Bound to the Billionaire's Revenge

Chapter 7

Whispers from the Past

Rain had given way to a crisp December chill, the kind that seeped through the penthouse windows and made Ava pull a cashmere throw tighter around her shoulders. It was Saturday, no office, no demands, just the hollow echo of an empty apartment. Lucian had left early for some meeting in the Financial District or so his curt note on the counter said. Back late. Don't wait.

As if she would.

Boredom drove her to explore. She'd avoided it so far, sticking to her bedroom, the kitchen, the gym. But today curiosity tugged her toward his study in a room off the main hallway, all dark wood and leather bound books she doubted he'd ever read. The door was unlocked. She slipped inside, heart thudding like she was breaking in.

The desk was pristine, laptop closed, pens aligned, a single framed photo of his mother smiling from a yacht deck. No trace of her. No evidence they'd ever existed together.

Until she opened the bottom drawer.

It was stuffed with miscellany old keys, a broken watch, a stack of yellowed envelopes. And at the bottom, a shoebox, edges worn soft from handling.

She shouldn't. But her fingers lifted the lid anyway.

Photos. Dozens of them. Polaroids, prints, even a few grainy phone shots printed out. All of them, her and Lucian, five years ago.

Ava sank to the floor, spilling them across the rug. Her breath caught.

There they were, laughing in a park, her hair wind-tossed, his arm slung casual around her shoulders. Another, her in his Harvard sweatshirt, making pancakes in his old apartment kitchen, flour on her nose. Him kissing her cheek.

The memories crashed over her like a wave, pulling her under.

Five years earlier...

It started at the Blackwell Foundation charity gala. Ava was nineteen, waitressing to pay for community college, in a borrowed black dress that itched at the seams. The room was a sea of tuxedos and gowns, champagne flowing like water. She balanced a tray of canapés, dodging elbows, when a voice stopped her.

Those look lethal. What's in them?

She turned. He was leaning against a pillar, tie already loosened, eyes sparkling with mischief. Twenty-four, heir to everything, but looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Crab puffs, she said, holding out the tray. Try one. If you die, I'll split the inheritance.

He laughed, a real laugh, head thrown back and popped one in his mouth. Not bad. I'm Lucian.

Ava. She shouldn't flirt. He was a guest; she was staff. But his smile was infectious.

By midnight they'd ditched the party, sneaking out to a food truck for greasy tacos. He talked about hating the family business, wanting to build something real. She confessed her dreams of art school, her dad's endless string of bad luck. They walked the city until dawn, hands brushing, then linking.

The whirlwind began.

Stolen nights in his loft, bodies tangled in sheets that cost more than her rent. He'd trace her spine with lazy fingers, whispering secrets, how his father had died young, leaving him with a mother who cared more about the company than her son. She'd kiss the shadows from his eyes, tell him he was enough.

Their first real date, a helicopter ride over the city at sunset. She screamed with delight, he grinned like a kid. Later, on a blanket in the Hamptons, stars above, he made love to her slow and sweet, like she was the only thing in his world that mattered.

I love you, he said that night, voice breaking a little. Don't ever leave me, Ava.

She promised she wouldn't. Curled against him, heart full, she believed it.

Weeks blurred into months. Lazy Sundays in bed, reading the paper aloud, mocking the society pages. Him teaching her to drive his Porsche, her laughing as she stalled it. A weekend in Paris, Strolling the Seine, feeding each other crepes, making out in alleyways like teenagers.

He gave her a key to his place. Move in, he begged one rainy afternoon, rain streaking the windows while they lay spent and sweaty. I want you here. Always.

She almost said yes. But her dad's calls came more desperate, debts piling, collectors at the door. One night, drunk and crying, he confessed the full amount. Millions. Mob ties. They'll kill me, baby girl.

So she did the unthinkable. Hacked his accounts, easy with the access he'd given her in trust. Transferred the money. Left a note that said nothing, because what could she say?

I'm sorry wouldn't cut it.

Back to the present...

A tear splashed onto a photo, them on a yacht, her in a bikini, him smearing sunscreen on her back, both grinning like idiots.

The door creaked open.

Lucian stood there, coat still on, snow melting in his hair. His face went from surprise to something shattered.

What the hell are you doing?

Ava scrambled up, photos fluttering. I…I was just

Snooping. He crossed the room in two strides, snatched the box, but not before seeing the mess. His hands shook as he gathered them. These are private.

You kept them. Her voice was small. After everything you kept them.

He froze, back to her. What was I supposed to do? Burn the only proof I wasn't insane for loving you?

The word loving hung in the air, past tense but alive.

She touched his arm. He flinched but didn't pull away.

Lucian I didn't know. About the board, the comeback. I thought I'd ruined you.

He turned then, eyes stormy. You did ruin me. Every day without you was hell. I rebuilt the company, but this? He thumped his chest. This stayed broken.

Tears streamed down her face. I had no choice. My dad

Your dad was a gambler. You chose him over us. His voice cracked. Over me.

She stepped closer, hands on his face, forcing him to look at her. I was scared. Stupid. Young. But I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.

Something broke in him. He crushed his mouth to hers, desperate, devouring. Not anger this time. Raw, aching need.

They stumbled to the couch, clothes shedding like old skin. His coat hit the floor, her sweater yanked over her head. He kissed her like he was starving, hands gentle now, reverent, mapping every curve as if relearning her.

Lucian, she gasped as he laid her back, mouth trailing fire down her throat, to her breasts. He sucked one n****e, then the other, slow and deliberate, drawing whimpers from her.

Shh, he murmured against her skin. Let me have this. Just this.

He slid lower, parting her thighs with careful hands, breath hot against her core. His tongue found her, soft at first, then insistent, circling and sucking until she arched off the cushions, fingers tangled in his hair.

Please, she begged, body trembling on the edge.

He rose up, eyes locked on hers as he shed the last of his clothes. When he entered her it was slow, inch by inch, both of them gasping at the connection. No rush. No punishment. Just them, moving together, her legs wrapped around him, his forehead pressed to hers.

I missed you, he whispered, thrusting deep, steady. God, I missed you so much.

She came with a sob, clenching around him, pulling him over the edge seconds later. He collapsed against her, breathing ragged, arms holding her like she'd disappear if he let go.

They stayed like that, tangled and quiet, the photos scattered around them like ghosts finally at peace.

For the first time in five years, the past felt like a bridge, not a wall.

But dawn would come and with it, the ledger still waited.