The Billionaire's Promise

Chapter 3: Sparks and Shields

Jaxon wasn’t sure what time it was. The gala had long passed its glittering peak. The music softened into background ambiance. Champagne fountains ran low. But he and Sage hadn’t moved from their quiet spot near the gallery wall.

They talked. And talked.

About everything.

And somehow, nothing.

He’d never felt so disarmed by conversation.

“So let me get this straight,” Sage said, swirling the last sip of her champagne. “You’ve never seen The Princess Bride?”

Jaxon frowned, mock offended. “I’ve been busy running an empire, not watching cult fairy tales.”

“You poor, deprived man.”

“Is that the one with the poisoned wine?”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes! And pirates. And sword fights. And Rodents of Unusual Size. It’s iconic. You need to watch it immediately.”

“I’ll put it on the list. Right after Shrek 2 and a thousand other things I’ve apparently missed.”

“I’m serious,” she said, grinning. “It’s a character test. I might judge you if you don’t cry at the end.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Jaxon said, finishing his drink. “I’ve got layers.”

“Like an onion?”

“Like a parfait.”

Sage laughed, full and bright, and he realized then that it was his favorite sound of the night.

She set her glass down and folded her arms, tilting her head at him. “Okay, your turn. Ask me something.”

“Hmm.” He leaned against the wall, eyeing her thoughtfully. “If you could be anywhere right now—anywhere in the world—where would you be?”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.”

She looked away, considering. “A bookstore café in Scotland. Rain outside. Fire crackling. Mismatched chairs. Endless tea. And me curled up with a book the size of a small child.”

Jaxon smiled slowly. “That’s oddly specific.”

“It’s my escape plan.”

“From what?”

Her eyes flicked back to his. She hesitated. Then—shrugged. “Everything.”

He nodded. “Fair. I think mine would be… the mountains. Somewhere with snow. No phone signal. Just peace.”

“Wow,” she said. “You really are a tortured billionaire.”

He laughed again. “And you’re a dangerous woman, Sage Everly.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Because you make me forget I should be working the room for a future wife.”

Sage raised an eyebrow. “Right. The whole ‘get married or lose everything’ scenario. You never really explained that.”

Jaxon sighed, the lightness slipping for a moment. “My grandfather’s will. His last act of sabotage—or strategy, depending how you see it.”

“And you’re… actually considering it? Marrying someone in a year?”

“Don’t really have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“Not when the board is circling like vultures. Not when my family’s legacy is at stake.”

Sage studied him. “You talk about legacy like it’s a life sentence.”

“Sometimes it feels like one.”

They stood in silence, the noise of the party far away now. Jaxon glanced down, flexing his fingers. Vulnerability felt foreign—but not unwelcome here.

“You ever feel like you’re always performing?” he asked. “Like everyone’s watching, waiting for you to slip?”

Sage’s smile softened. “All the time. But then I remember I’m not the one with a billion-dollar spotlight on me.”

He chuckled. “Lucky you.”

“Not really. I get judged for other things. Like still renting an apartment at thirty. Or choosing poetry over profit.”

“Poetry’s more honest.”

She gave him a curious look. “You say that like you read it.”

“I don’t. Not often. But I remember my grandfather quoting Neruda to my grandmother once. When she had cancer. It was the only time I saw him cry.”

Sage’s voice dropped. “What did he say?”

Jaxon closed his eyes, the memory vivid. “‘I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.’”

For a moment, the room disappeared. No champagne. No silk gowns. Just the two of them in a quiet corner of chaos, speaking truths in a language neither had expected.

Sage exhaled. “That’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It was.”

Then, as if catching himself getting too close, Jaxon stepped back slightly, the billionaire mask sliding back into place. “Anyway. I should probably make an appearance before the press thinks I’ve been kidnapped.”

Sage smiled, just as lightly. “And I should rescue my friend before she starts flirting with the mayor again.”

He hesitated. “Will I see you again?”

She tilted her head. “Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Then ask me.”

Jaxon grinned. “Will you have dinner with me?”

Sage pretended to think. “Only if you promise to watch The Princess Bride first.”

“I’ll buy the popcorn.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

He pulled out his phone, and they exchanged numbers—simple, easy, surreal.

As she turned to leave, he called after her. “Sage?”

She looked over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know how this whole marriage thing is going to play out. But… thanks. For tonight. For not treating me like a headline.”

She smiled. “Don’t thank me yet, Mr. Wolfe. You still owe me a movie night.”

And then she was gone—vanishing into the glitter and gowns like a secret he suddenly wasn’t ready to lose.

Jaxon stood there for a long time, watching the spot where she’d stood, heart beating in a rhythm that felt suspiciously like hope.

