The billionaire's woman

Chapter Fifteen -- Not tonight

I stared at the documents again. The sale was halted. Legal had been instructed to pause all proceedings. Every number, every chart, every projection I had clutched like armour before, now felt like empty paper, meaningless in comparison to the fact that she might be back out there, struggling. Alone. Homeless.

I plotted, deliberately slow, each step, weighing every angle:

Keep her close, yes, but subtly. She needed shelter but couldn’t know it came from me. The hotel could be the perfect cover. I could grant her space while controlling her exposure. Keep it quiet. Discreet. No attention, no leaks.

I imagined the measures: silent security adjustments, staff briefings — only the indispensable personnel would be aware. If she wandered in publicly, she must never appear as if she had anything to do with me. She could exist there, a ghost in my empire, and no one would know. Except me. And that was enough.

I let my hand brush the corner of the desk, thinking of the look on her face when she had seen the hotel open, the surprise and hesitation in her eyes. Careful. She wasn’t a pawn. She wasn’t a project. But I couldn’t risk being careless either. One misstep, one word too many, and everything her safety, my control could unravel.

A call buzzed on the desk. I ignored it. Another. Same number.

My mother's assistant.

I didn’t answer. Not yet. My mind refused.

Why hadn’t Naya texted me yet? Was she angry? Distrustful? Or had she not even known how to reach me? Did she even have my number? Had I been too calculated, too cold, to extend the basic courtesy of connection?

Her silence gnawed at me, a slow-burning, dangerous ember. Did she understand what I had done for her? Freeing her from last night, leaving her in the hotel, securing her a place, hiding her from prying eyes… Did she feel gratitude? Or resentment?

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, annoyed by the intrusion of care in a mind that preferred logic.

Then the line buzzed again. My mother herself.

I ignored it. Twice. Three times. I never ignored my mother. But the timing — it was inconvenient. I was in the middle of planning contingencies for the hotel, calculating the staff rotations, imagining scenarios if she were discovered wandering too openly.

The calls continued. Relentless. Impatient.

Finally, I answered.

“Kai,” her voice was calm, but the edge of command was there. That tone she used when the Hadez empire bent to her will, when her words alone could shift boardrooms, silence investors, and scare generals into submission. “We’re having a family dinner tonight. You’ll come.”

“I… I have matters here.” My voice was deliberately even, carefully measured.

“Matter or not,” she said, leaving no room for argument, “you’ll attend. I will not have excuses.”

The line went dead.

I sighed, pressed my palm to my face, and cursed under my breath. I had no choice. I would go. Filial duty, inherited restraint, respect and the unspoken threat of her wrath left no other option.

Dinner was exactly as she commanded. The house smelled of rich sauces, perfectly balanced spices, roasted meats, everything served with elegance that spoke of power and wealth. The table gleamed. Crystal glasses reflected candlelight, polished silver reflected mastery over detail.

And there, as always, was Beth.

She smiled at our mother with practiced grace, laughter soft, inflections perfectly timed. She was everything a daughter should be, obedient, charming, radiant. And yet… my mind constantly returned to Naya, invisible in this tableau of familial expectation.

I couldn’t let my eyes linger too long on Beth. I couldn’t let her see the conflict simmering under my skin. So I focused on the table, the service, the dinner, all while checking my phone with a light, almost imperceptible glance.

Then my mother’s voice cut through the clatter of silverware. “I heard you’re not selling the Vlax Hotel anymore.”

The air thickened.

Beth’s fork paused midair, eyes flicking toward me in quiet triumph.

“Just reconsidering,” I said lightly.

My mother smiled politely, dangerous. “It’s bleeding profit, Kai. You don’t keep dead weight in business. What’s the reason?”

The question wasn’t innocent. She’d built the Hadez empire from nothing; she smelled weakness like blood in water.

“I have my reasons,” I said.

She arched a brow. “Does this have to do with a woman?”

Beth’s lips barely twitched, her gaze burning into me.

