Rescued by the billionaire

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Ease

I was sitting in my room when Isobel suddenly walked in, her eyes bright and a playful smile tugging at her lips. “I’m ready,” she announced, as if it were some kind of challenge or invitation. “Your turn.”

I blinked, caught completely off guard. Plans? What plans? Had we made some agreement I’d forgotten? Before I could even form the question, she seemed to read my mind.

“No plans,” she said, shaking her head with a knowing grin. “But today’s Saturday, and all you do is work, work, work. You don’t spend any time with me, and I think you need a break.”

Her words struck a chord I didn’t want to admit was true. I’d been so wrapped up in my endless tasks and deadlines that the idea of just stepping away for a day felt foreign — but also incredibly needed.

So we decided to spend the day together.

First, we got ice cream — nothing fancy, just simple cones with our favorite flavors, sticky fingers and all. Then, on a whim, she suggested we visit a nearby children’s park.

I won’t lie, at first I was skeptical. But seeing her laugh as she climbed into one of the rides, carefree and radiant, I couldn’t help but join in. We spun around, raced down slides, and pushed each other on swings, the world outside melting away.

The walk home was quiet and comfortable. We talked about everything and nothing, the kind of easy conversation that comes from feeling truly present with someone.

I hadn’t had this much fun in years — and it was all because of Isobel.

That night, Isobel slept in my room again—and every night after that first time, too. I wasn’t about to complain. Honestly, I loved having her in my bed. She had slowly and almost effortlessly invaded my life, weaving herself into every quiet moment, every corner of my world. And, somehow, I seemed to love it.

One evening, I was buried in my work, typing away in my study, the soft glow of the laptop screen casting shadows around the room. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door—a firm, confident knock—and before I could answer, she walked in like she owned the place. And damn, maybe she did.

In her hand, she held a piece of chocolate cake, the kind that looked impossibly rich and tempting. Without a word, she perched herself on the edge of my desk, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Then, with a gentle push, she closed my laptop and slid it to the far end of the desk, claiming my full attention.

She brought the cake close to my face, the sweet scent teasing my senses. “I baked you a cake,” she said softly, her eyes sparkling with pride.

Without hesitation, she took a spoonful of the delicious-looking cake and fed it to me. The moment the rich, velvety chocolate touched my tongue, I was hooked. Damn, it was incredible—better than anything I’d tasted in a long time.

Her laughter filled the room as I savored the bite, the warmth between us growing with every shared moment.

She laughed—a light, melodic sound that caught me off guard. I stared at her, curious and a bit puzzled, wondering what could be so amusing. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she looked me up and down, still chuckling softly.

Then, between bursts of laughter, she finally said, “You’ve got cake on your face.”

I reached up instinctively, trying to wipe it away, brushing my fingers over my cheek. But before I could even make a proper attempt, she held up a hand and said with a teasing grin, “Let me do it.”

There was something so confident and tender in the way she said it that I didn’t hesitate—I just nodded and let her take over.