Maybe—just maybe—he’d found more than a candidate.

Maybe he’d found a reason.

Two days after the gala, Jaxon stood in the aisle of a small, independently owned video rental store.

Yes—a real video rental store.

He hadn’t seen one since college, but here he was, dodging stacks of vintage movie posters and a life-sized cutout of Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones. He wore a baseball cap low over his face, trying not to be recognized as the Jaxon Wolfe. Not an easy task when your face had been trending with the hashtag #WifeWatch2025 all week.

“Man,” Kai had said when Jaxon told him the plan, “you are going full rom-com protagonist on me. What’s next? Adopting a puppy and bumping into her at a farmer’s market?”

“I’m watching The Princess Bride, not falling into a Hallmark movie.”

“Sure,” Kai had said, sipping his smoothie. “But when you start wearing flannel and baking bread from scratch, I’m calling the press.”

Now, standing in front of the “Classics & Cult Favorites” section, Jaxon grabbed the slightly worn DVD of The Princess Bride and held it up like a victory trophy.

“Found it?” asked a dry voice behind him.

He turned and grinned. “What are the odds?”

Sage stood there, wearing a faded denim jacket over a floral sundress, holding a stack of books in one arm and a small bag of kettle corn in the other.

“You planned this,” he said.

She shrugged. “Or maybe you’re just predictable.”

“And you come here often?”

“I like places where time forgets to rush. And where the popcorn doesn’t cost thirty bucks.”

“Romance and rebellion,” Jaxon said, walking toward the register. “I respect that.”

“Just wait until you see my tea collection. I live on the edge.”

After a brief debate about whether the 80s had better soundtracks than the 90s (Sage argued Breakfast Club, Jaxon countered with Titanic), they exited into the cool evening air.

“Dinner first, then the movie?” he asked.

She nodded. “I hope you like curry. There’s a hole-in-the-wall Indian place around the corner that serves the best chicken tikka masala in the city.”

“Do they serve billionaires?”

“They serve food. If you behave, you might even get naan.”

He put a hand to his chest. “Be still, my beating heart.”

⸻

Later that night…

Jaxon sat on the floor of Sage’s living room, balancing a plate of spicy curry in one hand and a glass of mango lassi in the other. Her apartment was small but cozy, full of mismatched pillows, candles, and shelves crammed with books. A tabby cat named Atticus watched him suspiciously from the arm of the couch.

“I think your cat hates me.”

“He doesn’t trust rich men. He’s a Marxist.”

“Great. I’m being judged by a feline socialist.”

She chuckled, curling her legs beneath her. “He’s a good judge of character.”

“And what’s his verdict?”

Sage looked at Jaxon, really looked. “Jury’s still out.”

The opening credits rolled on the TV. Jaxon settled in, his shoulder just brushing hers.

By the time Buttercup jumped off the castle wall, Jaxon was all in. When Inigo Montoya delivered his famous “You killed my father…” line for the fifth time, he mouthed it along with a grin.

“You’re loving this,” Sage whispered, nudging him.

“I hate how much I’m loving this.”

“You cried during the fire swamp scene, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“You did.”

“Dust in my eye.”

She smiled and passed him a tissue. “Welcome to the club.”

As the credits rolled, they sat in silence for a moment. The warm flicker of candlelight danced on her bookshelves. Outside, rain had started to fall—soft and steady.

“You know,” Jaxon said quietly, “this is the first time in weeks I haven’t thought about the company. Or the will. Or what everyone expects from me.”

“That’s what good stories do,” Sage replied, her voice equally soft. “They remind us who we are beneath the noise.”

He turned toward her. “And who am I, Sage?”

Her eyes met his, steady and unwavering. “You’re a man who wants something real. Even if you’re scared of what that means.”

There was a long pause. Something shifted in the air between them—tentative and warm.

“I don’t scare easy,” he said.

“Good. Because real isn’t easy.”

Then—slowly—he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“I should go,” he said, his voice thick.

Sage nodded, though her eyes didn’t leave his. “Probably.”

But neither of them moved.

For another heartbeat.

Then another.

And then—without fanfare—he leaned in, his lips brushing hers gently, tentatively. She didn’t pull away.

Their kiss was not fiery or rushed. It was soft. Quiet. Like the beginning of a question neither of them knew how to ask.

When he finally pulled back, Jaxon rested his forehead against hers.

“This wasn’t the plan,” he whispered.

“It never is.”

He smiled. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You better.”

And as he stepped into the rainy night, one thought played in his head on repeat:

He hadn’t just found a reason.

He’d found a spark.

And he wanted more.