I met my mother’s eyes without flinching. “No.”

“Good.” She dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Because personal distractions have no place in leadership. Remember that.”

I nodded, agreeing outwardly, inwardly calculating how to maintain control without revealing too much.

Beth, sitting across from me, tilted her head slightly, a hint of smugness in her smile. She thought she had leverage. She had no idea how far I had already considered every variable, how deliberately I had paused the sale, how much I knew about controlling every movement around her, including Naya.

Dinner passed with conversation about minor matters, business pleasantries, laughter, and polite nods. I kept my eyes on my plate, my phone, my mind threading a web of plans that involved Vlax, Naya, Beth, and the inevitable consequences of each decision.

When the plates were cleared, I finally excused myself, citing work, and cornered Beth as she rose.

“Beth,” I said, voice low, dangerous. “Stop interfering in matters that are not yours.”

Her lips curved, a fleeting attempt at mischief. “Kai…” she began, moving closer, attempting to close the distance, her hand brushing mine, lips tilting toward mine.

I recoiled, voice sharp. “Do not.”

Her eyes widened, a shimmer of tears forming, betrayal and frustration mingling.

“I… I’m sorry,” she whispered.

I softened slightly, seeing the vulnerability she rarely allowed anyone to witness. I stepped closer, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “It’s not about punishment. Just… boundaries. Understand?”

She nodded, trembling, and I let her pull away, brushing her tears with deliberate care.

Then, finally, my phone vibrated.

“She’s calling for you?” Beth’s voice dripped with syrupy sweetness, her eyes glinting with that manipulative sparkle I knew too well.

I didn’t need to check the screen... I already knew.

Naya Shane.

“Yes.” My tone came out sharper than intended, clipped enough to cut the air between us.

Beth tilted her head, her smile curving in slow satisfaction. “How interesting,” she murmured, then, without breaking eye contact, pressed the button that ended the call.

The silence after the click was deafening.

I stared at her, the woman I wasn’t supposed to touch, the one my mother had raised beside me, the one whose lips I still tasted when I dreamed.

“You just hung up my call.” The words left me calm, but underneath was a storm.

Beth stepped closer, the faint scent of her perfume, violet and smoke, curling around me like memory. “I’m protecting what’s ours,” she said softly, almost tenderly. “She’s already taken too much space in your head. I could see it at dinner.”

I almost laughed. “Protecting?” My voice dropped lower, the edge returning. “You’re jealous.”

She smiled. That infuriating, knowing smile that always walked the line between innocence and sin. “Shouldn’t I be?”

There was a long, loaded pause. The kind that tasted like danger.

“Beth.” Her name came out as both a warning and a plea.

Her gaze flicked to my mouth, then back to my eyes, deliberate, provocative. “You used to say my name differently,” she whispered. “Now it sounds like you’re trying to forget.”

I stepped closer until there was barely space for breath between us. “Maybe I am.”

Her lashes lowered, but her voice stayed steady. “Then let me remind you why you shouldn’t.”

For a moment, the world balanced on a knife’s edge, desire, anger, guilt — all the same color under dim light. Then I stepped back.

“No,” I said, quiet but firm. “Not tonight.”

Her lips trembled, just slightly. “You think she’s different from me?"

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know.

Beth turned away first, a brittle laugh escaping her. “I’m keeping things fair,” she said, echoing her earlier words. “If she wants you so badly, she’ll have to fight for it.”

She brushed past me like smoke, her fingers grazing mine just long enough to burn.

When the door clicked shut behind her, I stood there in the dark, pulse steady, mind unravelling.

Fair. That was her word.

But Beth didn’t understand that this wasn’t about fairness.

Naya had asked me to marry her — desperate, cornered, half-pleading — not out of love but vengeance. She wanted to claw her way back, to destroy the friend who’d stolen her father and fortune. She wanted power, the kind only I could give.

And I’d told myself I wasn’t interested. That I was only amused. That her chaos would never tempt me.

Yet now… I found myself waiting for her to call again.