Snowbound with the Billionaire Single Dad

Chapter 6: Rules of the House

Adrian dropped to his knees beside us, and when Noah saw his face, saw the tears tracking down his father’s cheeks, he launched himself from my arms into Adrian’s.

Adrian caught him, wrapped both arms around that small body, and buried his face in Noah’s hair. His shoulders shook. His hands trembled where they pressed against Noah’s back. And he whispered something over and over that sounded like “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

I should have left. Should have given them privacy for this moment. But my legs wouldn’t work, and Noah’s hand was still twisted in my sweater, keeping me tethered there, and so I stayed.

Kneeling on the cold floor in a stranger’s dining room while a family broke apart and maybe, possibly, started to heal.

And when Adrian finally looked at me over Noah’s head, his eyes weren’t ice anymore.

They were oceans. Deep and dark and drowning.

“Thank you,” he mouthed.

I just nodded, not trusting my voice, and kept my hand on Noah’s back while his father held him and the snow kept falling outside like the world was trying to bury us all.

——

Adrian disappeared with Noah after breakfast.

I heard their footsteps retreating down the hallway, heard a door close somewhere deep in the house, and then nothing. Just silence and the howl of wind against the windows and my own heartbeat still racing from what had just happened.

I stood in the dining room for a long moment, staring at Noah’s abandoned plate of eggs, at the coffee growing cold in expensive cups, at the perfectly arranged food that no one had really eaten. My knees ached from kneeling on the hard floor. My sweater was still damp from Noah’s tears.

That little boy thought he’d driven his mother away by not speaking.

The weight of that settled in my chest like a stone.

I started cleaning up. Not because anyone asked me to, but because I needed something to do with my hands, some way to process what I’d just witnessed. I stacked plates, gathered silverware, and tried to figure out where a kitchen this size would keep the dishwasher.

“Leave it.”

I spun around. Adrian stood in the doorway, and he looked like he’d aged ten years in the twenty minutes since he’d carried Noah away. His eyes were red rimmed. His hair stuck up where he’d clearly been running his hands through it. The perfect control he’d worn like armor was cracked and showing the exhaustion underneath.

“I don’t mind,” I said carefully. “I was just—”

“I said leave it.” Not harsh, just tired. Infinitely tired. “Someone will take care of it later.”

Someone. Staff, probably. People who worked for him that I hadn’t seen because they were invisible in the way staff were supposed to be in places like this.

I set down the plates I’d been holding. “How is he?”

“Asleep. Finally.” Adrian moved into the room, poured himself another coffee even though the one from breakfast sat full on the table. His hands weren’t quite steady. “He cried himself out and passed out in his bed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He took a long drink, grimaced like it burned. “You didn’t cause this. You just, you brought it to the surface.”

“Still. I shouldn’t have pushed. I shouldn’t have said those things in front of him.”

“No. You shouldn’t have.” He turned to look at me fully, and his expression was complicated. Not quite angry anymore but not friendly either. Something in between. Something that looked like resignation. “But you weren’t wrong.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

Adrian set his coffee down with deliberate care, like he was trying to keep his hands busy. “We need to talk. About boundaries.”

“Okay.”

“Sit.”

I sat at the table, and he remained standing. Power play, probably. Keeping the physical advantage, the control. Everything about his posture screamed that he was rebuilding his walls as fast as he could.

“The storm isn’t clearing,” he said, all business now. “The weather service is saying a minimum of three days, possibly five before the mountain roads are passable. Which means you’re going to be here longer than either of us planned.”

“I gathered that.”

“Which means we need rules.”

Rules. Of course. Because god forbid anything in this house happen organically or messily or without strict parameters.

“I’m listening,” I said.

He started pacing, three steps one direction, three steps back. Like he couldn’t stand still. “First, you stay in the guest wing. That’s the east side of the house, where your room is. The west wing is private. My office, Noah’s room, my bedroom. You don’t go there.”

“Understood.”

“Second, Noah is not your responsibility. You don’t wake him, you don’t put him to bed, you don’t feed him, you don’t discipline him. If he seeks you out, you’re polite but you maintain distance.”

That one stung. “Distance.”

“Yes. Distance.” His jaw tightened. “What happened this morning can’t happen again. He’s already, he’s attached to you. I saw the drawing. I see the way he looks at you. And when you leave in three days, it’s going to hurt him.”

“So you want me to hurt him now instead? By rejecting him?”

“I want you to not make it worse.” His voice went sharp. “He’s five years old and his mother abandoned him and he doesn’t understand why. The last thing he needs is to bond with someone who’s going to disappear the second the roads clear.”

I wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that Noah had already bonded with me, that the drawing proved it, that pushing me away now would hurt just as much as letting me leave later. But I also understood what Adrian was trying to protect.

His son had been abandoned once. He was terrified it would happen again.

“Fine,” I said quietly. “Polite distance. I can do that.”

“Third.” He stopped pacing and looked at me directly. “No personal questions. Not about Noah’s mother, not about my business, not about why this house looks the way it does or why we’re here alone or any of the hundred other things I can see you wanting to ask.”

“I wasn’t going to—”