's POV

Mark stumbled into the house late that night, the weight of betrayal hanging heavily on him. His usually confident strides were replaced by a weary shamble as he leaned against the wall for support.

I watched from the kitchen, pretending to clean up, but my heart raced at the sight of him.

“Mark?” I called softly, hoping to catch his attention.

He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and wild. “What do you want?” His tone was sharp, slicing through the quiet of the night.

“Just making sure you’re okay,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. Inside, I felt a thrill of opportunity. This was my chance to be more than just the househelp.

“Okay? How can I be okay?” He threw his hands up in frustration. “My life is falling apart!”

I stepped closer, sensing his vulnerability. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He scoffed, leaning against the doorframe. “Talk? About what? My best friend has been sleeping with my girlfriend, and now I’m supposed to talk about it?”

His bitterness rolled off him in waves, but I remained calm. “You have every right to be angry. It’s a terrible situation.”

“Terrible? It’s a nightmare!” His voice broke, and I could see the pain etched on his face.

“Mark, it’s okay to feel hurt. You loved her.” I moved a little closer, lowering my voice. “But you can’t let this define you.”

“Define me?” He laughed harshly. “Who do you think you are? You’re just the househelp. What gives you the right to talk to me about feelings?”

“I’m just trying to help, Mark,” I said softly.

“Help?” He scoffed. “You don’t know anything about me. You’re here to clean, not analyze my life.”

“I… I just see you struggling,” I said, my voice faltering.

“Then I guess you don’t have to watch at all.” His voice was cold as he turned and stormed out, leaving me standing there, alone and aching.

I walked back into the room where I had first settled in, hoping to find a moment of solace. Just as I reached the doorway, I bumped into David.

“Hey, you can’t stay here,” he said, his tone dismissive. “You’re assigned to the back room.”

I followed him down a dimly lit hallway, my heart sinking with each step. He led me to a door that creaked ominously when he pushed it open.

Inside, the room felt trapped in time. The bed was a battered wooden frame, the mattress sagging in the middle, covered with an outdated floral quilt that looked like it hadn’t been washed in years. Dust motes danced in the faint light filtering through the grimy window.

The tiles on the floor were cracked and stained, remnants of their former white, now a sickly yellow. Rusted iron brackets hung uselessly on the wall, while the paint peeled away in patches, exposing the old wood beneath.

“This should suit you just fine,” David said on his way out of the room. “It’s homey in its own way.”

I bit my lip, feeling the weight of his words. “Right,” I replied reluctantly, stepping inside.

As I settled onto the edge of the bed, the springs creaked in protest. I looked around at the faded wallpaper and the cobwebs in the corners, feeling a mix of disappointment and resignation.

The early morning light sliced through the cracked window, pulling me from a restless sleep. David’s voice pierced the quiet, shaking me awake.

“Wake up!” he called from the doorway, a look on his face that felt all too familiar.

I blinked, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

He stepped into the room, his presence commanding. “Tonight is a masked ball,” he announced, his pride palpable. “Even a househelp in the Morgan's family must look good for special occasions.”

I felt my heart drop as he tossed a stunning red gown onto the bed. The black heels next to it sparkled like jewels, but the beauty of it only heightened my anxiety.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice a whisper, but doubt gnawed at me. This was a world I didn’t belong to.

“Of course it is. You’ll wear it and look the part.” His gaze turned steely. “Now, what are you still doing in bed? Get up!”

I flinched at his tone, the familiar sting of his words hitting home. “I’ll get ready—”

“Get up and prepare my tea. I can’t be late for work.” His command left no room for argument.

“Your tea?” I stammered, quickly recalling his specific tastes. “Earl Grey, two sugars, splash of milk…?”

“Good. And don’t forget Mark’s hot chocolate. Make it rich, with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon.” His words were sharp, and he turned on his heel, the door clicking shut behind him.

I sprang out of bed hurriedly. The gown lay there like a promise I couldn’t quite grasp, but I shoved the thought away.

I hurried to the kitchen, moving with purpose, the weight of my responsibilities pressing down.

As I measured tea leaves and poured boiling water, the fragrant steam enveloped me, grounding me in the moment. Once I had the drinks prepared, I took a steadying breath and stepped toward the dining room.

As I entered, I was met with the sight of David and Mark at the dining table. David looked impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, exuding an air of authority. Mark, equally handsome, wore a casual outfit that highlighted his youthful charm.

“Finally,” David said, impatience lacing his tone as I approached with the drinks. His gaze was sharp, and I felt the weight of his scrutiny. “Don’t keep us waiting next time. We have an image to uphold.”

I nodded, swallowing my response as I placed their drinks before them.

A few minutes after serving David and Mark, the door swung open, and the driver stepped in, scanning the room until his eyes landed on David.

“Boss, the car is ready,” he announced, a hint of urgency in his voice.

David nodded curtly, pulling out his phone. He tapped a few numbers, speaking to someone on the other end about the event’s decorations. After a brief exchange, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood, ready to leave.

“Keep it tight, we have a reputation to maintain,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

With that, he strode out, leaving only Mark at the table. I started to clear the remnants of their drinks, preparing to wipe the table when Mark caught my eye.

“Hey,” he said, his tone unexpectedly warm. “The tea you prepared was really good. Thanks.”

I paused, surprised by the compliment. “I’m glad you liked it,” I replied, a smile creeping onto my face.

“See you around,” he added, standing up and following David out the door. I felt a mix of relief and curiosity wash over me.

It was about time. I stepped into the party, the vibrant energy enveloped me. The fitted long sleeve red gown hugged my curves perfectly, the slit up to my thigh adding a touch of boldness.

I glanced at myself in a nearby mirror, adjusting my delicate face mask. It felt empowering yet mysterious, like I could blend in or stand out at will.

Descending the staircase, I could sense someone’s gaze on me. Despite the sea of masked faces, I knew it was David—his intensity was unmistakable.

A flutter of excitement coursed through me, but just then, a sudden wave of anxiety hit: I had spotted an old acquaintance, someone I didn’t want to confront.

I turned on my heel and rushed back up the stairs, my heart racing. As I rounded the corner, I collided with Mark, who stumbled slightly, the overwhelming stench of alcohol hitting me like a wave. Disgust twisted my stomach as I tried to step aside, but he caught my arm, his gaze unsteady.

“Hey there, damsel.” he slurred, an unsteady smile spreading across his face. “You look stunning tonight. Why don’t you come have a drink with me?”

I could see it —he had no idea who he was behind the mask.

I hesitated, trying to hide my discomfort. “I really should—”

“C’mon,” he urged, stepping closer, his breath a mix of booze and desperation. “Let’s have some fun. You’re too gorgeous to be alone.”

Before I could protest, he grasped my hand, pulling me toward his room. The door creaked open, and I felt a mix of disbelief and irritation as he forced me inside.

The air was thick with the scent of liquor, and I watched as he flopped onto the bed, the weight of his drunkenness crashing over him.

“Stay with me,” he mumbled, trying to pull me closer, his eyes barely open.

I felt a wave of exasperation wash over me. “Mark, this isn’t a good idea,” I said, but he was already slumped back, fast asleep.

Sighing, I tucked him in, smoothing the covers around him. Just as I finished, my phone buzzed on. I glanced at it, and my heart dropped at the sight of a notification from my sister.

"Father is dead....meet me at The Blue Room Restaurant, 1234 Maple St. 7am tomorrow morning."