The Billionaire’s Ledger : Accounting His Heart

Chapter 6: Terms of Protection

PAUL WILDER

I drop my shirt on the floor in the VIP room’s bathroom and reach for the chain around my neck. My fingers close around the pendant—a small crescent moon, hammered gold, faintly gleaming even in the low light.

God, this thing’s been driving me insane.

I unclasp it, feeling its weight slip into my palm. Smooth edges. A delicate curve. It doesn’t belong to me—but somehow, it feels like it does.

Why the hell can’t I remember?

I step under the shower, hoping the water will wash the frustration away…

But instead, my mind drags me right back.

Skyline Pavilion. The Gala. The Chairman, My father—Gray Wilder—talking my ear off about new deals, new territories, the legacy.

That damned waiter. I barely even saw his face. He offered me the glass, and I took it because I was too polite, too focused on my father’s voice droning on about how I need to watch my back.

I taste the champagne again in my memory—just a hint of bitterness.

Then heat flooded my body. The room tilted sideways.

I remember excusing myself. My father probably didn’t even notice.

The corridor was spinning. My steps felt like walking through deep water. I remember a soft hand grabbing my arm, steadying me. A woman’s voice telling me to breathe. With worried eyes staring into mine.

Then nothing. Just black.

I slam a hand against the shower wall, water running down my face.

Who the hell was she? And why can’t I remember what happened next?

When Gon woke me up that morning, I was slumped on a bench. And this necklace was in my lap. Like a puzzle piece dropped in my hands without the rest of the damn picture.

I kill the water and step out, toweling my hair. I’m so wound up I nearly don’t notice Gon standing by the table, phone in hand.

“Sir, the Black Sedan—”

I cut him off. “No plates?”

Gon shakes his head. “Stripped. I found out it was dropped off at a scrap yard in Queens. I’m going there first thing tomorrow.”

I press my lips together. Queens. Perfect. Another lead in the mud.

Gon keeps talking. “One witness said the driver was a guy with red hair. Not sure it’s reliable. Most people just said Solene’s car was speeding.”

My chest tightens. The image of Solene’s car hanging off the bridge flashes through my mind. Her head was bleeding. Her voice was shaking over the phone.

“f**k,” I mutter under my breath.

I rub a hand across my jaw. “And the girl from the Gala?”

Gon hesitates. “CCTV’s a bust, sir. Everything’s corrupted. Like someone wiped it. I can’t ask people who the waiter is without starting rumors. But I’m still looking for the person behind this.”

I close my eyes. Of course. Of f*****g course.

“I can’t figure it out, sir,” Gon adds. “Her voice… it’s familiar somehow. But I can’t place it.”

I look down at the necklace lying on the dresser.

Who the hell are you? And why do I feel like you’re closer than I think?

I breathe out slowly. One problem at a time.

Right now, I have to make sure Solene stays safe. And find out who’s trying so damn hard to make sure the truth stays buried.

SOLENE’S POV

I was sitting with Dad at a restaurant table by the window, the city lights sparkling outside. Plates clinked, and the smell of grilled food filled the air.

“I swear, Dad, my boss is driving me insane,” I was saying, stabbing my fork into a piece of chicken. “He wants me to dig into the CFO’s accounts. Secretly. As if I’m some undercover spy instead of just a junior accountant.”

Dad chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like he knows you’re good at finding the truth.”

“That’s not the point,” I shot back. “It’s shady! I mean… What would you do? Would you investigate someone you’re working under? Especially when you’re just at the bottom of the ladder?”

Dad’s eyes softened. He reached across the table, wrapping his large hand over mine.

“If it’s for the right reason, Solene, you have to do it,” he said gently. “You need to find your reason to keep going. Because if people turn their backs on you, at least you’ll know you stood for something true. No regrets.”

I blinked, trying to hold onto his face in my dream. “Can I… come work for you, then?” I whispered.

Dad smiled, eyes shining like he knew something I didn’t. But before he could answer, he started fading away.

“Dad… wait…” I reached for him, panic gripping my chest. But he was gone.

A sob escaped me as I jerked awake, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Solene… hey. Hey, are you okay?”

Paul’s voice cut through the fog in my head. His silhouette hovered above me, eyes shadowed and worried.

“I’m fine,” I choked out, wiping my face. “Just… a stupid dream.”

He looked like he wanted to ask more, but he only tucked a strand of hair behind my ear before stepping back.

We didn’t talk much after that. Not about the accident. Not about my father. And certainly not about the things hanging unspoken between us.

Two weeks passed.

Not a single call from Paul.

Every time my phone buzzed, my stomach dropped—and it was never him.

Eventually, I’d had enough. I paced in my condo until I couldn’t stand it anymore and punched his number into my phone.

“Paul, we need to talk.”

His sigh was audible through the line. “I can’t right now, Solene. I’m busy. Maybe… another time.”

“Another time?” I snapped. “It’s been two weeks. You can’t keep avoiding me—”

But the line went dead before I could finish.

Another week dragged by. No calls. No texts. Not even Gon replying to my messages.

I was done waiting.

At eight o’clock on a humid Wednesday night, I found myself riding the elevator up to Paul’s penthouse. My hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, and I was still wearing my work clothes, but my pulse thundered like I’d just run a marathon.

When I got to his door, I hesitated. For a second, I wanted to turn around and pretend none of this mattered. But the anger burned hotter than my fear.

I rang the bell. Once. Twice. Three times.

When the door finally swung open, Paul stood there looking rumpled and half-asleep. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and shadows ringed his eyes. He wore soft gray sweatpants and a black shirt that clung to his chest.

“Solene…?” His voice was hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

I lifted my chin, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I’m here because you’ve been ignoring me. For weeks. And I’m not leaving until we talk.”

Paul blinked at me, exhausted and silent, then exhaled and stepped aside.

“Come in,” he murmured.

I stepped inside. Papers and open files lay scattered across the counter. The place smelled faintly of rain and coffee.

When I turned to look at him, I saw how worn he looked. There was pain and exhaustion in his eyes I hadn’t seen before.

But I was too angry to let it go.

I stood in Paul’s penthouse, arms crossed, as he closed the door and rubbed a hand over his tired face.

“Sit down,” he said quietly, nodding toward the couch.

“No.” I shot back. “I’m not here to sit down and pretend everything’s fine.”

He dropped his hand, giving me a flat look. “Solene, it’s late. You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Too bad. Because you’ve been avoiding me for three weeks. I deserve to know why.”

Paul exhaled heavily. “We’re stopping this. You don’t need to work with me anymore.”

My chest squeezed. “What do you mean—stop?”

“You don’t have to dig further,” he said, voice low. “I’ll handle it myself. It’s too dangerous for you to stay involved.”

“Dangerous?” I practically shouted. “I’m not weak, Paul. I’m not some porcelain doll you have to protect.”

He looked away, jaw tight. “You don’t understand.”

I stepped closer. “No. You don’t understand!”

My voice cracked. “I want to know who’s after me. Who’s trying to destroy you. And…” I swallowed hard. “…and I want to know if it has anything to do with my father.”

Paul’s eyes snapped to mine, cold and sharp. “Solene—”

“I’m serious!” I cut him off. “Tell me the truth, Paul. Did you know anything about my father’s death?”

He froze. Silence spread between us like ice.

“My father was healthy. He didn’t just drop dead behind the wheel for no reason,” I went on, voice trembling. “Now there’s pictures of him with you… hidden files in his office… people following me—”

“Solene—”

“Just answer me!” I screamed.

Paul flinched as if I’d struck him.

My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, sobs tearing out of me.

“I’m so tired, Paul,” I gasped. “I’m tired of secrets. I’m tired of not knowing who to trust. I’m tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not.”

Paul stood frozen, fists clenched, like he didn’t know where to touch me or what to say. His eyes blazed—not with anger, but something rawer.

He lowered himself until he was level with me, voice ragged.

“If you wish to continue… then be my girlfriend.”

J. Maitel